You know it, the husband of an aunt who was not a real aunt, but was also so part of the family that we called him uncle. He was from the raw food. Never cook anything. Never meat or fish. Skinny. Two meters long and thin as a nail.
Aunt had come to him later after the first “uncle” died very young. “He’s just doing it,” she laughed as he chewed raw carrots from his own garden again. Followed by: “Wash first, Raven, otherwise your teeth will wear from the sand!” As a child we loved to visit the allotment garden of Uncle Raven and Aunt Suiker (they were definitely not called that, but that was what they were called).
So we got white bread with butter and sugar from Aunt Suiker and strawberries from Uncle Raaf. He arrived with handfuls, and to our great surprise he said: I don’t like it raw. ” He cleaned them and then brought them to the boil with sugar and water. Oh, how long we had to wait. And when it had cooled down he scooped them out of the liquid on a rusk. Prake and sugar again. When he ate it, it creaked just as much as when he ate a carrot with sand.