Posted by: cassymuronaka | September 15, 2009

You Are What You’re Going To Eat

I’m caught in the bright sado-masochistic headlights of Gillian McKeith, the unlikely and occasionally unlikable star of the BBC America television show, “You Are What You Eat.” This Scottish nutritionist’s observations on the eating habits of her pudgy British clients are so brutal that she makes Dr. Phil sound like Mrs. Doubtfire. Ripping through kitchen cabinets bulging with junk food and soda cans, practically grabbing English mothers and fathers by the backs of their necks and slamming their faces into a table full of meat pasties, Gillian is like a terrier in heat.


“DISGUSTING” is her favorite word.

Gillian is a woman on a mission, and her obsession with proper “poo” production would be laughable if she wasn’t so dead-on about the unhealthy way the western world eats. The viewer reels back in horror at the weekly visual reproduction of food products consumed and chronicled in a client’s food journal. A long wooden table laden with fat and carbohydrates reduces most of them to quivering blobs of sobs.

Which is exactly what Gillian and her producers want, of course.

Only people like colossally untalented “American Idol” contestants generally are on the receiving end of such withering personal commentary. And BBC executives apparently believe that it is so painful for a an American to absorb Gillian’s rants that her shows always seem to be aired well after midnight, the only hours that Yanks may be considered to be mentally receptive to such a shrill and unrelenting dose of reality.

This is probably not too far from the truth, since I’m usually lapping up a sugar-loaded Dreyer’s tangerine popsicle about that time, night owl that I am. But the popsicles are getting fewer, and I ordered a couple of Gillian’s books on Amazon last week. That probably makes me a big sap, since most of what she recommends appears to be a simple macrobiotic diet. But anything that propels me out the door to some of those farmers markets on that yellowing list hanging on my refrigerator door, and away from Costco food samples, is probably worth feeling a little sheepish about my semi-impulsive consumer purchases.



  1. If loving Dreyer’s popsicles is wrong, I don’t want to be right

  2. hey, let’s not be speaking ill of the samples at costco.

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