Latest news with #Fat
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Business Standard
13-05-2025
- Health
- Business Standard
Just 5 minutes of junk food ads can make children eat 130 calories more
Hey parents, here's something you probably suspected—but now science backs it up: kids don't just watch ads, they absorb them. And when those ads are about burgers, chips, or sugary drinks, it can actually make them eat more. A new study titled Effects of Exposure to High Fat, Salt and Sugar (HFSS) Food and Brand Advertisements on Children's Food Intake, led by researchers from the University of Liverpool, found that just five minutes of junk food advertising led children to consume an extra 130 calories that day. That's about the same as two slices of white bread—and it adds up fast. How was the study conducted? Presented at the ongoing European Congress on Obesity in Málaga, Spain, the study involved 240 children aged 7 to 15 from schools in Merseyside, UK. On two occasions, they were shown a five-minute sequence of junk food ads or non-food ads. Afterward, they were offered snacks like grapes or chocolate buttons, followed by a lunch with sweet, savoury, and healthy items. Results showed that compared to when they saw non-food ads, the children ate 58 more calories during snack time and 73 more at lunch. Surprisingly, this happened even when the ads didn't show specific food, but only branding—logos, colours, music, and slogans. How do brand-only food ads affect children? According to a report by The Guardian, Professor Emma Boyland, the study's lead author, said this is the first research to show that brand-only advertising can still increase food intake. These ads tap into emotional responses—think jingles, bright colours, and fun vibes—that influence behaviour on a subconscious level. And because kids are still developing critical thinking skills, they don't fully grasp that ads are crafted to manipulate them. To them, it just feels fun, familiar, and comforting—often triggering a desire to snack, even without hunger. Where are children exposed to junk food ads? Everywhere. This is not just about television commercials anymore. Ads appear across YouTube, social media platforms, gaming apps, and billboards—reaching kids throughout the day, whether they're online or not. Is childhood obesity really a serious health concern? Absolutely. Childhood obesity is no longer dismissed as 'baby fat.' It's a major public health concern linked to: Type 2 diabetes High blood pressure Joint problems Low self-esteem, bullying, and depression According to The Guardian, starting October 2025, the UK plans to ban junk food ads on TV before 9 pm and restrict them online. But loopholes remain. Katharine Jenner, Director of the Obesity Health Alliance, warned that brand-only ads will still be allowed on billboards, in podcasts, and at public transport stops. 'If the government is serious about ending junk food advertising to children,' she said, 'they must close the loopholes.' What can parents and communities do now? While we wait for tighter policies, here are a few steps parents can take: Limit screen time and monitor content Encourage outdoor play and regular exercise Offer balanced, home-cooked meals Teach kids about food and nutrition in engaging, age-appropriate ways Support school and community efforts that promote healthy choices The study underscores a critical point: preventing childhood obesity isn't just about what's on the plate—it's also about what children are exposed to, influenced by, and taught to desire.
Yahoo
01-05-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Fat Brands promotes Taylor Wiederhorn to co-CEO
This story was originally published on Restaurant Dive. To receive daily news and insights, subscribe to our free daily Restaurant Dive newsletter. Taylor Wiederhorn, son of Fat Brands founder and former CEO Andrew Wiederhorn, has been promoted from chief development officer to co-CEO, effective April 29, the restaurant company announced Tuesday. He will serve alongside Ken Kuick, Fat's CFO and co-CEO since mid-2023. Kuick is also interim CEO at Twin Hospitality. Rob Rosen, who was appointed co-CEO alongside Kuick after Andrew Wiederhorn's 2023 resignation, will shift to a consulting position focused on debt/capital markets for the company. This co-CEO change puts another Wiederhorn in charge of Fat again, less than a year after Andrew Wiederhorn was indicted over an alleged $47 million fraudulent loan scheme and for possessing a firearm as a convicted felon. Taylor Wiederhorn, who has worked as chief development officer at Fat Brands since 2017, according to his LinkedIn profile, said in a statement that he was confident his background would ensure a seamless leadership transition. Fat managed to open significant numbers of new units in recent years through franchised unit development, though its development has slowed since 2022. Fat opened 142 new stores in 2022, followed by 125 in 2023 and 92 in 2024, according to respective earnings releases. The multi-brand platform is in the process of refranchising company-owned Fazoli's units and plans to refranchise its Hot Dog on a Stick locations, according to its Q4 2024 earnings release. Combined with the spinoff of Twin Peaks, these moves would shift Fat's store system to being almost 100% franchisee-operated. Like many competitors, Fat has suffered from declining same-store sales, with that metric falling 2.5% in fiscal 2024 and 1.6% in Q4. Systemwide sales increased in Q4, however, driven by the scale of Fat's new openings. But the company's net losses more than doubled from $90.1 million in 2023to $189.8 million in 2024. Recommended Reading Feds indict Andrew Wiederhorn, Fat Brands in $47M loan scheme Sign in to access your portfolio
Hindustan Times
24-04-2025
- Health
- Hindustan Times
What is Mounjaro? UK man shares the ‘astounding' result of the weight loss drug
For Gordon, who shares his fitness journey on YouTube under the name 'Fat Old Climber,' the struggle with weight has been a long and frustrating one. Like many others, he spent over a decade trying various ways to manage his weight, especially after hitting an all-time high of just over 23 stone during the pandemic. At the end of last year, feeling like he was at his 'wits' end,' Gordon found an appetite suppressant medication and eventually came across Mounjaro, also known as Tirzepatide. After some research, he found a private supplier offering the drug in the UK and decided to give it a try. ALSO READ| FDA phasing out 8 dyes: What are the side effects of red dye 40, yellow dye 5? Mounjaro is a new injectable medication, which recently became available on the NHS for patients living with obesity or obesity related health issues, that mimics natural hormones that control appetite and blood sugar levels. It stops people from being hungry more quickly and eliminates the cravings for food. 'I found within one day my focus on eating had gone,' he said in the video. 'I wasn't hungry when I would normally have been hungry, I wasn't thinking about food all the time.' The part-time YouTuber lost nine pounds in the first week and another seven in the second. He began thinking of food as 'fuel' and made a conscious effort to nourish his body without giving in to constant snacking. 'It didn't only work quickly, but it worked well,' Gordon shared. In three months, he's dropped 45 pounds — about 15 percent of his total body weight — and lost seven-and-a-half inches around his waist. ALSO READ| Visa Waiver Program: 41 countries get 90-day US entry without visa – Full List He noted some dry mouth on injection days and constipation when he increased the dosage. But he hasn't experienced any major issues. 'I'm not having to work on it,' he explained, 'if anything, I'm having to focus on eating to make sure I have energy.' Gordon says shedding the extra weight has 'dramatically impacted his ability' to climb, a sport he deeply loves. 'I also feel better generally,' he added.
Boston Globe
20-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Nell Zink's new novel is full of talk but ultimately doesn't say much
Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up Radi presumes that both Nicole and Avianca are prostitutes and begins plying them with drinks in the hotel lounge, while Demian, forgoing any parental reaction to his daughter's situation, heads to the conference room with Toto and Livia for the award presentation. 'Sister Europe' makes clear early on that there will be no real consequences for anything that occurs, so the stakes are vanishingly low as the group progresses from the award's ceremony to dinner, which Radi and Nicole have in private, to a walk through the park and an implausible conclusion at Livia's home. Advertisement It's hard not to feel for Nicole, who wrestles with intense and unfamiliar feelings among these largely insensate and predatory adults. Though Radi, who deadnames and mocks Nicole while trying to sleep with her, is a privileged cad, Toto is the complete aggravating package, both bigoted and vacuous. He loves that German women don't 'have a word for 'one-night stand,' 'hookup,' or even 'mistake,'' because it's easier to have meaningless sex with the 20-something 'child brides' he fancies. He informs Demian that his daughter is 'not quite ready for prime time' but if Radi 'turns her gay, [his] nightmare would be over.' He asserts that 'Communists are the only people on the planet who care about literature,' drolly quips that 'beef is trans' because 'they castrate them and put estrogen in the feed,' and observes that 'before they got burger joints in Germany, it was No Fat Chicks country.' Related : Advertisement It's hard to pinpoint the novel's intended audience, though Zink, who grew up in Virginia before settling in Germany in 2000, seems to aim for both sides of the Atlantic as texted conversations in German are parenthetically translated to English and one of Livia's ex-husbands is described as 'pushing two meters at six foot six.' And while some of the group detours to Burger King at one point, most of the novel's touchstones are far more elevated, with shoutouts to 'Thorstein Veblen's concept of pecuniary respectability' and the closing sentence of Claude Lévi-Strauss's 'Tristes Tropique.' The narrative has baffling moments, as when we check in with the dog: 'Fisti, although barefoot, was almost entirely covered with hair, and no one present knew what he was feeling.' As the evening wears on, the prose overheats, reaching its apex perhaps when Radi feels 'an arrow of soon-to-be-attempted friendship launch toward Demian from the center of his heart.' Advertisement Characters in 'Sister Europe' express anti-Muslim and anti-trans sentiments, joke about refugees in tents, and have myopic discussions about everything from Ukraine to dating apps to Nazism. None of these issues are treated with any real perspicacity, which feels entirely realistic, and it's easy to imagine the novel being set in Washington, D.C., or London or any one of scores of other locations. But while fiction does not need to teach a lesson or even make a point, satire — which presumably this novel is aiming for — is more effective leavened with humor or drama, both of which are in short supply here. Perhaps Demian offers the best summation of 'Sister Europe' near its conclusion, when he says, 'The evening was beginning to assume mythical dimensions in his mind as one of the most irretrievably stupid nights of his life.' SISTER EUROPE By Nell Zink Knopf, 208 pages, $28 Advertisement Cory Oldweiler is a freelance writer.
Atlantic
08-03-2025
- General
- Atlantic
Kosher Salt Is Actually Just Big Salt
When I was a child, in the 1990s, there was only one kind of salt; we called it 'salt.' It came in a blue cylindrical container—you probably know the one—and we dumped it into pasta water and decanted it into shakers. I didn't know that any other kind existed, and the women who taught me to cook didn't seem to, either: Joy of Cooking, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and Moosewood Cookbook all call, simply, for 'salt' in their recipes. But about a decade ago, I started buying coarse kosher salt instead of the fine, uniform, iodized table salt I'd grown up with. I do not remember why. As my friends grew up and started building their own pantries, many of them also made kosher salt their default. These days, The New York Times calls explicitly for kosher salt in nearly all of its recipes, as does Bon Appétit. Two of the most influential cookbooks of the past decade, The Food Lab, by J. Kenji López-Alt, and Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, by Samin Nosrat, both devote paragraphs to the benefits of kosher over table salt. It is now 'the lingua franca of restaurant kitchens'—as Mark Bitterman, who has written four books about cooking with salt, put it—and a cheffy shibboleth in home kitchens, too. You can find Diamond Crystal, the coolest brand, in the background of the famously verisimilitudinous restaurant show The Bear, and on cooking influencers' beautiful countertops; in 2023, when Trader Joe's started carrying it, chef Reddit exploded in enthusiastic all caps. Pretty much everyone eats salt, every day, and it's different now. Yet even kosher salt's most fervent converts may not entirely understand how it's different. Kosher salt, like all salt, is NaCl—sodium ions electrostatically bound with chloride ions and arranged in a crystal formation. Unlike certain specialty salts, it doesn't have unique properties by virtue of its provenance; it's not collected from the coast of France or mined from a mountain in Pakistan. Kosher salt is just big salt. It's also more expensive than table salt. You might assume that this is because it has been manufactured according to a stringent set of religious rules. But much iodized table salt is kosher—that is, prepared in adherence with Jewish dietary law—and what we call 'kosher salt' isn't categorically kosher: If you're feeling pedantic, the right term would be 'koshering salt,' because its oversize, craggy crystals are best for drawing the blood out of animals during kosher slaughter. America's great salt swap began in the 1980s, when farmers'-market culture and the health-food movement helped American chefs acquaint themselves with specialty ingredients, Bitterman told me: Himalayan pink salt; 'bad-ass, real good' fleur de sel from France. But by and large, chefs settled on kosher as their go-to. They did this for a reason so unbelievably basic that I laughed out loud when I first heard it: Kosher salt is easier to pick up. 'Table salt is too hard to pinch,' Adam Ragusea, a food YouTuber, told me. 'I mean, just try it. Anyone who's reading, just try it. Just pick it up … It's a pain in the ass, and it's messy.' Kosher salt is simply better for the way chefs tend to season their food, which is frequently, and without measuring, by eye and by feel. No one wants to be fiddling with a teaspoon on the line at a busy restaurant during the dinner rush. 'You can really feel it sort of touching your fingers, and leaving your fingers,' Chris Morocco, the food director at Bon Appétit and Epicurious, told me, whereas finer salt 'has a tendency to want to slip away.' Kosher salt's migration to home kitchens started in the late '90s, when the Food Network became a cultural force. Its big crystals suddenly had an added benefit: They look great being pinched out of a saltcellar and flung around on television, or at least better than table salt does being juddered out of a shaker. (Ina Garten, one of the network's early celebrities, has described Diamond Crystal kosher salt as 'always perfect.') As television turned chefs into celebrities, their fans began trying to emulate them at home. At the same time, recipes, like the rest of media, were moving online, and their tone was changing. Older cookbooks, Morocco told me, assumed a lot of knowledge on the part of their readers: 'Recipe language was very terse. They were not really holding your hand too much.' Online, recipe writers had unlimited space, a broader potential audience, and a business imperative to build a relationship with their readers. So their guidance became chattier and more descriptive, designed for a home cook who was eager to learn—and who could hold recipe developers more immediately accountable, yelling about bland soup or bad bakes in the comments section. 'Salt to taste,' which had for decades been a standard instruction in most savory recipes, gave way to specific measurements. But different salts have different densities, meaning a teaspoon of one brand can be recipe-ruiningly saltier than that of another. So recipe developers needed to be able to recommend a standard salt. Being chefs, they already liked kosher. In 2011, Bon Appétit, which was then becoming a major resource for Millennials teaching themselves how to cook, adopted Diamond Crystal as its house salt. This is all a little funny. Restaurant chefs started using kosher precisely because it was easy to use without measuring—now home cooks are measuring it out by the teaspoon. And a movement that espoused seeking the ideal ingredients for every dish resulted in widespread adoption of a one-size-fits-all salt. In doing so, modern cooking has inadvertently all but abandoned one of the most significant public-health advances in history. A few years ago, a 6-year-old girl showed up at a medical clinic in Providence, Rhode Island, her neck so swollen that it looked like she'd swallowed a grapefruit whole. After a series of tests, doctors figured it out: She was iodine-deficient. Her thyroid—the butterfly-shaped gland that is responsible for just about everything the body does, and which requires iodine to function—had swelled in an attempt to capture any microgram of iodine it could from her bloodstream. For centuries, thyroid dysfunction was endemic; millions of people around the world suffered from slow heartbeats, weakness, muscle fatigue, sluggish metabolism, and brain fog. When, in 1924, American manufacturers introduced artificially iodized salts, it was a miracle, right there on the shelf in the grocery store. Within a few years, the thyroids of the developed world were working again. Recently, however, doctors have started reporting more cases of iodine-deficient hypothyroidism—and our salt preferences may be at least partially to blame. Kosher salt, as you have probably guessed, does not contain iodine. Neither do most ultraprocessed foods, the main vehicle by which most people in this not-exactly-sodium-deficient country take in salt. Iodine deficiency can be serious, but is eminently treatable. (Pregnant women should be particularly attentive to their iodine levels, the UCLA endocrinologist Angela Leung told me, because deficiency can result in birth defects.) The 21st-century rise in hypothyroidism might therefore be less a cause for alarm than a chance to rethink our contemporary salt orthodoxy. Kosher's dominance, to hear Bitterman tell it, 'doesn't come out of magic or merit—it's cookbook writers and chef culture, a weird confluence of circumstances brainwashing everyone at the same time.' What's great for chefs may not be great for home cooks. Kosher salt isn't inherently better, and in some cases may be worse. I've now spent hours on the phone with salt connoisseurs—at one point, Bitterman earnestly described a certain type as 'luscious' and 'warm'—and have come around to the view that we should all be more open to using different salts for different purposes, in the same way that well-outfitted cooks might keep different types of olive oil on hand. Flaky fleur de sel is great for finishing dishes; flavored salt is perfect on popcorn. And for everyday cooking, iodized table salt is just as good as kosher—preferable, even, if you're worried about your iodine levels. Sure, all the recipes now call for kosher salt, but a solution exists: Ignore the instructions and season intuitively. Like a real chef would.
