Ray Peat Forum Postings

My Dad, A Peatarian Avant La Lettre

I want to tell you how my father, who is 90 years old, is handling his food intake. I used to think he was insane, although his perfect labs were silently questioning my “diagnosis” of his mental prowess. I put those on sheer luck and astounding genes which I secretly hoped would protect me from harm's way, too. You see, with his living example in front of my eyes, I was way too permeated by the “common wisdom” to recognize that, in fact, he was doing the right thing. I didn’t have the courage to contradict all those experts in nutrition and all the food pyramids the “authorities” were throwing at us!And that is also why when I first read about Ray Peat’s protocol, I instantly clicked and it all fell into place for me! 

Because, my friends, that’s pretty much how my Dad is eating. I am 45 and already cannot possibly hope as long and healthy a life. I wonder if I can live as long as my mother, who died two years ago, at 81. Her health was not as great as his, as she battled high blood pressure and a form of diabetes in her final years. 

But her food intake habits differed from my father's, who was a lot more careful with the quantity of what he ate. My Mom gained weight after giving birth and never managed to lose it... On the contrary, as years went by, she put on more and more... 

My parents didn’t have it easy. Theoretically, their circumstances were a hell of a lot worse than mine. Romanian communism in the early 80's meant things like waking up at 4:00 AM in order to stand in line to have a chance at buying the rationed milk -- we had 4 quarts allotted to our family. But they did it. There was never a day without milk at our house -- as that was inconceivable, you see...

Still?.. How come they raised five kids and lived to be so old, and I could not conceive (without a clear diagnosis, nothing was "technically" wrong, or so the doctors said) and I have so many autoimmune ailments at such an early age? 

It is, of course, the environment, stupid! Including the cultural environment.

Three years ago, my parents came over for a two months stay in France. 

I was running around chez les traiteurs, bringing them the best I could find in terms of food. Or what I thought was best. 

They were polite for a couple of days.
 Then my Dad couldn’t take it anymore.

“What is this?”

On his plate, a fancy sauce with pieces of chicken and pasta and precious mushrooms — un vrai delice, I tried to "educate" him. 

“This is not food!”

I assured him that it was, and it came from a wonderful chef everyone appreciated, and it was fully nutritious and controlled and…He wanted to hear none of that.

“Your mother takes a whole chicken, a beautiful chicken, and she boils it and she puts it in the oven with potatoes and she makes broth and nice roasts.”

Of course I knew that, I had been raised on her wonderful broths. I don’t think there was a day in our lives, growing up, when we didn’t have broth. Romania is a country of broth addicts and its entire cuisine is pretty basic. Also, widely seen as “unhealthy” in this day and age and people over there are trying hard to avoid living like their parents. 

So, for the next couple of weeks, I kept the stove on, rather amused at this turn of events, boiling meat and bones and feeding my parents the "primitive" way they were used to eat. I should also mention that none of the food raised to my Dad’s standards, even when I cooked it exactly like Mom. You see, meat didn’t taste right, and milk didn’t taste right, and cheese wasn’t OK either. My Dad’s palate would not be fooled. The last days he spent in France he ate mostly rice and milk, too upset at the low standard of living one can have over here. And I kid you not, everything was top quality, organic. 

I was amazed at the amount of sweets my Dad would gobble. And sweet drinks. He doesn’t do orange juice, he does Fanta. And lots and lots of milk. Sugary milk. A bit of chocolate. Liver pate. Eggs. The daily broth with meat in it. Some roasted meat, some potatoes. He loves rice and milk. And, well, that’s about it. He will have a shot of liquor with his lunch. His favorite is Baileys Irish Cream, it figures…

Upon examining him, a wide smile came upon my French doctor’s face. 

“We should ask him how he does it, we have a centenarian before our eyes!” 

So when I read Ray Peat, I understood that my father’s instincts had been spot on, all along. And that one should listen to one’s parents. 

Or, at least, I should have.


P.S. Almost one year later, I regret ever calling my father a "Peatarian avant la lettre". What makes someone a "peatarian" in today's world used to be common sense not so long ago. "Traditional" is how my father's diet could be labeled, Central/Eastern European traditional food.

And now I realize that, under my eyes, I had a man and a woman, my parents, eating pretty much the same traditional diet and reacting to it very differently: while my Dad practiced calorie restriction and was blessed with genes that tolerated gluten very well, my Mom was most probably hypothyroid in the second half of her life and gluten sensitive, which brought about obesity and diabetes. These eventually shortened her life.

Needless to say, I am taking after my mother, whose mitochondria I inherit, and having been exposed to way  more chemicals and allergens in my late twenties and early thirties, I am faring much worse at my age...

On the plus side, I did not allow any extra weight to creep up on me and I discovered my Hashimoto's and gluten sensitivity which I am currently addressing.