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  The Diet Doctor website, to which I subscribed on Clare’s recommendation, was a particularly key resource. Established in 2007, and originating from Sweden, it provided a platform for a group of clinicians who were keen to question and challenge public health advice regarding many aspects of nutrition. It gave me access to a raft of scientific research papers and video content, including studies and lectures by the brilliant Dr Jason Fung, a Canadian nephrologist with a special interest in diabetes and obesity who had treated thousands of patients. Dr Fung avidly promoted intermittent fasting as a method of losing weight. He believed that this was a way of tackling the underlying causes of many metabolic syndrome conditions linked to hyperinsulinaemia (whereby there was too much insulin in the blood relative to the level of glucose). He suggested that patients fasted for 24 hours, two or three times a week, or for 16 hours, five to six times per week, preferably having previously sought the advice of a physician.

  ‘Fasting is the simplest and surest method to force your body to burn sugar,’ he wrote in his acclaimed book, The Diabetes Code.

  Fasting is merely the flip side of eating: if you are not eating, you are fasting. When you eat, your body stores food energy; when you fast, your body burns food energy. And glucose is the most easily accessible source of food energy. Therefore, if you lengthen your periods of fasting, you can burn off the stored sugar. While it may sound severe, fasting is literally the oldest dietary therapy known and has been practiced throughout human history without problems.

  I was also nudged in the direction of Jeff Volek and Stephen Phinney, a pair of academics based at the University of Ohio whose seminal work, The Art and Science of Low Carbohydrate Living, I read from cover to cover. A highly technical publication aimed primarily at health professionals, it promised, by publishing the authors’ various findings and experiments, to explain how a low-carbohydrate diet could be suitable for long-term use. While it wasn’t the easiest of reads for a non-medic like myself, I was still able to extrapolate that, through diet, the human body could be changed at a cellular biology level. Importantly, the authors strongly suggested that general nutrition advice, as represented by the Eatwell Plate, was no longer fit for purpose. Instead, practitioners needed to relate such guidance to an individual’s unique physiology.

  What the book did, fundamentally, was reaffirm that there was a different, nonconformist pathway toward weight loss.

  ‘Seems you’re on your own, Tom,’ I remember thinking to myself, as it looked more likely than ever that I’d be contravening those official dietary guidelines.

  Dr Phinney also acted as a medical advisor for an organisation in the US, Virta Health. This commercial outfit helped to treat people with type 2 diabetes by putting them on a ketogenic diet, and by offering them advice and support. Virta Health’s research, which I read with interest, revealed a remarkable rate of T2D reversal among their patients, and suggested that ketogenic nutrition was indeed the crucial factor.

  During my Kennington Park power-walks (which, if I felt sprightly, occasionally broke into jogs), I liked to listen to the illuminating 2 Keto Dudes podcast. It featured a pair of middle-aged men, Richard Morris and Carl Franklin – from Australia and the United States respectively – who had become something of a podcasting phenomenon. Over the years, both had suffered with obesity-related health issues and metabolic syndrome disorders, and both had questioned the health and nutrition advice dished out by health authorities in their native countries. Separately, they’d embarked upon a ketogenic nutrition regime – the results had been remarkable, with regard to their weight loss and their general well-being – and, along their journeys, the two men’s paths had crossed on various social networks.

  Realising that they had a great deal in common, Morris and Franklin decided to join forces and set up their own podcast, its premise being to extol the virtues of their ketogenic lifestyle (a ‘hardcore version of the low-carb diet’, they called it) by outlining personal experiences and by offering pertinent advice. One week the chosen topic could be ‘Keto for Absolute Beginners’, and the following week it could be ‘Eating Fat to Satiety’. As well as sharing keto diet and recipe tips (they had an infectious passion for food) they also conducted fascinating interviews with an impressive array of scientists and clinicians, many of whom were swimming against the tide of standard nutritional guidelines. Biochemist Ivor Cummins and Harvard professor David Ludwig made a big impression on me when they discussed heart science and ketogenic research respectively, as did Peter Brukner, an author and sports medicine physician, who led an anti-sugar campaign in Australia.

  My podcast obsession led to the serendipitous discovery of other so-named ‘biohackers’. This fairly modern concept saw scientifically minded individuals choosing to fine-tune their own environment, or their own body, in order to improve their health and upgrade their day-to-day living. One such exponent was a Silicon Valley entrepreneur by the name of Dave Asprey. During his thirties, Asprey’s general health had taken a nosedive – he’d become clinically obese, with a litany of ailments that included chronic fatigue – and, since other diets had failed him, he’d researched and developed his own self-styled ‘Bulletproof Diet’. High in fat, medium in protein and low in carbohydrate, it focused upon quality rather than quantity (Asprey acquired his fat from avocado, butter and coconut oil, for example, and only ate meat from animals that had been grass-fed) and it aimed to trigger weight loss through ketosis.

  In 2014, having already lost nearly 100lb (45 kilos) on the diet, he decided to outline his credo in a book, The Bulletproof Diet, which led to an associated podcast, website and YouTube channel. It was his somewhat unconventional take on a hot beverage that really put him on the map, however. I remember listening to one of his podcasts in bed one night, utterly enthralled as this charismatic Californian outlined the ‘Bulletproof Coffee’ backstory. In 2004, during a mountain trek in Tibet, Asprey had found himself ascending to 18,000 feet above sea level and experiencing temperatures of -10°F. Battling severe fatigue and exhaustion, and feeling his energy levels tumbling, he’d staggered into a nearby travellers’ hut for shelter and sustenance. A friendly local had handed him what he described as ‘a creamy cup of yak’s butter tea’, which, by all accounts, was the staple drink for those who lived in this harsh, high-altitude environment. It proved to have an amazing effect upon him.

  ‘The drink instantly rejuvenated me,’ reflected Dave. ‘It was like a switch was flipped on in my brain and body.’

  He was intrigued as to why this concoction had such a positive effect – he’d felt invigorated, mentally and physically – and, as a result, he spent some time researching the restorative properties of yak’s butter (a fairly niche concept, let’s be honest). He then developed his own West Coast version, using fresh coffee beans instead of tea and substituting the Tibetan butter with grass-fed cows’ butter. For extra zing he then added some of his trademarked Brain Octane Oil into the mix – derived from coconut palm oil, it claimed to amplify energy and aid cognition – and Bulletproof Coffee was born. It soon caught on in California, and became something of a phenomenon in other Western countries.

  It all sounds a bit new-agey, I remember thinking, but if the science is sound, I must give it a go one day…

  Dave Asprey’s Bulletproof Radio podcasts were a turning point for me. I didn’t agree with everything his special guests said, but these interviews exposed me to people on the frontline of research, pioneers in their field, who were testing this very embryonic idea of effecting biological control upon the human body. I also identified with Dave’s nerdy, obsessional tendencies, and I couldn’t help but be inspired by the way he’d revolutionised his whole life through nutrition. He was, for me, a game-changer.

  My own attempt at biohacking (albeit entry-level) got under way in the first week of October, when I decided to fully embrace a ketogenic diet. From then on, I’d restrict starchy carbohydrates to no more than 5 per cent of my daily intake, sticking to around 20g per da
y. I would opt instead for protein-rich foods – so plenty of red meat, poultry, fish and dairy – in addition to low-sugar fruits and vegetables like blueberries and broccoli. In order to combat the pangs and cravings that came with sugar withdrawal, and to stop myself feeling hungry, I’d increase the amount of saturated fat in my diet (including butter, cheese and double cream). Alcohol would be strictly limited to the occasional glass of dry white wine or a vodka and soda.

  I remember sitting down and formulating a meal plan for the week (much of the recipes having been cribbed from 2 Keto Dudes) before heading off to Tesco with an extra-long shopping list. Into the trolley went lamb chops, salmon steaks, chicken thighs, leafy greens and mixed salad for my main dishes. Then, for desserts, I grabbed punnets of blackberries and raspberries (both had lower fructose levels compared with other fruit) as well as tubs of full-fat Greek yoghurt and double cream. For snacking, I stocked up on my favourite hard and soft cheeses, and threw in a few large bags of unsalted walnuts and macadamia nuts.

  I blanked out any thoughts of sugary snacks, fizzy drinks and processed food, bypassing the aisles that would’ve usually been my first port of call, and ignoring the empty calories that used to form the basis of my former diet. Indeed, for the first time in ages I genuinely enjoyed doing the ‘big shop’. I had always seen it as a time-sapping chore, a mere trolley-dash, but this time around I found myself scrutinising labels and squeezing produce instead of mindlessly plucking the same old items from oft-visited shelves.

  Admittedly, my total spend at the till was marginally more expensive than normal, but I reckoned that my new keto regime would save me money in the long term. By ditching sugary snacks and junk food, and by cooking from scratch at home instead of relying on convenience meals (many of which went to waste), I was pretty sure that, in real terms, I’d be able to reduce my monthly outlay.

  I logged the first day on my ketogenic-style diet on Monday 9 October 2017. For breakfast, I ate a two-egg omelette, with two rashers of fried bacon cooked in butter on a low heat. Lunch comprised scrambled egg, again with two rashers of bacon (I still couldn’t quite believe that two of my favourite foodstuffs were part of a ‘diet’). My snack quota comprised a small handful of nuts and, when I felt a serious hunger pang, a few blackberries with double cream.

  Later that day I went out for dinner with my friends, Lord Roy Kennedy and his wife, Baroness Alicia Kennedy, at the Kennington Tandoori, an eatery popular with MPs and Westminster folk and notable for its wall-to-wall photos of politicians. That particular evening I eschewed my regular order of chicken dhansak, tarka dhal and peshwari naan, instead opting for tandoori chicken and a small serving of saag paneer (a tasty dish of Indian cheese with spinach puree).

  ‘So you’re telling me that you can’t even have a naan on this plan of yours?’ asked Roy as he tore off a strip of bread, using it to wipe the curry sauce off his plate. ‘With your appetite, how on earth are you going to cope?’

  ‘Well, let’s just see how it goes, eh?’ I said, with a shrug, as a devilish voice dared me to lean over the table and grab what remained of Roy’s naan. My fingers were twitching, and my resolve was wavering, but somehow I resisted the urge.

  As my first day on keto came to a close, my stomach felt pleasantly full. I hadn’t suffered any energy slumps – so no falling asleep on the sofa once I’d returned from the restaurant – and had genuinely enjoyed the food I’d eaten. The MyFitnessPal log showed that I’d consumed a total of 2,330 calories, with a macronutrient breakdown of 5 per cent carbohydrates, 72 per cent fat and 23 per cent protein. Even though I’d kept those carbs nice and low, the macro balance was pretty challenging for me to look at, since it seriously contradicted the government’s Eatwell guidelines.

  A whole week went by, and not once did I deviate from my plan. I spent much more time cooking for myself at home, and preparing my own packed lunches, although the number of serviceable recipe books had diminished. Many of the Italian-themed titles had to be given away – the prevalence of pasta, pizza and risotto severely limited my options – and the same applied to all my rice-and-noodle-heavy Chinese cookbooks. I instead turned to online recipes for ideas and inspiration (notably the 2 Keto Dudes’ menu planners) and also bought a copy of the wonderful Ginger Pig Meat Book, by Tim Wilson and Fran Warde. With these resources to hand, I was able to prepare an appetising repertoire of meals from scratch that included crispy pork belly with pork scratchings and steamed runner beans; fried halloumi cheese with avocado and buttered spinach; pan-fried salmon with broccoli and cauliflower and slow-roast chilli beef with a leafy green salad.

  On days four, five and six I did experience some cravings, however – I surmised it was my body demanding a sugar fix – yet I always managed, somehow, to quell the hunger pangs by gulping down a big dollop of thick double cream. I would be lying, though, if I said this felt like a normal thing to do. Despite my being well-versed in ketogenic nutrition, and its core principles of satiation through fat, the act of glugging double cream to relieve my appetite just seemed, well… a little weird. Part of me still needed convincing that this was actually going to work.

  Keep the faith, Tom, I said to myself. Believe in the science, and see it through…

  Around the same time, I also suffered mild symptoms of what is commonly termed ‘keto flu’, characterised by a certain feverishness, grogginess and tiredness in the wake of serious sugar and carb withdrawal. It was short-lived, thankfully, and by the beginning of Keto Week Two I was waking up feeling absolutely bloody brilliant. It was remarkable, really. The general malaise that used to greet me when my alarm went off – aching joints, sore back, banging head, breathlessness – simply disappeared, and I instead sprang out of my bed feeling so much brighter, sharper and happier. My quality of sleep improved massively (I didn’t have to make any early-hours trips to the loo; previously it had been two pees per night) and my digestive system seemed much better, with my increased vegetable intake ‘keeping me regular’, as they say.

  And, more to the point, I wasn’t hungry any more. No pangs, no cravings, no rumbling stomach. I could barely believe this was happening to me.

  With the rest of my eating programme going swimmingly, the time soon came to give Dave Asprey’s Bulletproof Coffee a whirl. I was keen to decide for myself whether this newfangled hot drink was a hipster fad or a restorative elixir, and used the Bulletproof website as my guide.

  1) Firstly, I brewed enough coffee for one cup, using freshly ground beans (I bought some Monmouth Coffee, the espresso blend; I thought I’d treat myself to some quality stuff, seeing as I was denying myself alcohol).

  2) Then, I allowed it to cool for a minute or so (being destined for the liquidiser, it couldn’t be boiling hot).

  3) I added one teaspoon of Ketosource MCT oil, which I bought online (it’s pretty potent stuff, so I started with one teaspoon per cup, and worked my way up to one to two tablespoons over several days).

  4) Into the mix went two tablespoons of unsalted butter (grass-fed is best, according to Dave). I remember chuckling to myself and thinking I can’t believe I’m doing this as I stirred it in.

  5) I poured the mixture into a blender and pulsed it for thirty seconds, until it looked foamy…

  6) …and then I drank it.

  I was, as it happened, pleasantly surprised. The drink was more than palatable and tasted remarkably creamy, like a caffè latte, and didn’t have the greasy aftertaste that I’d expected. The first few days on Bulletproof Coffee didn’t have a discernible effect upon me, though, and there came a point when I wondered whether I’d actually experience the clarity and vitality that had so transformed Dave Asprey. However, within a week or two I certainly began to feel the benefit. With this turbocharged coffee coursing through my system – in tandem with my fresh new diet plan and my blossoming exercise regime – I felt pumped up with energy, both mentally and physically. It was as though I had more petrol in the tank. At work, for instance, whenever I trawled through reports and bri
efings, I seemed better able to absorb data and information. If I held committee meetings in parliament, or delivered speeches at conferences, I felt somehow more articulate and quick-witted.

  Back at home – especially when I had my son and daughter in tow – I felt increasingly alert and attentive. More than ever before, I found myself talking with the children about music and sport, and what they’d done at school, and I was no longer falling asleep during our bedtime storytelling. There were fewer distracted thoughts buzzing around my head – my concentration span had lengthened – and there was less twitchiness to reach for my mobile or my laptop. Indeed, for years Saoirse had mimicked my constant phone use (whenever I was deep in conversation, she’d extend her thumb and little finger, holding them to her ear) but she soon noticed the difference in my behaviour.

  ‘Daddy, thank you for not being on the phone so much any more,’ she announced one day, completely blindsiding me and causing my bottom lip to wobble. This newfound lucidity made me realise just how bleary and foggy-headed I must have been in my kids’ company. It also made me regret that, for their sake, I’d not implemented these lifestyle changes sooner.

  Bulletproof Coffee promptly became an integral part of my early-morning routine, two or three times a week. I would get out of bed, head to the bathroom, step on the scales, log my measurements, go downstairs, grind the coffee, put the pot on the stove, add the butter and MCT oil, let it percolate for five minutes, have a shower in the meantime and then return to the kitchen to crank up the blender. I enjoyed the ritualistic, almost ceremonial element; it helped me reinforce the idea that I was embedding positive habits, and that I was diligently reorganising my life. It helped me to practise a certain mindfulness, too; the mere act of making this enriching cup of coffee gave me a sense of being ‘in the moment’, and allowed me to feel that I was doing something purposeful to aid my well-being.