MealKitt premium portion controller (mealkitt.com, £34.99) is a unit of containers analogous to food groups, filled within strict constraints for every meal.
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, knowing his weight-loss plan permitted but 50% of one peck of peppers. The upshot is he’s dead now.
There are only two other Kitts I know of: the divine Eartha Kitt and the talking car from Knight Rider. The latter – a marginally more credible character than David Hasselhoff playing a detective – is possibly related to this one, because there is a bossiness to MealKitt. But not a charming one. Practically, it is a set of portion-controlling food scoops. Ideologically, it is the blueprint for a totalitarian diet: an iron-fisted, planned-economy jurisdiction that will crush you.
I have a lukewarm go on it, cooking courgette frittata with green salad. I have to count out half a green box of cherry tomatoes (about five) and measure out my dressing in a tiny yellow “liquid fats” thimble. I have to fit my wedge of frittata into a blue carbohydrate sizing box, which is the wrong shape. I hate it with my soul. Hate squashing food into sterile, rectilinear containers, hate this way of thinking about meals, where a crusted salmon bake is reduced to a gross of grains plus a quota of proteins. I hate the suppression of joy, the submission to an inflexible system. (If abandoning individual agency appeals, why not check out the rest of the range, including political traumas of the 20th century and synchronised swimming?)
MealKitt is simple to use, by turning mealtimes into a fascistic checklist, and has echoes of the phenomenally popular Joe Wicks SSS plan, which is genuinely what it’s called. I would rather line my stomach with pebbles. It is acceptable to embrace rationing if you live in a warzone or you are adrift on a raft. Otherwise, why bother? Learn to love vegetables more and eat as much of them as you want. That might sound hard, but better than eating austerely kids-menu sized meals for the rest of your days. Screw the green box. Eat the peach, don’t count it. Better to measure out your life in coffee spoons than blue cups of carbohydrate.
The cups look like tools a child might play with on the beach if, instead of sandcastles, they were erecting office blocks.
Counter, drawer, back of the cupboard?
Mausoleum in Red Square. 1/5