Matt Preston licks plate. Photo stolen with full disregard for copyright and fair use from the Masterchef website.
It’s pretty impressive how Matt Preston the chummy and ever so slightly chubby Melbourne food writer grew into the huge Masterchef’s Matt Preston and brand. And just grew. And grew. And grew to the point that Woman’s Day is running a splash on him with no information whatsoever about concerns over his health after eating 97 portions of osso bucco risotto.
A big man and I were guessing the other day how much he must weight – possibly 150kg, even 180kg perhaps. That’s a lot of weight making him about two to three times the size of a plump girl*. That’s like Gary plus George and something else large and heavy, like my head.
Let me make this clear. Matt is a really nice bloke. I like him and nobody can fail to. Pompousness aside. But I’m writing this as a favour to him. And you.
There’s a massive queue for Matt Preston’s endorsement from his “cravatalicious” Handee Ultra paper towels to Richard-Dawkins -knows what else. What Matt may not know is that he is being groomed to be the next face for Type II Diabetes. I kid you not.
It creeps up on you whether you are moderately plump to the morbidly obese. And among the food writing and blogging community I think we know where we all stand on this scale.
All food writers have the problem of staying slim. From jogging to cycling and swimming some try and do something about it. Others just give up and seemingly eat and drink more. Greedy bastards.
Dawkins-knows how a writer such as Gourmet Traveller’s Pat Nourse stays so svelte given his food reviewing duties. Perhaps it’s because of good genes, youth, self-control or, as last time I saw him, a girlfriend to exercise him. Or a tumble dryer load of all of the above.
I try and walk a lot. I ride a bike to meetings when the weather permits. And have a girlfriend who helps. Plus there’s plenty of opportunity for masturbation both metaphorically and physically. I also eat plenty of fruit and veg, small amounts of protein, lots of nuts. And aside from the odd Twix, only eat apples and nuts and drink water between meals.
My main vice is alcohol, despite which I’ve lost maybe 6 kilos this year down to 102.7kg before and, ahem, 101.1kg after. I’d like to drop another 5 or 10 but know there is no hope whatsoever of regaining my six-pack of youth. (Note to self: stop getting so pissed).
There’s something else you can do when faced with a ten-course degustation: just eat half of what is on your plate. In fact do that every time you eat out and there is a good chance you will avoid becoming a fat bastard.
Diabetes has been on my mind since January 2009 when my mum suffered a stroke caused by her Type II and her dotty alterative methods of handling it instead of taking her proper medication.
In her early thirties my mum had a waist that a young Elizabeth Taylor would have been proud of. In her forties she started to spread out. By her fifties, a widow, she had cankles and had trouble lumbering up hills.
Then in her seventies, one afternoon she nodded off reading a book. When she awoke she was confused. She didn’t recognize my stepfather. She forgot what words were used to refer to different objects.
She recovered but not fully, from a once brilliant natural Elizabeth David bred cook to microwaving ready meals in the oven. Or just putting a bowl of rice and water in the oven to make risotto. It’s very sad.
Nowadays, depending on her medication she’s pretty good but can be up and down. But she has a very high risk of another stroke.
If anything good came out of this it is that she stopped boring me about what she’d just watched on Jamie Oliver (she lives in the UK) the night before.
This is what happens with Type II Diabetes. Like I said, it creeps up on you. Even if you are fat now and lose weight the damage is done, a bit like cigarettes do to your lungs.
Type II diabetes is a modern disease caused by being too greedy and fat. It eats away insidiously at your cardio vascular system. That’s your arteries, veins and capillaries.
One day you’ll cut your finger in the kitchen and it won’t heal. No, it’s not infected. This is what Type II Diabetes does; it makes wounds slow to heal. Before long you’ll have carbuncles on your body.
Then you’ll be wanting to shag your beautiful girlfriend or wife and your cock will be limp. Zilch. Nothing there. Even, Madame Lash, a blowjob or a threesome with the neighbour’s labradoodle won’t do it for you.
Then your kidneys will become a bit dodgy. If that happens every bit of protein you consume contributes to their demise. That means you will be rationed pork. And duck. Any meat.
And extremities will turn black, just like in the anti-smoking ads.If they don’t drop off they’ll need to be chopped off. Only last night my mum was complaining that her leg was dodgy -apparently she lost the use of it for a while after her first stroke (although I can’t always be sure what she tells me nowadays in reliable).
And finally, those bits of your cardiovascular system that we see in the smoking ads will start breaking off and coursing around your body. Stroke.
If Matt Preston has any sense he will turn this endorsement opportunity down. Or try lap band surgery.
But as Jedro74 said in response to my tweets on this subject:
“a slim Matt Preston wouldn’t be right, like a slim Mikey Robbins isn’t. Then again, the latter was never right.”
*Term and conditions apply. Depends on height, size of frame and muscle mass.
Note: I’m not sponsored by Diabetes Australia but if you think you are at risk check out their site. Or go see a doctor and have a blood test. I’ve been meaning to but I’m a bit scared to be honest.
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