Читать книгу Anatomic - Adam Dickinson - Страница 28

I had to keep a food diary before obtaining my stoolsample. I had never paid such close attention towhat I ate before. The Word-made-flesh of a sweetpotato. The onion domes of Russia in the garlicbulb’s imperial fibre. All those calories packed intoa few grams of butter, a bowl of pasta. All thosecalories knitted into the harvesting and flatbeds,sewn delicately into the crop dusts and mists thatmake them inhospitable to the insects and fungithat are their first and most desirous admirers. If Iate less, I would limit the pcbs, pesticides, and metalsthat could get in, right? This idea consumed me.––