i simply do not understand how ppl get any serious work done in a coffee shop, cafe, or any space that is constantly noisy, inconsistent, & unpredictable. conversations, espresso machine noise, music, ppl coming & going, random phone calls, god damn. every few minutes your brain gets context switched by something. lots of coffee shop work seems more like productivity larping than any real work. kudos to those who can actually pull it off. i need a real office where i can have my perfect environment setup where i don’t have to bring anything, move the mouse & i’m ready to go.

Whoever came up with the pronouns bs deserves a punch in the face. It’s the dumbest thing ever.

i deleted instagram about 5 years ago, so i had almost forgotten what it feels like to have it in your life watching people around me use it now feels strange you end up checking the daily lives of people you haven’t seen in ten years, people you probably wouldn’t even stop to talk to if you crossed them on the street. random people from your past become permanent background characters in your mind. then add the fact that a huge part of instagram is effectively a dating product if you’re already in a long-term relationship, keeping that constant stream of attention, comparison and other people’s lives in your head has destroyed countless couples after being off it for years, the whole thing looks much more extreme from the outside.

Nobody has ever given a full-throated sales pitch for a tin of sardines. Allow me. Twenty five grams of complete protein, every essential amino acid present. Two grams of EPA and DHA, the long chain omega 3 your brain and eyes are physically built out of, in the form your body actually uses. Nine micrograms of B12. That is 375 per cent of a day, out of a tin, for a pound. Selenium at nearly a full day's worth, which is what runs your thyroid and your own antioxidant enzymes. Vitamin D, which almost nothing else in that aisle contains at all. Iodine, phosphorus, iron, zinc, choline and CoQ10 on top. And 380mg of calcium, because you eat the bones. They soften in the tin until they crumble. Nobody fortifies anything, nobody tips in a sack of chalk, nobody prints a claim on the front. You are eating a whole animal. Bones, skin, organs, the lot. That is why the numbers look like that. The tin is lined steel, sealed, oxygen removed, and the environment inside it is more controlled than most kitchens you have eaten in happily and without incident. No preservatives. Canning is heat and the absence of air. Fresh against tinned shows no meaningful difference in the omega 3, because the fish was caught and sealed within hours. Now turn it over and read what it is packed in, because this is where they get you. Sunflower oil. Rapeseed. The word vegetable, doing a lot of work. You have bought two grams of the most fragile fat in the food supply and they have sat it in a bath of the stuff most likely to oxidise it. Olive oil on the label is not the answer either. Olive oil is the most frequently reported food fraud category in Europe, and what it gets cut with is sunflower, soybean and rapeseed, which means the premium tin can be the seed oil tin with better lettering. Buy them in spring water or in brine. If the only tins on the shelf are in oil, drain them properly and put your own butter on the toast. Mercury runs about 0.013 parts per million. Swordfish runs about 0.995. Small fish, short life, plankton diet, nothing has time to build up. Every scare story you have read about fish was written about something that eats the sardine. All of it, for about a quid. Which is exactly why you have never seen an advert for one. There is no margin in a sardine. Nobody can sell you a subscription to it, nobody can powder it, and no company alive wants to promote a food that already works and costs less than a bottle of water. The one time anybody did market it, they did not change the fish. Cornwall lived off these for five hundred years, salted them by the ton in stone cellars and shipped them to Italy and Spain by the barrel. Then the market died and pilchards on toast became a byword for having no money. By 1995 the Cornish fleet was landing seven tonnes a year, total. So a man in Newlyn ran some market research and found that pilchards made people think of tins, tomato sauce and school, while sardines made them think of beaches and sunshine. Same fish. Different word. He renamed them Cornish sardines in 1997. Landings went from seven tonnes to around seven thousand. Same fish, same boat, same net, new noun. The tin your gran was pitied for is on a chalkboard now for fourteen quid. It grew all of that in the North Atlantic and asked nobody for anything. Buy the tin.

Maybe a better chart

A43

shoutout to everyone rawdogging life. no alcohol, no weed, no psychedelics, no seed oils, no vapes, no peptides just steak, sunlight, water and the earth. you're a rare breed

⌚️ A fully native Telegram app for Apple Watch is out.

x wants local content now? cool here's my pastel de nata review: - pasteis de belem: tourist trap - manteigaria: the best. - any corner cafe: probably good, cheaper, no queue you're welcome