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The Magyar Diet part 2

So why is it that stockily built Hungarians who care nothing for their five-a-day veg and fruit, somehow manage to be fit and slim? Do they spend all day at the gym? Nope, though they do walk a lot.
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Are they constantly dieting? Hat nem! Which means, no way. Are they genetically gifted? I doubt it because being half-Hungarian hasn\’t saved me from a near-lifelong battle with my weight.
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I think one clue lies in the fact that the only time I ate a chocolate bar in a Budapest street, I felt seriously embarassed. The passers-by weren\’t staring at me exactly, they were too polite for that. But they were keeping an eye on me. It was as if they were saying to themselves \”What on earth is she doing? Why\’s she eating in the street? How very odd.\”
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And I realised, the way you do when you\’ve come to a fancy dress party that isn\’t, that nobody else was eating in the street. At all. Along with not seeing fat adults and not seeing fat children, I had not seen anyone walking along inhaling a sandwich or a pastry. Ever.
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In Cornwall, the streets are full of people gobbling down pasties as they go. Now I have nothing against pasties which I like very much, but it\’s undeniable that there are an awful lot more bubble-shaped people here than there.
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Rule no. 1, then, is: never ever eat in the street.

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