For James Beard Semifinialist Daniel Garwood, mental health advocacy isn’t a tall order

Care à la carte.

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Elyssa Goodman

Feb 21, 2025

By Elyssa Goodman

February 21, 2025

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Photo credit: Lucia Bell-Epstein – Interior of ACRU in New York City.

At 10 o’clock in the morning last month, Chef Daniel Garwood’s phone started ringing. Congratulations came through the other end of the line: he had just been named a James Beard Award Semifinalist for Emerging Chef for his work at ACRU in New York’s West Village, where he is Executive Chef. At just 30, Garwood moved to the U.S. under three years ago, having worked in high-end, award-winning kitchens around the world. ACRU’s inventive menu features Garwood’s influences from his native Australia as well as Korea, Scandinavia, Europe, and the U.S., all with a bent toward sustainability–it is, for example, one of the few places in the U.S. to use dairy cow meat, and a majority of menu ingredients are locally sourced.

Accolades like the Semifinalist designation from the James Beard Awards, among the most distinguished awards in the U.S. for culinary arts and media, are important to so many chefs. For Garwood it’s also important because of his dedication to mental health advocacy in the hospitality industry. “I thought if I move to the U.S. and I keep working hard, do get accolades and a bit of prestige, that maybe that could add to how I talk about mental health,” he said. “If you are respected and you do have prestige, I think it’s quite easier to talk about these things, to hit a wider audience.”

As discussions about mental health expand across culture, the hospitality industry has become no exception, particularly during and after the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s an industry known for its long, sometimes uncertain hours, physically taxing work, and constant pressure. Garwood knows it all well. “A lot of the jobs I’ve worked at, especially early in my career, were about 110 hours a week, or something like, 16-18 hour days, and you’re just tired,” he says. Leaving a job like that, even for a short while, can sometimes prove just as difficult. Working those hours and then stopping makes some people feel unbalanced. “When you’re in such a high, intense environment, and then you come off, a lot of these guys end up turning to alcohol, drugs, or anything, just to calm them down or stop them or keep going,” he says. He’s witnessed it first hand, having lost friends in the industry to suicide.

One of the ways Garwood sought to bring awareness to mental health with food was through his pop-up dinner series Oralis. First created in Seoul, South Korea in February 2021, it also became the book Oralis: A Conversation on Food and Mental Health later that year, both created with his wife Sooky An. Having seen suicides double in Seoul while working there, Garwood created the series in partnership with suicide prevention service and crisis support network LifeLine Korea.

ACRU Executive Chef Daniel Garwood Lucia Bell-Epstein

Each course of the meal was prepared to reflect a different aspect of mental health. For example, a Camouflage Tart snack (“Crisps made from incredible Korean herbs and spices: dangui, nuruk powder, leek ash, and anise hyssop (Korean mint) hiding away in the moss encasing an emulsion from fermented pea paste, pickles from last season, and mackerel from Jeju,” as chronicled in Oralis) opened the dinner, to discuss presenting a persona that’s the opposite of one’s true feelings and thereby causing oneself pain. A dish called “Enter the Void,” followed. Served in a vertical dish, it featured squid, hot sauce, clams, and scallop custard and represented the need to engage with people on a deeper level.

The pop-up was received, by Garwood’s own description, as controversial and intense, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to blend food and mental health in the future. The accolades, he says, may help. Now, at ACRU, he does it on a person-to-person level with his staff and hopes to re-engage with it on a menu in the future. With ACRU General Manager Ambrose Chiang, who is also Australian, Garwood hopes to bring what he calls an Australian-inspired family culture to the restaurant. “Even if you’ve got your neighbor, he’s your mate; if something’s gonna happen, you’re gonna take care of him, you’re gonna help him out because he’s your mate,” he says. “We’re all essentially mates here. I think that builds a really strong culture, because then you always want to help each other work together. There’s no difference between front of house and back of house because they’re your mate.”

Place setting at ACRU Lucia Bell-Epstein

It’s important to Garwood to check in regularly with his staff, have conversations about goals and happiness. “I always ask them, pull them aside. Are you okay? Are you happy? It’s totally fine not to be if someone says they’re not. I’m gonna ask why. Just talk me through it. [I] try and keep it as casual as possible and not this really intense thing. As long as we keep doing that, that’s something,” he says. He remembers the feeling of working in Denmark, where there’s a dedication to the concept of hygge, of feeling cozy and comfortable–it’s something he wants for his staff as well. “I think that’s an important thing to translate here and into other workplaces…as long as people keep talking, I can get the information to see if they’re okay, at least make sure they’re all right.”

It’s also important to Garwood that the staff at ACRU have not just family meal together, but a communal experience. “A lot of restaurants will just set a buffet or set something like that. We kind of force a situation where we’ll pull all the tables and everything together, and then we pull a lot of effort into making really nice meals, [nice] plates, and everything,” he says. They use the same dishes and cutlery the restaurant’s guests use. “Essentially, this is your home, this is our culture here. You want this to feel like you’re at a mate’s place, or you have mates over at your place. I think it’s really important to sit there, share and discuss and really relax.”

Garwood wants to show there’s another way hospitality can work and hopes other restaurants catch on. “I also pretty firmly believe in, just lead by example,” he says. “We’ll just keep doing our thing here.”

ACRU General Manager Ambrose Chiang and Executive Chef Daniel Garwood Lucia Bell-Epstein

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Photo credit: Canva – A man with fast reflexes.

Culture, Internet

Italian man claims to be ‘human cheetah’ with lightning-fast reflexes

“I blinked and I missed it”

Mark Wales

4/29/2026

At first glance, this probably looks like a camera trick. Ken Lee, an Italian content creator, has built a massive online following by doing something that doesn’t quite feel real. Viewers refer to him as the “human cheetah” because it appears he has near-instant reflexes.

Grabbing objects out of the air with uncanny precision, flicking clothespins and lighters, and throwing a blur of punches and kicks at impossible speeds, it is easy to call him unbelievable. Half the audience thinks his viral speed videos are fake. The other half is just as convinced they are watching something incredibly rare.

Hands so fast they blur time

In the video above, a timer runs to confirm its authenticity. In what looks like half a second, he reaches out and snags the lighter from the table. To prove it is real, he does it twice.

Having amassed millions of followers on his TikTok page, the identity behind the mysterious influencer remains largely unknown. Active since around 2022, with almost 100 million accumulated likes, Lee has cultivated a fandom around his self-proclaimed “Superhero per Hobby!”

Do you believe it is real? Is this person the fastest human alive? Many followers cannot wait for the next video to be posted. Plenty of his fervent fans are Italian, so sifting through the remarks takes a bit of hunting. Here are some comments that sum up how much people enjoy the fun and the spectacle:

“Ken lee the fastest and the best”

“Most dangerous human”

“Is this what the lighter sees before my homie steals it”

“It was sped up during he grabbed the lighter, if u count up with the timer u would be off by like 0,5 seconds whenever he grabs the lighter.”

“If the flash were human”

“How is it possible to get such powers ?”

“I blinked and I missed it”

People love good entertainment

The awe of peak performance attracts people to watch elite athletes, musicians, or even dancers. There is something that deeply satisfies all of us when a human appears to push a skill to its limit. Whether it is real or fake seems to matter less than the opportunity to chime in on some good entertainment.

How far could any of us go by practicing and repeating a particular motion over and over until it is mastered? Beneath the flashy nickname and his viral speed videos, Lee’s content has a way of drawing people in. This is not a superpower. Just repetition. Focus. Obsession. And maybe some digital wizardry.

Testing the science of speed

If you wish to question the validity of Lee’s performances, maybe some basic science can help. Human reaction time is not just a reflex. A 2024 study found that the nervous system can fine-tune responses in real time. Practice can make movements appear almost automatic.

It has been well established in research that the gap between seeing something and responding has a limit. A 2025 study concluded that the most elite extremes allow for reaction times of 100 milliseconds. At that speed, the human brain can barely process that something has happened.

Science explains Lee is not necessarily moving as fast as we might perceive him to be. And therein lies all the fun of it. We cannot prove it is real, nor can we actually prove that it is fake.

Maybe Lee is the “fastest man alive” or the so-called “human cheetah.” Or maybe he is just a remarkable entertainer. Either way, he has clearly tapped into something strange and fascinating: a blend of human ability and fantasy that people do not want to miss.

To give context to Lee’s videos, watch this performance on Tú Sí Que Vales:

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Photo credit: LisaStrachan/iStock via Getty Images – Fear not: There isn’t anything that needs saving.

Culture, Media

Despite all the likes, literallys and dropped g’s, English isn’t decaying before our eyes

Why “bad” English is nothing new.

Good Partner

4/22/2026

Valerie M. Fridland

As a linguistics professor, I’m often asked why English is decaying before our eyes, whether it’s “like” being used promiscuously, t’s being dropped deleteriously or “literally” being deployed nonliterally.

While these common gripes point to eccentric speech patterns, they don’t point to grammatical annihilation. English has weathered far worse.

Let’s start with something we can all agree on: Old English, spoken from approximately A.D. 450 to 1100, is pretty unintelligible to us today. Anyone who’s had the pleasure of reading “Beowulf” in high school knows how different English back then used to sound. Word endings did a lot more grammatical work, and verbs followed more complicated patterns. Remnants of those rules fuel lingering debates today, such as when to use “whom” over “who,” and whether the past tense of “sneak” is “snuck” or “sneaked.”

The language went on to experience centuries of tumult: Viking invasions, which introduced Old Norse influence; Anglo-Norman French rule, which shifted the language of the elite to French; and 18th-Century grammarians, who dictated norms with their elocution and grammar guides.

In that time, English has lost almost all of the more complex linguistic trappings it was born with to become the language we know and – at least, sometimes – love today. And as I explain in my new book, “Why We Talk Funny: The Real Story Behind Our Accents,” it was all thanks to the way that language naturally evolves to meet the social needs of its speakers.

From dropping the ‘l’ to dropping the ‘g’

The things we tend to label as “bad” or sloppy English – for instance, the “g” that gets lost from our -ing endings or the deletion of a “t” when we say a word like “innernet” – actually reflect speech habits that are centuries old.

Take, for example, “often.” Originally spoken with the “t,” that pronunciation gradually became less favored around the 15th century, alongside that “l” in “talk” and the “k” in know. Meanwhile, the “s” now stuck on the back of verbs like “does” and “makes” began as a dialectal variant that only became popular in 16th-century London. It gradually replaced “th” whenever third persons were involved, as in “The lady doth protest too much.”

While dropping the “l” in talk may have been initially frowned upon, today it would be strange if you pronounced the letter. And the shift makes sense: It smoothed out some linguistic awkwardness for the sake of efficiency.

If people learned to look at language more like linguists, they might come around to seeing that there is more than one perspective on what good speech consists of.

And yes, that absolutely is a sentence ending with a preposition – something many modern grammar guides discourage, even though the idea only took hold after 18th-century grammarian Robert Lowth intimated it was a less elegant choice based on the model of Latin.

Though Lowth voiced no hard and fast rule against it, many a grammar maven later misconstrued his advice as an admonition. Just like that, a mere suggestion became grammatical law.

The rise of the grammar sticklers

Many of today’s ideas about what constitutes correct English are based on a singular – often mistaken – 19th-century view of the forces that govern our language.

In the late 18th century, the English-speaking world began experiencing class restructuring and higher literacy rates. As greater class mobility became possible, accent differences became class markers that separated new money from old money.

Emulation of upper-crust speech norms became popular among the nouveau riche. With literacy also on the rise, grammarians and elocutionists raced to dictate the terms of “proper” English on and off the page, which led to the rise of usage guides and dictionaries that were eager to sell a certain brand of speech.

Another example of grammarian angst reconfiguring the view of an otherwise perfectly fine form is the droppin’ of the “g.” It became so tied to slovenly speech that it was branded with an apostrophe in the 19th century to make sure no one missed its lackadaisical and nonstandard nature.

Up until the 19th century, however, no one seemed to care whether one pronounced it as “-in” or “-ing.”

Evidence suggests that -ing wasn’t even heard as the correct form. Many elocution guides from the 18th century provide rhyming word pairs like “herring/heron,” “coughing/coffin” and “jerking/jerkin,” which suggest that “-in” may have been the preferred pronunciation of words ending with “-ing.” Even writer and satirist Jonathan Swift – a frequent lobbyist for “proper” English – rhymes “brewing” with “ruin” in his 1731 poem “Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D..”

Embrace the change

Language has always shifted and evolved. People often bristle at changes from what they’ve known to what is new. And maybe that’s because this process often begins with speakers that society usually looks less favorably on: the young, the female, the poor, the nonwhite.

But it’s important to remember that being disliked and bad are not the same thing – that today’s speech pariahs are driven by the same linguistic and social needs as the Londoners who started going with “does” instead of “doth” or dropped the “t” in often.

So if you think the speech that comes from your lips is the “correct” version, think again. Thou, like every other English speaker, art literally the product of centuries of linguistic reinvention.

This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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Photo credit: Ian Taylor Photographer – Two young children play in the grass.

Culture, Media

10 boys and 10 girls were left alone in separate houses and the different results are just wild

The premise was simple but high stakes.

Adam Albright Hanna

GOOD Staff

4/19/2026

It sounds like the plot of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. However, in the mid-2000s, it was a very real and very controversial reality television experiment.

Footage from the UK Channel 4 documentary Boys and Girls Alone is captivating audiences all over again. It offers a fascinating and chaotic look at what happens when you remove parents from the equation.

The premise was simple but high stakes. Twenty children, aged 11 and 12, were split into two groups by gender. Ten boys and ten girls were placed in separate houses and told to live without adult supervision for five days.

The Setup

While there were safety nets in place, the day-to-day living was entirely up to the kids. A camera crew was present but instructed not to intervene unless safety was at risk. The children could also ring a bell to speak to a nurse or psychiatrist.

The houses were fully stocked with food, cleaning supplies, toys, and paints. Everything they needed to survive was there. They just had to figure out how to use it.

The Boys: Instant Chaos

In the boys’ house, the unraveling was almost immediate. The newfound freedom triggered a rapid descent into high-energy anarchy.

They engaged in water pistol fights and threw cushions. In one memorable instance, a boy named Michael covered the carpet in sticky popcorn kernels just because he could.

The destruction eventually escalated to the walls. The boys covered the house in writing, drawing, and paint. But the euphoria of freedom eventually crashed into the reality of consequences.

“We never expected to be like this, but I’m really upset that we trashed it so badly,” one boy admitted in the footage. “We were trying to explore everything at once and got too carried away in ourselves.”

Their attempts to clean up were frantic and largely ineffective. Nutrition also took a hit. Despite having completed a cooking course, the boys survived mostly on cereal, sugar, and the occasional frozen pizza. By the end of the week, the house was trashed, and the group had fractured into opposing factions.

The Girls: Organized Society

The girls’ house looked like a different planet.

In stark contrast to the mayhem next door, the girls immediately established a functioning society. They organized a cooking roster, with a girl named Sherry preparing their first meal. They baked cakes. They put on a fashion show. They even drew up a scrupulous chores list to ensure the house stayed livable.

While their stay wasn’t devoid of interpersonal drama, the experiment highlighted a fascinating divergence in socialization. Left to their own devices, the girls prioritized community and maintenance. The boys tested the absolute limits of their environment until it broke.

The documentary was controversial when it aired, with critics questioning the ethics of placing children in unsupervised situations for entertainment. But what made it so enduring, and why footage keeps resurfacing years later, is what it reveals about how kids are socialized long before anyone puts them in a house together. The boys weren’t born anarchists and the girls weren’t born organizers. They arrived at those houses already shaped by years of being told, implicitly and explicitly, what boys do and what girls do. Whether that’s a nature story or a nurture story is the question the documentary keeps asking without quite answering, which is probably why people are still watching and arguing about it nearly two decades later.

This article originally appeared two years ago. It has been updated.

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