Living 2.0

Living Better

Month: May 2018

Six cooking habits that undermine your diet

Lesley Beck, Globe and Mail:

If your goal is to eat a healthier diet – one that’s packed with nutrient- and antioxidant-rich whole foods – consider adding more home-cooked meals to your menu.

Research has found that people who frequently eat home-cooked meals have a higher intake of fruit and vegetables, healthier cholesterol and blood sugar levels and a lower risk of being overweight.

Depending on how you cook and prep your foods, though, you may be unknowingly undermining your diet.

  • Washing raw meat or poultry won’t make it clean or free of bacteria
  • Overheated your cooking oil
  • Immediately adding chopped garlic to the sauté pan reduces the beneficial phytochemicals
  • Over cooking meat contains more cancer-causing carcinogens called heterocyclic amines (HCAs)
  • Overcooking cruciferous vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts) can strip them of their cancer-fighting potential
  • Removing the peel or toss away stems and green tops reduces valuable fibre, vitamins, minerals and antioxidants.

Read the article for more details.

1.3M Canadians could benefit if doctors lowered blood pressure targets


In 2016, Hypertension Canada changed its guidelines to recommend that number be lowered to 120, following a landmark U.S. study — the Systolic Blood Pressure Intervention Trial (SPRINT) — that found that lowering the systolic target number could reduce deaths by 27 per cent among adults at a high risk of heart disease but without diabetes, stroke or heart failure.

That’s 100,000 fewer deaths per year.

A study, released by the Canadian Journal of Cardiology on Friday, found that 1.3 million Canadians would be impacted by the guideline, and 14 per cent of those (182,600 people) would not have been previously considered to have hypertension.

The Silence: The legacy of childhood trauma

The New Yorker:

Last week I returned to Amherst. It’s been years since I was there, the time we met. I was hoping that you’d show up again; I even looked for you, but you didn’t appear. I remember you proudly repped N.Y.C. during the few minutes we spoke, so I suspect you’d moved back or maybe you were busy or you didn’t know I was in town. I have a distinct memory of you in the signing line, saying nothing to anyone, intense. I assumed you were going to ask me to read a manuscript or help you find an agent, but instead you asked me about the sexual abuse alluded to in my books. You asked, quietly, if it had happened to me.

You caught me completely by surprise.

I wish I had told you the truth then, but I was too scared in those days to say anything. Too scared, too committed to my mask. I responded with some evasive bullshit. And that was it. I signed your books. You thought I was going to say something, and when I didn’t you looked disappointed. But more than that you looked abandoned. I could have said anything but instead I turned to the next person in line and smiled. Out of the corner of my eye I watched you pick up your backpack, slowly put away your books, and leave. When the signing was over I couldn’t get the fuck away from Amherst, from you and your question, fast enough. I ran the way I’ve always run. Like death itself was chasing me. For a couple of days afterward I fretted; I worried that I’d given myself away. But then the old oblivion reflex took over. I pushed it all down. Buried it all. Like always.

But I never really did forget. Not our exchange or your disappointment. How you walked out of the auditorium with your shoulders hunched.

I know this is years too late, but I’m sorry I didn’t answer you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry for you, and I’m sorry for me. We both could have used that truth, I’m thinking. It could have saved me (and maybe you) from so much. But I was afraid. I’m still afraid—my fear like continents and the ocean between—but I’m going to speak anyway, because, as Audre Lorde has taught us, my silence will not protect me.

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