1. A Bitter Sweet Beginning

A breakdown of the events that inspired me to start this investigative newsletter thanks to a skin cancer diagnosis and why this sparked my efforts into showing the world the power of bitter foods.

The corner of my left eye tugged gently as the scalpel hacked flesh from the back of my neck. I was shaken at the force used to remove my first basal cell carcinoma. It came as frontier justice for my rawhide. While my cancer wore a pinhead’s diameter, it felt as if a ping pong ball of meat was gauged out using a melon baller.

I’d never seen this little cancerous white dot but was medically advised it was a bad thing. Bad things require eviction. As the procedure progressed, my head bounced. A nod in agreement. Retrospectively, I’d done nothing but agree since my skin cancer checkup. I’d obediently bought whatever I’d been sold by the medical profession. Get skin cancer. Chop out. Stich up. Recover. Repeat. Be the good boy.

Medical Grade Assurance

My bodily agreeability was buoyed by the 5ml of confidence in the local anesthetic. Even without visuals or pain, the scalpel was a straight shooter. It was the bulldog chewing through a T-bone that bounced a sterile echo off the surgery room. These echoes offered a weird birthing room smell I remembered from my son being born. The sound scrunched my nose in disgust. Each serrated tug felt like a massive overreaction. I remained mute and sought assurance.

At first, I found hope knowing I wasn’t alone. My doctor said he did roughly 10 of these each day. That’s Australia for you, complete with its undernourished ozone layer. Even the real Wolverine couldn’t fight off this brand of sunshine. The meme that say it’s the land where everything wants to kill you, leave out the sun’s considerable contribution to the death toll. It’s a terrifying tally that frags 1, 174 Australians every year.

Bedside Manners

Throughout the procedure, the medical team asked if I was okay. I said I was fine but wasn’t. Afterward, I earned eleven stiches that demanded a two-week recovery protocol. No sun. No exercise. No stretches. No wrestling with my kids. Just sit idle. Be the good boy. I didn’t nod. I couldn’t. The skin at the back of neck was pulled too tight.

Afterward, I went to the front desk to book a follow up appointment. While I waited, the gravity of the past 10 minutes and snuck up on me like a silent fart. There was still no pain, but I held onto the reception desk. My balance was zombified. Nausea trickled down from the top of my head like corrupt case of pins and needles. I felt icy, yet sweaty. My armpits oozed a body odor that smelt of used hotdog water. Something was off.

‘I’m Fine…‘

Physiologically, I was okay, but my body was suffering technical difficulties. There was a disconnect between my lack of pain and damage done. The receptionist didn’t notice my trembling fingers. I said nothing. There was no weakness here. Just an everyday Jack Reacher taking his bullet. Plenty of other people had experienced this procedure. They were fine. I was fine. The medically issued script would be acted out.

After handing in my paperwork, I walked to my car but had to stop. Were my trembling hands okay to drive? Everyone else I knew drove home after these hack jobs. Perhaps the procedure wasn’t quite so minor after all. Maybe I was just soft. As I took a moment to let my car’s substandard air conditioning counterbalance my cold sweats, the doctor’s final words echoed in my head. “See you in six months buddy!”

Follow Ups Guaranteed

During our first consultation, my doctor had decided my fate. I was a patient worth getting to know. Annual skin cancer removals were my destiny. His farewell words made me decide to act. Right there, in the breeze of my car’s terrible air conditioning, I took control. My doctor would see me in six months. His blades would remain unbloodied. Five scalpel-dodging years later and I still have just the one 11-stitch scar.

That’s where my journey began. You may never have considered a skin cancer check. Maybe your skin already wears enough scars to terrify Frankenstein’s monster. Perhaps you’re lucky to have beautiful dark skin unaffected by sun. I haven’t retired the surfboard or had to cower in the shadows with a vampiric lifestyle. As a bonus, my health has never been better. I achieved this by changing my perceptions about taste and recalibrated myself to the joys of a forgotten flavor.

Sowing The Seeds

At this point, you may want to know who I am, so I’ll give you a few quick self-depreciating paragraphs and won’t be offended if you skip them. Born and raised in Africa, my DNA made me a highly unsuitable human for such a warm climate. Standing 6’3 tall, my Irish blood gave me the skin type and hair color of a garden variety leprechaun. Pale. Flame haired. Freckled. Sadly, no gold. The sun could not miss me.

Growing up during 1980’s Africa was a carefree time. Dangers accepted today weren’t a thing back then. Mum puffed three in-car-cigarettes on trips to the beach. Sunscreen was SPF2. I begged to stay there all day because ‘pedos’, adult supervision or drowning weren’t a thing either. I formed a love for surfing, fishing, and all things outdoors. These outside skills went hand in glove with picking sunburn blisters off my lips and substantially sized nose.

Nose For Trouble

It is worth adding my nose has offered a considerable platform for sun damage. It has grown thanks to conflicts with a fast-moving golf ball, rugby players knees and a diving headbutt from my two-year-old daughter. It’s an appendage that’s become my battering ram for life. It’s also a highly motivating force because I prefer it was spared the scalpel.

After university in Africa, I migrated to England and got my dream job as the Health and Fitness Director for Men’s Health Magazine. That lasted a decade, and I jumped ship to a land down under to settle with my incredible Australian wife. The sun and surf that welcomed my return to the Southern Hemisphere was a bonus. Australians know how to do hot weather. Hats. Zinc. Rash vests. Yearly skin cancer check-ups. That’s the trajectory that led me to become another slab of red meat on a doctors table.

Failure After Failure

In the weeks after my skin cancer removal, I sought natural cures for my affliction. First was a beast called black salve. This paste, made from the blood root plant, bores into skin cancer cells then pops them out as a black scab-shaped cork. The veteran surfers at my local beach swore by it and wore fat scars to prove it. It’s a solution that felt a bit like a steel fist in a velvet glove.

Next was radium. A common weed a retired prawn fisherman swore by. At 77 years old, he claimed it was his leathery skin’s savior. When snapped, it oozes a white sap, which when applied to skin cancers sizzles them off. Neither option sat well with me. My carcinomas were proof my body had an ecosystem that fertilized cancer. If I could get cancers on my skin, I could get them anywhere. My grandfather and father both died from bowel cancer, so I knew how that sh*t show ended and want no part of it.

Looking Deeper

I wanted to heal from the inside. Revert my body to its factory setting. Prevention. Anticipation. Healing. To do this, I investigated natural methods used for treating cancer. After several decades of working in the health and wellness publishing sector I have the skills to decipher boring and complicated scientific papers. I picked apart the research protocols and redid the lab-coat’s math to triple check everything.

Fortunately, I could gear my day job as an editor to this pursuit. I wrote long form features that investigated natural solutions. Gut health. Alkaline diets. Sound therapy. Oils. Water quality. Meditation. Exercise. Colonics. I spiraled down the YouTube rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. I started with eating peach pips and ended up watching chili peppers versus cats. Nothing materialized. I failed. Repeatedly. The slice and dice option was the only game in town. My hopes faded.

A Fresh Insight

Dejectedly, I looked at my cupboards and fridge. What wasn’t I seeing? I imagined how the first guy to discover you could drink milk, probably ate a lot of other weird stuff too. I needed to be strange. I looked at foods that tasted repulsive. If it made me pull a face like a bulldog licking urine off a thistle, they were on the money. This was my turning point. If you hate it, it might just be good for you because you have to be odd to be number one.

Foods considered to be ripe for the trash were first on the list of potential. These foods had disgusting flavors, much like the very first medicines. While they tasted bad but did good. In fact, medicine tasted revoltingly bitter. Much like poison. One heals. The other harms. It’s a game where the line between self-care and self-destruction was fine and it brought me my first aha-moment.

Lightbulb Moment

I began with the bitter foods in my pantry. Coffee. Turmeric. Chocolate. Naturally, I started with chocolate. Chocolate in its raw form (cacao) is rich in the flavonoids that help protect people against sun damage, found a paper in The Journal of Nutrition. Further research suggested cacao isn’t a one trick pony. It’s a healing stallion that gives you everything. Stress relief. Immunity boosting. Gut health. Reduced inflammation. Mood booster. Increased energy. You name it. Cacao crushed it.

I mixed 20g of cacao into my post workout protein smoothies. The bitterness made me an Olympic level gurning champ, but after one month something changed. My taste buds recalibrated. I found joy in bitterness, the way a connoisseur cuddles a Johnny Walker in front of an open fireplace. This flavor was everywhere but mostly in my food scraps bin. Avocado seeds. Apple cores. Broccoli stalks. This untapped goodness was being squandered. Now, years after embracing it, I’ve changed forever.

A New Resolve

Five years after my first skin cancer surgery I’ve achieved my goal. I’ve had a cancer check-up every 6 months and continue to walk out of there with a clean sheet that leaves my doc surprised. Sure, I could be wrong. I’m not foolish enough to imagine I may have another run in with the scalpel. If that happens, I’m still ahead of the curve.

My new perspective on flavor has helped me eat the way our ancestors did, where they treasured all food. Nothing is wasted. This old school approach may have safeguarded prior generations from modern-day diseases. Are our modernized taste buds to blame for obesity and other killers like diabetes and heart disease? Maybe so and this alternative viewpoint on flavor holds the key.

Your Chance to Heal

This the first step in my journey. Yours may have started from a different place. You could be looking to understand why you love or detest bitter foods. You might want to fill that missing piece in your diet that’ll elevate your health and performance. It’s important to think about the circumstances that brought you here. So, ask yourself where you want to be with your well-being.

The answer to that question and the end destination is going to be same, and it will be summed up in one word. Improvement. A crucial dietary upgrade will be delivered to you by bitter foods which will offer you the keys to forgotten toolkit packed with a lifetime of rewards. Improved health. Better digestion. More muscle. Less body fat. Preventing disease. Improved sleep. Increased energy. A happier outlook. All you need do is open wide and say aww to avoid the aargh.

Bittersweet Tip 3: A Real Chocolate Smoothie

You don’t have to curse your body and taste buds with the sickeningly sweet protein smoothies. These are a mainstay for anyone who works out and possibly poisons your perception of chocolate forever. Here’s the recipe for the ultimate smoothie for your health and skin.

1 x banana

½ x avocado

30g x protein of your choice

20g x raw cacao

10g x chai seeds

10ml egg whites (or 2-3 egg whites)

20g ground walnuts

200ml coconut water

Throw that into the blender and grind until smooth. You may have to crunch up the walnuts in your hands before you put in them in there or they may not blend properly. Will it taste bad? Sure! Think of it as a bicep curl for your taste buds that is resetting them properly, but if you can’t stomach it then add a little manuka honey to make it a little more kid friendly.