There was a moment on last weekend’s retreat in Dorset I wish I could press between the pages of a book and keep.
After the yoga session, I took the dogs for a walk around the fields. The air was warm, the dogs were in seventh heaven,* and butterflies were like confetti. One danced so close to Finn’s nose he froze- mesmerised by the delicate display. I reached for my phone, but of course, by the time I’d fumbled it out, the moment had passed, and the butterfly flitted off and Finn moved on, fascinated by some manure. This litttle moment was that rare feeling of enoughness -unfiltered, and quietly perfect.
To be honest, the whole weekend felt like that. Rich, textured, full - without needing to be more. Each of us brought our thing. I poured my energy into the yoga. Harry, the chef, brought food like it was a love language. The owners of the farm had lovingly considered every detail - from the tucked-away nooks and crannies* of the garden to bedrooms with roll-top baths and windows that framed the sunset . And the guests brought what you can’t plan for - warmth, curiosity, and the kind of energy that made everyone smile all the time.
I could write reams about the benefits of a retreat (which I have done here) or dig into some of the intricacies of some of the things we explored. But the truth is: what I’m still thinking about and want to write about- is the lemon cheesecake.
The Cheesecake That Broke My Brain
Sunday night, final dinner of the retreat: lemon cheesecake is served. Fluffy, tangy, cloud-like perfection. I knew I was full from the sumptuous mains. My brain said stop. My stomach said definitely stop. And yet I went back for seconds because my mouth said more.
It wasn’t just delicious - it was euphoric. There was a kind of thrill in the taste, in the texture, in the pleasure. It was the kind of flavour that makes your eyes roll back, dribble slightly and your manners fall apart. I knew I was going for seconds.
Later that evening, as I lay in bed, feeling way too full and groaning, a newsletter from Dr Mark Hyman pinged into my inbox about the Japanese concept of hara hachi bu - eat until you're 80% full.
Oops.
What Is Hara Hachi Bu?
It’s a saying from Okinawa that means: eat until you’re 80% full. But this isn’t about dieting or denial. It’s about building awareness, giving your body the time and space to register satisfaction before your fork goes rogue. It’s how you avoid the “stuffed and sleepy” slump and instead stay light and quietly pleased with yourself.
It’s the opposite of the Western “clear your plate” mentality or the guilt-loaded “think of the starving children”. Or even the casual “sod* it, I’m on holiday”
In practice, it’s a gentle daily discipline - not dramatic, not rigid - just a small pause that changes everything.
Why Do We Overeat When We Know Better?
But this knowledge of eating to 80% wasn’t exactly helpful as I lay on the bed stuffed like little porky piglet. Which made me wonder why on earth do we overeat when we know better? And does the body have a failsafe for us from exploding our stomach?
The short answer: your mouth and gut are in separate time zones, and ‘sort of’.
Tastebuds light up instantly. They fire signals straight to the brain’s reward centres -hello, dopamine - giving you that immediate hit of pleasure. It’s the same chemical that gets released when you fall in love, win a prize, or open a text that says ‘I made extra- want some?’ But your stomach takes its sweet time. It’s a full 20 minutes before stretch receptors down there manage to ping the message “enough now” back to HQ. By the time that message lands, you’ve already gone back for seconds… or thirds. Stomachs are stretchy, thankfully, but even they have limits. While true gastric rupture is rare (your body will usually trigger nausea, pain, or even vomiting first), it’s not impossible. In other words: your body does try to stop you - but it’s not foolproof.
In a study from Ochanomizu University, men who practised hara hachi bu - stopping at around 80% full - ate roughly 500 fewer calories per day than those who didn’t. They still felt satisfied. Women who followed the practice had lower BMIs and steadier energy levels.²
Leaving a little room isn’t just polite - it’s practically medicinal.
The Raisin That Changed Everything
Back in the late 1970s Jon Kabat Zinn, co-founder of the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) program introduced the “raisin meditation”; holding and eating a single raisin with full awareness. Slowly. As if it’s the first raisin you’ve ever encountered.
You observe its wrinkles, smell its sugar, then place it on your tongue, and chew it slowly savouring each sensation. It’s oddly profound, and slightly ridiculous. But it teaches you something: most of us eat on autopilot. We shovel, scroll, and snack without tasting a thing.
Practising interoception — tuning into internal signals like hunger, fullness, and satisfaction — makes eating feel more like a conscious choice than an unconscious compulsion. Just like yoga reconnects breath and body, mindful eating reconnects you with what food is actually for.
What Yoga Has to Say About All This
Yogis have been chewing slowly, eating mindfully, and thinking deeply about digestion for centuries - they even have a name for the digestive fire: agni. Agni is more than just metaphor, it’s the inner fire that transforms food into energy, thoughts into clarity, and experiences into wisdom (or indigestion, if you overdo it).
There’s saucha, the principle of inner and outer cleanliness — not just sparkling cutlery, but clarity in what you eat, what you think, and what you absorb. That awareness starts on your plate, but it doesn’t end there.
Then there’s tapas — not the Spanish kind, — but the inner fire of discipline. Holding off from shovelling in seconds. Choosing to chew a raisin slowly without scrolling Instagram. That’s tapas in action.
And if you really want to go old-school yogi, there's jihva dhauti -scraping your tongue to clear away toxins and reset your tastebuds (and, metaphorically, your perception). Or vastra dhauti, which involves swallowing a muslin cloth to cleanse the stomach. Or the full saltwater flush (shankhaprakshalana) - a gastrointestinal rite of passage that makes overeating look positively gentle.
But perhaps the most relevant yogic principle for this whole conversation is aparigraha - non-grasping. The idea that sometimes, enough really is enough. Even when the cheesecake is spectacular.
Random Cheesecake Facts
The largest cheesecake ever made weighed 4,240 kg (shoutout to Kraft Foods in 2013).
Cheesecake has ancient roots — the Greeks served it to athletes during the first Olympic Games.
New York cheesecake has no flour, no zest, and all the cream.
The word “cheesecake” was once slang in 1940s pin-up culture — it referred to risqué images of women, considered a visual “treat,” like a saucy dessert.
A single bite of something sweet can light up the same brain centres as cocaine. (fMRI studies confirm sugar activates dopamine pathways in the brain’s reward system - similar to addictive drugs.)
The Last Bite Isn’t Always the Best
So sometimes you overdo it, even when you know better. A second slice of cheesecake. A third scroll. Another yes when you really meant no. But now and then, you catch it. That flicker of awareness. Like a butterfly hovering just long enough for you to notice - and not chase. You stop. You savour. You realise: this is enough.
That’s what awareness does. Whether it’s in your mouth, on your mat, or halfway through an argument. A small shift. A conscious pause. A different choice. Sometimes that shift comes from changing your rhythm. From leaving the familiar. From choosing stillness — even for a little while.
And if that idea calls to you, quietly or loudly, the retreat info is here.
If it’s just the cheesecake you’re after, Harry’s tweaked recipe is below*. Best enjoyed slowly.
Recipe Notes
*Harry tweaked this recipe to make it both gluten-free and vegan. He swapped the gluten-free digestives for gluten-free ginger nuts (“the ginger adds a lovely warmth that really complements the lemon”).
A few tips from him:
Don’t underestimate the set time. The recipe says overnight and you really do need that long.
Vegan lemon curd isn’t always easy to find — he had to order his from Amazon.
Word Origins
* “Seventh heaven” has roots in ancient religious cosmology. In Judaism and Islam, the seventh heaven is the highest and most exalted realm — a place of ultimate joy and peace.
* “Nooks and crannies” dates back to the 14th century — “nook” from Middle English meaning a hidden corner, and “cranny” from Old French “cran,” meaning a small opening. Together they suggest cosy, irregular spaces just waiting to be discovered.
* “Sod it” is a British expression, now used to mean “oh well” or “to hell with it.” But originally, “sod” was short for “sodomite” — a term dating back to the 19th century, rooted in the Biblical city of Sodom and used (not kindly) to refer to homosexuality. Over time, the meaning softened. In modern British slang, “sod” is more about being fed up or cheeky — and “sod it” is what you say just before ordering dessert, quitting your job, or booking a retreat you weren’t planning on.
References
1. Hengist A et al. Physiological responses to maximal eating in men. Br J Nutr. 2020.
2. Fukkoshi Y et al. Eating until 80% full and energy intake. Eat Behav. 2015.
3. Willcox DC et al. Caloric restriction and longevity: lessons from Okinawa. Biogerontology. 2006.
Photo by Reba Spike on Unsplash