Bryan is a wonderful friend, but a dreadful companion. His presence at any dinner table guarantees one of two things: either the meal will be interrupted by a lecture on seed oils, or it will not happen at all, because he has decided to fast. What began as a respectable scepticism toward mass-produced food has, over the years, hardened into something more like war. The list of what Bryan will not eat now includes margarine, bread, lentils, oats, coffee, tap water, and (I kid you not) almost every available variety of fruit. The day is fast approaching when he will subsist solely on raw liver and filtered rainwater—though only if the filter is made of volcanic glass and imported from a country not engaged in currency debasement.
His latest target is sucralose, the artificial sweetener used in Sainsbury’s new blackcurrant squash. In his typically scorching style, Bryan denounces it as “poison with a smile.” I admire his vigour. But I do not think he is right.
Let us begin with the basics. Sucralose is a synthetic sweetener derived from sucrose (table sugar) by replacing three hydroxyl groups with chlorine atoms. It is 600 times sweeter than sugar and is not metabolised by the body—meaning it contributes virtually no calories. Because of this, it has become a staple in “diet” and “zero” beverages, especially among those trying to reduce sugar intake or manage diabetes.
Now, it is true that sucralose has been subject to criticism. Some animal studies have suggested it might disrupt gut bacteria. Others raise concerns about chlorinated compounds and long-term metabolic effects. But these studies typically involve massive doses—amounts far in excess of what any human would consume. According to EFSA and the FDA, sucralose is safe for daily consumption up to 5 mg/kg of body weight. That would allow an 80 kg man to safely consume the equivalent of more than 15 litres of sucralose-sweetened squash per day. Bryan drinks none. I drink one glass at lunch. Neither of us is in danger.
As with most modern health scares, the risks are real only in extremes. And, in this regard, Bryan’s argument falters. He treats sucralose not as a modern ingredient to be used cautiously, but as a synthetic affront. This is romantic, but it is not rational. If our standard for safety becomes “absolutely no chemical modification,” we must also avoid vitamin supplements and the purified drinking water Bryan so cherishes.
Bryan suspects artificial sweeteners are evidence of cost-cutting. However, sucralose is not especially cheap. The reformulation of squash has more to do with government pressure than cost-cutting. Supermarkets are complying with Britain’s soft drinks sugar tax regime and various nudge strategies aimed at lowering national calorie intake. The motives may be officious and nannying, but they are not conspiratorial. Indeed, many of the same bureaucrats who promote low-sugar diets also fear artificial sweeteners. The policy is muddled, not malicious.
Let me return to Bryan’s personal habits, which are either heroic or lunatic depending on your view of risk. He will not eat commercial bread because of “seed oil contamination.” He will not drink orange juice because it “spikes insulin.” His preferred snacks—when he deigns to eat them—are beef heart, kefir, and half-raw eggs. This is admirable in its way. But it makes conversation difficult.
The problem is not just the extremity of Bryan’s views, but their rhetorical inflation. When he writes that sucralose “corrupts the microbiome,” one imagines a metabolic apocalypse. When he calls it “neurotoxic,” one expects seizures. In truth, sucralose is used safely by millions of people every day. And while moderation is always wise, the idea that a glass of squash is a form of dietary suicide is unhelpful. It spreads fear rather than knowledge.
Bryan has taught me much about food, health, and the industrial poisons masquerading as nourishment in today’s supermarkets. His instincts are often right: the modern food supply is corrupted, corporate incentives are misaligned, and working-class people are often the first to suffer from nutritional policy changes. But not every modern additive is poison, and not every change is malice. Sometimes, a calorie-free sweetener is just a calorie-free sweetener.
So I will go on drinking my squash—modestly, with water—and I will let Bryan drink whatever he likes. But I do hope he’ll eat something solid soon. I fear his next article will be written on an empty stomach, and that is the one toxin none of us can afford.
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It seems to me that sucralose is the only artificial sweetener that doesn’t come with a nasty aftertaste. On that basis, I’ll continue to take the risk.
I note a split infinitive in this article. Please avoid in future.