High-fructose sweeteners and ultra-processed foods have created a powerful, addictive drive in many people — a “hungry beast” that drives overconsumption and fuels diabetes and related illnesses. While medical advice to eat more vegetables is sound, real-world barriers — taste, food quality, addictive food design, and social factors — make change difficult. This article examines why the problem persists and outlines practical steps toward growing and preparing truly healthy food.
Abstract
One of the worst modern inventions must be high fructose corn syrup: cheaper and sweeter than refined sugar, it is now ubiquitous in processed foods from packaged soups to fast food. It is addictive in ways comparable to tobacco, alcohol and some drugs — this is the “hungry beast” inside. For a healthy young person, sugars and carbohydrates provide quick energy, but repeated exposure causes the body to produce large amounts of insulin. Over time this leads to insulin resistance, pancreatic strain, and ultimately diabetes. Excess sugar is often converted to fat in the liver, contributing to related illnesses such as heart attacks, strokes and cancer. Although many health professionals say these conditions can be stopped or even reversed by adopting diets rich in fresh green vegetables, the incidence of diabetes and its sister illnesses continues to rise. This article explores the gap between theory and practice, the reasons people struggle to change eating habits, and practical approaches — including growing food with simple systems like wicking baskets — to close that gap.
Why processed sugars and carbs are so dangerous.
Carbohydrates and sugars themselves are not inherently evil — our bodies need glucose for energy and many traditional diets include natural sources of carbohydrate balanced with fibre and micronutrients. The problem arises with highly processed sugars, especially high fructose corn syrup (HFCS), which are engineered to be cheap, intensely sweet, and fast-acting in the bloodstream. When these sugars are consumed they are rapidly absorbed, causing a sharp spike in blood glucose. The body’s immediate response is to release large quantities of insulin to remove glucose from the blood. This sudden rise and fall creates a familiar pattern: a high followed by a low, which leaves us hungry again and often craving more sugary foods. That cyclical pattern is what I call the hungry beast.
Repeated spikes and compensatory insulin release can, over time, lead to insulin resistance. The pancreas must work harder and longer, and eventually it may fail to keep up — producing insufficient insulin and precipitating type 2 diabetes. Meanwhile, surplus sugar that the body cannot immediately use is converted by the liver into fat. This process contributes to fatty liver disease and to fat deposits in critical organs. Collectively these changes underlie many of the “sister illnesses” associated with modern diets: cardiovascular disease, stroke, and a raised risk of certain cancers.
Another compounding problem is poor nutritional quality. Highly processed, sugar-heavy diets are often low in vitamins, minerals and fibre. Green vegetables — particularly those grown in mineral-rich, biologically active soil — slow digestion and blunt blood sugar spikes because fibre moderates the rate at which sugars enter the bloodstream. Technically this is straightforward: eat more vegetables. But the real world is not so simple.
This is personal
This issue is not theoretical for me: it is personal. My wife, Xiulan, is diabetic and recently suffered multiple fractures in her foot that began to show worrying signs of tissue damage — a stark reminder that diabetes is the leading cause of amputation and blindness in many parts of the world. Xiulan is a qualified surgeon and understands the medical science perfectly. She knows what needs to be done; she is motivated by pain and the risk to her health. Yet she still craves high-carbohydrate comfort foods and struggles to eat the vegetables recommended by clinicians.
This disconnect between knowledge and behaviour highlights a crucial point: intellectual understanding is not the same as emotional or habitual response. Knowing the facts about diet does not automatically translate into action. That gap — between what we know and what we do — helps explain why diabetes and related illnesses continue to expand despite clear medical guidance.
Contradictory advice
Modern media and the internet provide a deluge of dietary advice — from scientific reviews to sensationalist diet trends and outright quackery. This flood can be paralysing. The first major public conflict is the debate between reducing fats versus reducing sugars. For decades people were told dietary fat made you fat; only more recently has the role of sugars — particularly refined sugars — in promoting obesity and organ fat been acknowledged. This has spawned a series of extreme diets such as Atkins and various low-carbohydrate approaches. Some evidence supports benefits for particular individuals, but the overall picture remains mixed.
Alongside legitimate debate, there is a thriving industry of quick-fix solutions: miracle supplements, exotic “superplants,” and high-pressure marketing that promises dramatic results. Often the producers of such content hide the key points in long, suspenseful videos or pitches, and then seek payment for “full access” — a red flag for quackery. Meanwhile, good quality scientific studies present trends and averages, not guarantees; studies may show a 20% improvement for a group, but that does not mean every individual will benefit to the same extent. The net effect for many people is confusion, fatigue and eventual disengagement.
People are intrinsically different
Human beings vary enormously in physiology, genetics, gut bacteria, psychological makeup and social context. What works for one person can be ineffective or harmful for another. Diet studies necessarily rely on statistical analysis across populations and therefore can miss important individual differences. A diet that delivers dramatic results for one person may be unsuitable for someone else. This diversity complicates advice and policy.
It also affects acceptance: people have cultural food taboos, texture preferences and sensory reactions that shape what they will or will not eat. My own family offers vivid examples: my granddaughter treats fish eyes as a delicacy, while I am unable to even contemplate the idea. Xiulan can happily enjoy cooked lobster brains but cannot bring herself to eat raw salad. These are not moral failings — they are innate or learned preferences that must be respected when designing any intervention.
Learning how you work
Because diets that rely solely on calorie restriction tend to fail — hunger is a powerful, biologically driven state — successful change often requires self-experimenting to discover which foods trigger cravings and which suppress them. Many cravings are not simply psychological: gut microbes produce neurotransmitters that signal the brain and can amplify urges for specific foods. Altering your diet can change the gut microbiome over several weeks, reducing craving signals and rebalancing appetite. For some people, non-sugary dark chocolate suffices as an appetite suppressant; for others, high-fibre vegetables do the trick.
This process is slow and requires persistence. There is no universal quick fix: for a few weeks you may have to tolerate increased discomfort while your body and microbiome adapt. But the long-term benefit — reduced cravings, better metabolic control, and improved health — is well worth that transient discomfort.
The practical aim is simple: substitute high-glycaemic, fattening foods with satisfying, low-energy-density items that reduce hunger. Vegetables — especially fresh, mineral-rich greens with abundant fibre — are the most reliable choice for most people.
Food obsessions
“Patient compliance” is a clinical phrase that can underestimate how deeply food preferences are embedded in personality, emotion and culture. Some people have visceral aversions to raw vegetables, others have emotional associations with carbohydrate-heavy foods that comfort them during stress. For those people, mere information is insufficient. Behavioural change needs approaches that acknowledge emotional drivers and provide realistic alternatives.
During my work in Ethiopia and Central Australia I encountered profound food prejudices. People often refuse to accept new food sources even in the face of dire need. In one project a colleague identified a tree species well suited to local conditions and usable as a reliable food source — but the local communities were reluctant to adopt it. Similarly, when mothers face the unimaginable strain of watching children starve, changing deeply held food habits can still be near-impossible.
The economic juggernaut
The global food industry is the world’s largest industry and is dominated by a handful of multinational corporations and large financial institutions. These organisations operate within a system that rewards scale, shelf life, transportability and profit. The incentives are not aligned with producing foods that maximize micronutrient density or flavour. Varieties are commonly selected for storage and transit resilience rather than taste or mineral content. This produces supermarket vegetables that often lack the minerals and living soil biology that make fresh produce truly nourishing and flavourful.
Governments can set hygiene standards, regulate toxic chemicals and require labelling, but they lack the capacity to fully counterbalance the economic forces that shape global food supply chains. As long as consumers buy inexpensive, highly processed foods, companies will supply them. That reality places part of the responsibility with individuals and communities while also pointing to the need for structural changes in food systems and local access to quality produce.
So what do we do about it?
People are already taking action. Farmers’ markets, organic producers, food cooperatives and community gardens provide alternatives. For those who can afford it, buying fresh, locally grown produce can make a real difference. But these options are often more expensive and less available to many people.
My life’s work has been in practical innovation. Past projects such as Moldflow revolutionised industrial practice, and the wicking bed concept has helped thousands grow food with limited water. Now my focus is the wicking basket — a compact, low-cost system designed to let virtually anyone grow nutrient-dense vegetables at home regardless of space, skill or time. The objective is to remove barriers: make food accessible, tasty and reliably fresh so that people will choose it.
Finally, good food must taste good. Health messages alone are insufficient. That is why the next piece of work will focus on practical cooking and preparation techniques that make vegetables truly enjoyable. When vegetables taste great and are easy to grow at home, the hungry beast has nothing like the same pull.
