Earnest Ross and I have been talking about compassion recently. Specifically, the idea of being compassionate towards oneself. It’s the kind of thing that sounds like it should be a no-brainer. But I’ve been shocked by the amount of resistance I’ve felt towards it.
“It feels,” I told him today, “That if I accept the need to be more compassionate to myself then I am giving myself permission to act or behave in a negative way. That I am excusing myself. It feels like weakness and failure.”
But, he countered, is showing compassion always an easy option? To be compassionate is not necessarily to excuse so much as to accept and not apply moral judgments. To be compassionate requires you to face difficult things head on. Nothing easy or weak about that.
Perhaps part of the resistance lies in the fact that we are all programmed to find fat distasteful. Just this week I saw this article on the Guardian website about NICE telling doctors that they should treat overweight people with respect. Exsqueeze me? They have to be told? Doctors, who I fondly imagine to be the most compassionate of people (with the possible exception of nuns), need to be actually told by a clinical institute that fat people should not be sneered at but offered realistic and practical and non judgemental advice? What hope is there for the rest of the society if our medical professionals need to have this spelled out to them?
I have been remarkably blessed in my dealings with doctors. The GPs I have seen in the last few years have been absolutely lovely and supportive and never made me feel as if every little niggle, from a cough to an ingrown toenail, was related to the fact that my BMI was over 30. But I understand that I am in a minority with this experience. Actually, I have been remarkably blessed full stop in that I have never encountered any major discrimination or bullying or unpleasantness related to my size. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that I am so much more critical of myself than anyone else could ever be.
Friday, 18 October 2013
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
The sound of silence. And a weigh in.
So, from the lack of any update on this blog, you may be forgiven for thinking that after last week’s stellar result at the scales I proceeded to upend myself into a vat of chocolate Baileys (has anyone tried this yet? Report if so, I have very high hopes!) But, no, despite consuming slightly more wine than was good for me at York races on Friday, I have kept on keeping on. I have even been restrained in the face of cheese which, dearest Reader, is a victory in itself.
The scales’ verdict tonight? Another pound off making ten in three weeks. I am closing in on the one stone mark - once I'm there I think I'll really believe I am doing this!
I had all these high hopes that once the Annus Horribilus was over then things would all spring back to normal, but the truth is, it is taking a little time. And it was naïve to ever expect otherwise as both D and I are going through a period of transition. I’ve moved in to a new house and am still finding my feet and trying to get over feeling like a guest in someone else’s environment; he, meanwhile, is having to deal with his space being invaded by an individual with a propensity towards mess and clutter. We have two houses worth of furniture to amalgamate and sort through. Plus, I’ve had weird working patterns the last couple of weeks as I’ve been preparing for an exam. So all in all it is little wonder that we haven’t yet had the chance to get into a properly established routine. I have started to actually cook meals though, which is good, and there is fruit in the fruit bowl and milk in the fridge and I’m learning to lunge for the teapot rather than the corkscrew when six o clock comes round, so all the pieces are coming together. When you see a Meal Planning Monday post from me, it is then that you will know that I’m there.
The scales’ verdict tonight? Another pound off making ten in three weeks. I am closing in on the one stone mark - once I'm there I think I'll really believe I am doing this!
I had all these high hopes that once the Annus Horribilus was over then things would all spring back to normal, but the truth is, it is taking a little time. And it was naïve to ever expect otherwise as both D and I are going through a period of transition. I’ve moved in to a new house and am still finding my feet and trying to get over feeling like a guest in someone else’s environment; he, meanwhile, is having to deal with his space being invaded by an individual with a propensity towards mess and clutter. We have two houses worth of furniture to amalgamate and sort through. Plus, I’ve had weird working patterns the last couple of weeks as I’ve been preparing for an exam. So all in all it is little wonder that we haven’t yet had the chance to get into a properly established routine. I have started to actually cook meals though, which is good, and there is fruit in the fruit bowl and milk in the fridge and I’m learning to lunge for the teapot rather than the corkscrew when six o clock comes round, so all the pieces are coming together. When you see a Meal Planning Monday post from me, it is then that you will know that I’m there.
Thursday, 10 October 2013
Oh, frabjous day!
I toddled along to my weigh in last night past a large group of young women wearing police hats. Yes, it is apparently freshers' week here in Leeds. I have nothing against students apart from the obvious pangs of jealousy at their youth and good skin, but goodness they are very loud.
Anyway, to the scales. You may recall that this was a two week result - but also that my hopes were not overly high given my (relatively) packed social calendar. The gods of WW however were clearly in a benevolent mood and I clocked in a nine (yes, nine) pound loss. Get me!
D has promised me a bottle of fizz if I can shift another five this week but, to be honest, after a start like that - which I think is in part down to luck rather than judgement - I'll be happy with any slight downward movement. Onwards, comrades!
Anyway, to the scales. You may recall that this was a two week result - but also that my hopes were not overly high given my (relatively) packed social calendar. The gods of WW however were clearly in a benevolent mood and I clocked in a nine (yes, nine) pound loss. Get me!
D has promised me a bottle of fizz if I can shift another five this week but, to be honest, after a start like that - which I think is in part down to luck rather than judgement - I'll be happy with any slight downward movement. Onwards, comrades!
Tuesday, 8 October 2013
Pimms o'clock
Winter may be fast approaching (today I am wearing a scarf in honour of this; still no coat though, I keep that until the temperature really starts to drop) but Saturday saw us comfortably installed in an upper room at the Leeds Living Room enjoying a Pimms tasting of all things.
I mention the seasons because for me, as for many other people I suspect, Pimms is the quintessential summer drink. Take the summer of 2000; I was in my third term of university, the object of study was the Bard himself, the sun seemed to shine every day and my college boasted the oldest bowling green in Europe. What else can you expect a load of English students to do but lie out on the grass, propped up copies of The Riverside Shakespeare and sup Pimms all day long – sometimes with a shot of gin to turbo it, and us, up a bit. Happy, happy days.
The prospect of a Pimms tasting session was, therefore, too good to resist, chill winds and autumn leaves notwithstanding. And what a session it was! I would say that it left me with a new found respect for the beloved liqueur – but it is perhaps more accurate to say it left me feeling slightly queasy on the way round IKEA the next morning. This was NOT one of those tastings where you feel short changed. The first drink was poured within five minutes and it didn’t really stop flowing for the next hour and a half.
Pimms was originally created back in the mid nineteenth century as a more palatable alternative to gin. Although gin based, it also contained ingredients such as borage and citrus – the exact recipe remains a closely guarded secret to this day. This gin based fruit cup is the Pimms no 1 which is still produced. Over the years five more variants were created, each based upon a different spirit. Most are no longer easily obtainable, although Pimms no 3, which is the brandy version, has been rebranded as Winter Pimms and occasionally surfaces at Christmas.
And so we drank. We drank Pimms with gin, lemonade and coriander – an unusual herb but one designed to pick up on a particular botanical of the gin. We drank a Pimms whisky sour both with and without ginger beer (absolutely delicious – destined to become my Christmas cocktail of choice). We drank Pimms with spiced rum, fresh ginger, lime and mint. And we finished with a Pimms Royale – Pimms with orange vodka, strawberry and basil mixed with a combination of ginger ale and lemonade. In between, we had tots of the individual spirits (so we could taste them in isolation you understand – purely scientific) and sampled a supermarket own brand fruit cup (verdict: lacking the depth and complexity of the original but perfectly serviceable when mixed with lemonade and fruit and one third of the price). There was cake as well.
All in all, a delightful way to spend a Saturday afternoon. The website for the Drinks Workshop, which offers classes in a variety of different spirits can be found here although I am not sure what locations are on offer outside of Leeds. Still, if you fancy coming to up here and spending a few hours getting tipsily educated and eating cake, this is highly recommended.
I mention the seasons because for me, as for many other people I suspect, Pimms is the quintessential summer drink. Take the summer of 2000; I was in my third term of university, the object of study was the Bard himself, the sun seemed to shine every day and my college boasted the oldest bowling green in Europe. What else can you expect a load of English students to do but lie out on the grass, propped up copies of The Riverside Shakespeare and sup Pimms all day long – sometimes with a shot of gin to turbo it, and us, up a bit. Happy, happy days.
The prospect of a Pimms tasting session was, therefore, too good to resist, chill winds and autumn leaves notwithstanding. And what a session it was! I would say that it left me with a new found respect for the beloved liqueur – but it is perhaps more accurate to say it left me feeling slightly queasy on the way round IKEA the next morning. This was NOT one of those tastings where you feel short changed. The first drink was poured within five minutes and it didn’t really stop flowing for the next hour and a half.
Pimms was originally created back in the mid nineteenth century as a more palatable alternative to gin. Although gin based, it also contained ingredients such as borage and citrus – the exact recipe remains a closely guarded secret to this day. This gin based fruit cup is the Pimms no 1 which is still produced. Over the years five more variants were created, each based upon a different spirit. Most are no longer easily obtainable, although Pimms no 3, which is the brandy version, has been rebranded as Winter Pimms and occasionally surfaces at Christmas.
And so we drank. We drank Pimms with gin, lemonade and coriander – an unusual herb but one designed to pick up on a particular botanical of the gin. We drank a Pimms whisky sour both with and without ginger beer (absolutely delicious – destined to become my Christmas cocktail of choice). We drank Pimms with spiced rum, fresh ginger, lime and mint. And we finished with a Pimms Royale – Pimms with orange vodka, strawberry and basil mixed with a combination of ginger ale and lemonade. In between, we had tots of the individual spirits (so we could taste them in isolation you understand – purely scientific) and sampled a supermarket own brand fruit cup (verdict: lacking the depth and complexity of the original but perfectly serviceable when mixed with lemonade and fruit and one third of the price). There was cake as well.
All in all, a delightful way to spend a Saturday afternoon. The website for the Drinks Workshop, which offers classes in a variety of different spirits can be found here although I am not sure what locations are on offer outside of Leeds. Still, if you fancy coming to up here and spending a few hours getting tipsily educated and eating cake, this is highly recommended.
Friday, 4 October 2013
In which I am frightened of melting
After all that lovely support on my last post I was eager to come on here this week and post my weigh in result. HOWEVER. I missed my meeting! For those of you who don’t live in the frozen North, the weather has been woeful for the past few days so I decided to book a taxi rather than walk for half an hour in the rain. And then the taxi didn’t turn up on time and the man from the taxi office got quite affronted with me for pointing out that a) not turning up on time and b) not letting me know they were not going to turn up on time was pretty piss poor customer service.
My bathroom scales, usually pretty reliable, have me well down but I am going to take them with a pinch of salt and wait until next Wednesday for the official scores on the doors. In the meantime, remember how I said that I had lots going on in October? This week I’m out for a curry to welcome some new starters at work, a Pimms tasting and a game cookery demonstration. In between, I will mainly be eating dust…
My bathroom scales, usually pretty reliable, have me well down but I am going to take them with a pinch of salt and wait until next Wednesday for the official scores on the doors. In the meantime, remember how I said that I had lots going on in October? This week I’m out for a curry to welcome some new starters at work, a Pimms tasting and a game cookery demonstration. In between, I will mainly be eating dust…
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
Sometimes there’s never a good time
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a dieter in search of a successful diet must commence said diet on a Monday. Preferably one that falls on the first of the month. And if there is a full moon at the same time, then so much the better.
So imagine my consternation when my friend texted me the other week to say that she was joining a WW meeting on a Wednesday evening and would I like to come along with her.
There were so many reasons to say no. For a start – Wednesday? That is soooo not the right day to start a diet. And the first meeting fell at the end of September – my new start was going to be October. And I was moving that week so meals would be up in the air. And, come to think of it, I had commitments throughout most weekends in October which would mean I’d never get a clear run at things and everyone knows you should always start when you’ve got a clear run so you can get some good losses under your belt before real life starts to kick in so perhaps I should hold off until November to get going.
Dear reader, I’m ashamed to say that all of these thoughts and more went through my head when I got that text.
But……..
I’m proud to say that I managed to push them all to one side and go along with her. And yes, this last week it has not always been easy to stay on plan. I’ve had some good days where I’ve managed to track accurately and some days where I haven’t, which has made me a little twitchy. I no doubt earned some activity points packing and humping around boxes which I have proceeded to consume in lovely, lovely post-move wine. And the thought of stepping on the scales tomorrow is making me a little bit nervous. But I reckon when the universe sends you a sign, even something as mundane as a new friend sending a text, you have to grab it and give it your best shot.
So imagine my consternation when my friend texted me the other week to say that she was joining a WW meeting on a Wednesday evening and would I like to come along with her.
There were so many reasons to say no. For a start – Wednesday? That is soooo not the right day to start a diet. And the first meeting fell at the end of September – my new start was going to be October. And I was moving that week so meals would be up in the air. And, come to think of it, I had commitments throughout most weekends in October which would mean I’d never get a clear run at things and everyone knows you should always start when you’ve got a clear run so you can get some good losses under your belt before real life starts to kick in so perhaps I should hold off until November to get going.
Dear reader, I’m ashamed to say that all of these thoughts and more went through my head when I got that text.
But……..
I’m proud to say that I managed to push them all to one side and go along with her. And yes, this last week it has not always been easy to stay on plan. I’ve had some good days where I’ve managed to track accurately and some days where I haven’t, which has made me a little twitchy. I no doubt earned some activity points packing and humping around boxes which I have proceeded to consume in lovely, lovely post-move wine. And the thought of stepping on the scales tomorrow is making me a little bit nervous. But I reckon when the universe sends you a sign, even something as mundane as a new friend sending a text, you have to grab it and give it your best shot.
Monday, 23 September 2013
Slow cooker recipe corner: chicken cacciatore ("Hunter's stew")
I am moving back in with D this coming weekend and so looking forward to it. Glorious, glorious domesticity in all its lovely mundanity. In order to prepare, I’ve been spending the majority of the last few weekends there. D is still in charge of the kitchen at the moment which means I get cooked for which I enjoy very much – however, I suspect that will change and to be honest, I am looking forward to getting back into the routine of planning meals and cooking. I’ve been dreaming in recipes.
Anyway, Saturday night he dusted off the slow cooker and made a fabulous chicken stew that recently appeared on the Word of Mouth “Perfect” column (if you don’t read that, by the way, you really should – it’s very good). The list of ingredients is relatively short, but don’t be fooled – some sort of weird alchemy transforms these items into something much greater than the sum of their parts. We served with mashed potato and virtual box sets (we’re currently alternating between the final series of Dexter and season 3 of Game of Thrones – it’s a wonder that I have any fingernails left).
If you don't have a slow cooker I would suggest checking out the original recipe for appropriate oven temperatures and times. I would also suggest that you get one - they are extremely handy.
A word on portion size – I have reckoned on one thigh per person below, which I found more than sufficient. D went for two. Adjust points accordingly.
Ingredients
Tbsp olive oil
4 chicken thighs, skin on
Tbsp seasoned flour
2 heads of garlic, cut horizontally
Small bunch of rosemary
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 stick of celery, diced
125ml white wine
250ml chicken stock
100g tinned plum tomatoes in juice, roughly chopped
15g butter
Serves 4, 9 pro points per portion
Heat the oil in a large pan. While it warms up, dust the chicken thighs in seasoned flour. Place skin side down in the pan and cook for a couple of minutes on each side until golden brown.
Transfer to the slow cooker.
In the same pan, fry the garlic heads, rosemary, carrot and celery for a few minutes until slightly golden. Again, transfer to the slow cooker.
Pour the wine into the pan to deglaze, stirring briskly to ensure all the lovely, crusty, chickeny bits are swooped up and let it bubble off and reduce slightly before tipping over the chicken and the vegetables. Add the stock and the tomatoes to the slow cooker pot and then cook on low for six hours, at which point the chicken will be falling off the bone and the sauce will be a lovely dark brown.
Using a slotted spoon, remove the chicken and the vegetables from the pot and set aside. Pour the sauce into a pan (you could use the one from earlier if you haven’t yet washed it – I’m all for saving washing up) and heat it to a brisk boil. Allow to reduce by about a third. Adjust the seasoning and finish with the butter to give a nice gloss.
Return the chicken and veg to the sauce and warm through before serving.
Anyway, Saturday night he dusted off the slow cooker and made a fabulous chicken stew that recently appeared on the Word of Mouth “Perfect” column (if you don’t read that, by the way, you really should – it’s very good). The list of ingredients is relatively short, but don’t be fooled – some sort of weird alchemy transforms these items into something much greater than the sum of their parts. We served with mashed potato and virtual box sets (we’re currently alternating between the final series of Dexter and season 3 of Game of Thrones – it’s a wonder that I have any fingernails left).
If you don't have a slow cooker I would suggest checking out the original recipe for appropriate oven temperatures and times. I would also suggest that you get one - they are extremely handy.
A word on portion size – I have reckoned on one thigh per person below, which I found more than sufficient. D went for two. Adjust points accordingly.
Ingredients
Tbsp olive oil
4 chicken thighs, skin on
Tbsp seasoned flour
2 heads of garlic, cut horizontally
Small bunch of rosemary
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 stick of celery, diced
125ml white wine
250ml chicken stock
100g tinned plum tomatoes in juice, roughly chopped
15g butter
Serves 4, 9 pro points per portion
Heat the oil in a large pan. While it warms up, dust the chicken thighs in seasoned flour. Place skin side down in the pan and cook for a couple of minutes on each side until golden brown.
Transfer to the slow cooker.
In the same pan, fry the garlic heads, rosemary, carrot and celery for a few minutes until slightly golden. Again, transfer to the slow cooker.
Pour the wine into the pan to deglaze, stirring briskly to ensure all the lovely, crusty, chickeny bits are swooped up and let it bubble off and reduce slightly before tipping over the chicken and the vegetables. Add the stock and the tomatoes to the slow cooker pot and then cook on low for six hours, at which point the chicken will be falling off the bone and the sauce will be a lovely dark brown.
Using a slotted spoon, remove the chicken and the vegetables from the pot and set aside. Pour the sauce into a pan (you could use the one from earlier if you haven’t yet washed it – I’m all for saving washing up) and heat it to a brisk boil. Allow to reduce by about a third. Adjust the seasoning and finish with the butter to give a nice gloss.
Return the chicken and veg to the sauce and warm through before serving.
Thursday, 19 September 2013
Sam's Chop House, Leeds: romance and corned beef
However, with a move forthcoming and a big, Michelin starred dinner coming up at the end of next month. not to mention the fact that we have had a year of supporting two households rather than one, we decided to go cheap and cheerful in terms of a meal out. And when D pointed me in the direction of the Sam's Chop House menu I was genuinely excited by the decision. This was the kind of unashamedly British food that I absolutely adore but it seemed a little clever, a little quirky. Poached chicken breast with chicken liver scampi? How amazing does that sound?
So, why an air of disappointment pervading this blog post like an autumn fog? Perhaps because Sam's, the day before our wedding anniversary, decided to change their USP. They phoned and left an upbeat voicemail message explaining that the restaurant had decided to "go in a different direction" and offering us the chance to cancel our booking. But we, either lazy or optimistic in the face of PR speak, decided to stick with it. Only to find a menu that yes, was still unashamedly British but also unashamedly a little bit dull. I wasn't expecting fireworks for a cotton anniversary, but a bit of a sparkler might have been nice. Sam's is not a restaurant to go to for flashing lights of any description.
Starters: ham hock scotch egg was competently done - I thought the spicing of the meat was good and the egg yolk retained a moist gleam, even if it wasn't fully runny.
 |
| Scotch egg! |
 |
| Cheese on toast! |
 |
| Corned beef hash! |
Still, happy anniversary D. I love you very much and am very proud and happy that we got here.
Sam's Chop House
8 South Parade
Leeds
LS1 5QX
0113 2042490
Saturday, 14 September 2013
Autumn Days
Today is beautifully sunny but there is something in the quality of the light and the feel of the air that speaks very clearly of autumn. And that is not a problem for me as autumn is probably one of my favourite times of the year. I like the dark nights, where you draw the curtains and light a couple of candles and put Strictly on the telly, and the cooler days and the smell of incipient winter.
Autumn, September, is also (for me at least) a time of fresh starts - the new school year. This September is a little different as I am currently in the process of packing up and saying goodbye to this poor, maligned house. I hope its next owners give it the love and TLC it deserves and put the splendid oven to better use than reheating ready meals. It is all good, I am very happy and looking forward to going back to being a fulltime wife, but I intensely dislike transition periods. Transition means unsettled and I am a creature who very much likes to be settled.
So forgive me if I am a little quiet over the next few weeks. Come October and I will be back cooking, meal planning, weighing in (there is a Saturday morning meeting just a five minute walk from my new house - I have No Excuse) and doing some sneaky non-WW-friendly eating out (we're going to Purnell's for D's birthday in October - MUCH excitement!) Business as usual in fact. You have been warned.
Autumn, September, is also (for me at least) a time of fresh starts - the new school year. This September is a little different as I am currently in the process of packing up and saying goodbye to this poor, maligned house. I hope its next owners give it the love and TLC it deserves and put the splendid oven to better use than reheating ready meals. It is all good, I am very happy and looking forward to going back to being a fulltime wife, but I intensely dislike transition periods. Transition means unsettled and I am a creature who very much likes to be settled.
So forgive me if I am a little quiet over the next few weeks. Come October and I will be back cooking, meal planning, weighing in (there is a Saturday morning meeting just a five minute walk from my new house - I have No Excuse) and doing some sneaky non-WW-friendly eating out (we're going to Purnell's for D's birthday in October - MUCH excitement!) Business as usual in fact. You have been warned.
Wednesday, 4 September 2013
A WW Foodie guide to Mull, Tobermory and the eating of seafood
Although it may already be receding into a happy haze of whisky and sea squalls, I did want to spend a little bit of time regaling you as to our recent trip to Scotland, not least because it is a part of the world that I have really started to fall in love with over the past few years.
We have been visiting Ardnamurchan, the most westerly point of the British mainland, since 2009 and every year we have made the ferry trip across to Mull. This year we decided to base ourselves on the island itself.
Mull is not a big island. It may well be the second largest of the Inner Hebrides after Skye (thank you, Wiki) but you can still cover it pretty comprehensively in the course of a week. It is, however, an extremely beautiful one and, with a population of less than 3000, vast swathes of it are empty. The landscape is quite stunning – great, rolling, verdant hills stitched through with areas of dense woodland and bright strips of sea appearing on the horizon round every corner. It is rich in wildlife; we treated ourselves to an organised tour and in the course of a single day saw a family of white tailed eagles, a pair of otters and a basking shark – not to mention seals, buzzards and even a horny toad. It is also (and this, of course, may be why it so dear to our hearts) rich in fabulous seafood – fishing being historically one of the island’s main income sources.
It is not a place to go if you crave glamour and nightlife. It is a place to go if you enjoy walking and sitting staring out to sea. There is also culture to be found: theatre, an arts centre and even an artist's community based around the village of Dervaig. One of their projects is the Calgary Art in Nature walk, where sculptures are scattered throughout the wooded path down to Calgary Bay.
We based ourselves just outside Tobermory, which is the island’s capital and home to a quarter of the residents. Tobermory is quite ridiculously picturesque. It was the setting for a mid naughties children’s’ programme called Balamory and quite understandably so – with its row of brightly coloured buildings and sweeping, bay side street it looks as if it has fallen out of a storybook. The main problem (if it can be called such) with Tobermory is that pretty much every other person you meet is a tourist and if, like us, you go towards the end of the season, the locals are becoming somewhat frayed. Having lived in York for many years I can sympathise.
Isn't it lovely? There is not a lot to Tobermory...the main road is pretty much it, and it is generally geared towards the tourist market being primarily pubs, cafes and crafty type establishments. There is a very nice chocolate shop and a deli that sells Mull cheddar. Tobermory also boasts its own whisky distillery, pottery and handmade soap shop. And, let us not forget, Tobermory Cat who spends most of his time suffering tourists, posing for postcards and maintaining his Facebook and Twitter accounts.
If you stay self catering in Tobermory you should not expect to be able to purchase more than the basics once you are in situ. There is a Co-op supermarket which can provide milk and tins, a nice deli and bakery and a fishmonger located just outside of the main town, but little else that we located. This is not a major problem given that there at least three very nice places to eat.
The first, Café Fish, I have written about before. It has been voted the top fish restaurant in the entire country by the Good Food Guide and that is mainly because it sources amazing produce and then cooks it with a sensitive but unerring touch.
And of course, the fish and chip van seems to be something of a Tobermory institution. We had our first taste of deep fried scallops this year and the combination of the sweet, dense flesh, perfectly cooked within its crispy batter was an utter revelation. I covered mine in ketchup much to D’s disgust.
If I say that no sooner had we got home then we started planning our next trip up there it will perhaps express how hard we have fallen for the West of Scotland. As holidays go, this one was pretty much perfect. And the fact that it ended with D asking me to move in with him come the beginning of October means that Mull will always hold a very special place in my heart as the location where a marriage was finally mended.
We have been visiting Ardnamurchan, the most westerly point of the British mainland, since 2009 and every year we have made the ferry trip across to Mull. This year we decided to base ourselves on the island itself.
Mull is not a big island. It may well be the second largest of the Inner Hebrides after Skye (thank you, Wiki) but you can still cover it pretty comprehensively in the course of a week. It is, however, an extremely beautiful one and, with a population of less than 3000, vast swathes of it are empty. The landscape is quite stunning – great, rolling, verdant hills stitched through with areas of dense woodland and bright strips of sea appearing on the horizon round every corner. It is rich in wildlife; we treated ourselves to an organised tour and in the course of a single day saw a family of white tailed eagles, a pair of otters and a basking shark – not to mention seals, buzzards and even a horny toad. It is also (and this, of course, may be why it so dear to our hearts) rich in fabulous seafood – fishing being historically one of the island’s main income sources.
 |
| Views of Mull |
 |
| Calgary Art in Nature |
 |
| Tobermory |
 |
| Tobermory Cat |
The first, Café Fish, I have written about before. It has been voted the top fish restaurant in the entire country by the Good Food Guide and that is mainly because it sources amazing produce and then cooks it with a sensitive but unerring touch.
 |
| The biggest razor clams you ever did see |
 |
| Langoustines and squat lobsters |
Our new discovery this year was MacGoghan’s, a pub cum restaurant located on the far end of the main street. It is undoubtedly pub food but very, very good – D had a steak with scallops in a creamy paprika sauce. These were not only ingredients of spectacular quality but the dish was also cooked incredibly well. Surf and turf par excellence.
 |
| Tobermory steak: topped with scallops and a creamy paprika sauce |
 |
| Fish, chips and deep fried scallops. With ketchup. |
 |
| A collage of greed... |
Monday, 2 September 2013
Sad to be back
I should be out bowling at this precise moment in time but my recent holiday has obviously led to a reduced tolerance for the workplace as I have come home to nurse a crushing headache and look mournfully at pictures of Mull instead.
So, yes, holidays. As they go, this one was pretty lovely. I am entirely enamoured with Scotland and plan to post a little bit more about Mull and Tobermory later this week. In the meantime, let's touch upon the thorny subject of weight loss, or rather, lack thereof. It turns out that I've got maintenance down - my weight this morning was exactly the same as it was in the beginning of August. Considering there's been a week away in there in which haggis pizza may or may not have been consumed (don't knock it till you've tried it...) that's not too bad at all.
 |
| Blue sky in Scotland! |
 |
| Haggis pizza! |
But progress is what is now required - it's a new school year so it is time to set some positive goals. For this week, that's just going to be about getting back into the habit of tracking and doing some proper meal planning. Lack of organisation is a real issue for me at the moment - today all I have eaten is two biscuits, which is just plain daft. Although they were very nice biscuits...
Monday, 26 August 2013
The view from the living room window
Greetings from the Isle of Mull and, more specifically, the absurdly picturesque town of Tobermory.
Our holiday cottage is actually located up a steep hill above the main high street. This means that every morning we awake to this beautiful view:
It also means that any trip into town necessitates a ten minute huffy-puffy trek back. Considering my dislike of...well, any hill, it seems like the kind of thing that I would have checked when booking the accommodation.
At least I can tell myself that all the marching up steep inclines is helping to burn off the lovely food. We've been hitting the local seafood with a vengeance (D's fingers are riddled with tiny scratches where he did battle with a set of particularly recalcitrant langoustines yesterday). Expect more of my own very specially amateur brand of food photography to abound when we get back.
Our holiday cottage is actually located up a steep hill above the main high street. This means that every morning we awake to this beautiful view:
It also means that any trip into town necessitates a ten minute huffy-puffy trek back. Considering my dislike of...well, any hill, it seems like the kind of thing that I would have checked when booking the accommodation.
At least I can tell myself that all the marching up steep inclines is helping to burn off the lovely food. We've been hitting the local seafood with a vengeance (D's fingers are riddled with tiny scratches where he did battle with a set of particularly recalcitrant langoustines yesterday). Expect more of my own very specially amateur brand of food photography to abound when we get back.
Thursday, 22 August 2013
Further food for thought: More notes from a CBT session
Disclaimer as before:
I wanted to put some notes down about my ongoing CBT sessions, primarily for my own benefit. While sometimes the content may sound fairly negative, these words do not represent my mood for the majority of the time when I am my usual (sort of) cheery self. I hope that some of these observations could prove useful for others who have ever used food or any other substances in a slightly unhealthy way. I am not a medical professional and so if anything here is ringing lots and lots of bells then I would suggest you go and speak to your GP in the first instance. CBT, as well as many other counselling services, are available on the NHS albeit with a waiting list.
For those of you who follow this blog for somewhat lighter ramblings about dieting and dining then do feel free to skip.
The power of the mind is utterly, utterly breathtaking. After a really positive couple of sessions on emotional acceptance, my sneaky brain responded by reverting to past form. A good few years ago I used to suffer regularly from horrible panic attacks which D and I nicknamed “wobbles”. These wobbles had all but disappeared but they have slunk back into the picture over the last few weeks, the little tinkers, and much as I am better at dealing them now than previously (at one stage my preferred method was to take to my bed like a Victorian maiden aunt for days at a time) they are still unpleasant in the extreme. I discussed this with Earnest Ross. He looked very earnest indeed and commented that the brain will go to extreme lengths to protect its sense of identity. If you start to try and unpick that – even the unhealthy bits – it will react. Which is fairly frustrating since I don’t want my sense of identity to be that of a dipsomaniac overeater with a tendency to lose the ability to move from the sofa when things get tough (this, by the way, is a recognised form of distress tolerance called withdrawal – not sheer bloody laziness, although it looks very similar).
The key, it seems, is to work on identifying one’s core values. Once you have those then you can start to identify actions and shape your behaviours in such a way that they contribute to or move towards a life which is built around things that are important to you. It sounds screamingly obvious, but then, so does the idea of being mindful and I know for a fact that it takes a great deal of concentration and effort to live in a consistently mindful way.
My core, it turns out, is pretty people orientated. I instinctively identify my values as being first and foremost based around my family and my relationship – I want to be a good wife, a good daughter, a good sister, a good aunt. I also, somewhat surprisingly, value my professional life highly. I have never thought of myself as desperately ambitious but, on reflection, I do set a lot of store by the fact that I am a professional woman with a job that is as demanding as it is rewarding. I have an idea of where I want to be in ten years and it will require hard work and effort but, with application, is achievable.
So it seems as if I am learning about who I want to be and where I want to go…I suppose that, in itself, is the first step on the road that actually takes me there.
I wanted to put some notes down about my ongoing CBT sessions, primarily for my own benefit. While sometimes the content may sound fairly negative, these words do not represent my mood for the majority of the time when I am my usual (sort of) cheery self. I hope that some of these observations could prove useful for others who have ever used food or any other substances in a slightly unhealthy way. I am not a medical professional and so if anything here is ringing lots and lots of bells then I would suggest you go and speak to your GP in the first instance. CBT, as well as many other counselling services, are available on the NHS albeit with a waiting list.
For those of you who follow this blog for somewhat lighter ramblings about dieting and dining then do feel free to skip.
The power of the mind is utterly, utterly breathtaking. After a really positive couple of sessions on emotional acceptance, my sneaky brain responded by reverting to past form. A good few years ago I used to suffer regularly from horrible panic attacks which D and I nicknamed “wobbles”. These wobbles had all but disappeared but they have slunk back into the picture over the last few weeks, the little tinkers, and much as I am better at dealing them now than previously (at one stage my preferred method was to take to my bed like a Victorian maiden aunt for days at a time) they are still unpleasant in the extreme. I discussed this with Earnest Ross. He looked very earnest indeed and commented that the brain will go to extreme lengths to protect its sense of identity. If you start to try and unpick that – even the unhealthy bits – it will react. Which is fairly frustrating since I don’t want my sense of identity to be that of a dipsomaniac overeater with a tendency to lose the ability to move from the sofa when things get tough (this, by the way, is a recognised form of distress tolerance called withdrawal – not sheer bloody laziness, although it looks very similar).
The key, it seems, is to work on identifying one’s core values. Once you have those then you can start to identify actions and shape your behaviours in such a way that they contribute to or move towards a life which is built around things that are important to you. It sounds screamingly obvious, but then, so does the idea of being mindful and I know for a fact that it takes a great deal of concentration and effort to live in a consistently mindful way.
My core, it turns out, is pretty people orientated. I instinctively identify my values as being first and foremost based around my family and my relationship – I want to be a good wife, a good daughter, a good sister, a good aunt. I also, somewhat surprisingly, value my professional life highly. I have never thought of myself as desperately ambitious but, on reflection, I do set a lot of store by the fact that I am a professional woman with a job that is as demanding as it is rewarding. I have an idea of where I want to be in ten years and it will require hard work and effort but, with application, is achievable.
So it seems as if I am learning about who I want to be and where I want to go…I suppose that, in itself, is the first step on the road that actually takes me there.
Wednesday, 21 August 2013
Recipe corner - Ottolenghi's mango and papaya salsa
I was commenting on a blog the other week and I observed that practically every Saturday I bookmark Yotam Ottolenghi's recipe column for the Guardian, although, given the rate at which I accumulate new things to cook and then singularly fail to cook them, the dishes seldom get made. Which is a shame because Ottolenghi writes about food that I really want to eat. I think I've mentioned his vegetarian book "Plenty" on here before and if you don't own it then I heartily recommend you go out and make it a part of your collection. It will convince even the most ardent carnivore in your life that you don't need meat to eat exceptional food.
This recipe comes from the original Ottolenghi cookbook which I bought D for his birthday last year. Foolishly, I didn't think to go through and photocopy the entire thing before I handed it over, so I don't know what the book as a whole is like, but this salsa was amazing. A-ma-zing. On Friday last we had it with tuna steaks but we were trying to conflate two dishes that didn't really want to be conflated. However, we enjoyed the salsa element so much that we decided to give it another go and allow it to be the star which is how we came to eat it one night with grilled lamb and wild rice. These are bold flavours that enjoy the companionship of red meat and a robust fish like tuna, but I honestly think you could serve it with chicken as well, perhaps in a wrap with a drizzle of yoghurt. Or, you could just eat it out of the bowl. Whatever. Just try it.
Incidentally, Mr Ottolenghi says that it benefits from being allowed to steep in the fridge for a few days. We concur. At the very least, prepare it for an hour before you wish to serve it. The ingredient quantities below should be taken as approximate - the only things that will impact on the points are the olive oil and sugar.
Ingredients
½ cucumber, peeled, seeded and cut into cubes
1 large, ripe papaya, peeled, seeded and cut into cubes
1 large, ripe mango, peeled, stoned and cut into cubes
1 red chilli finely chopped
Tbsp grated root ginger (NB: we grate ours straight from the freezer with a Microplane which gives excellent results every time)
1 small red onion, finely chopped
Juice of ½ lemon
2 tbsp Thai fish sauce
2 tbsp olive oil
Tbsp caster sugar
Makes approximately 6-8 servings (2 pro points per portion if 8)
Method: um, combine ingredients. Season, taste and adjust as required.
This recipe comes from the original Ottolenghi cookbook which I bought D for his birthday last year. Foolishly, I didn't think to go through and photocopy the entire thing before I handed it over, so I don't know what the book as a whole is like, but this salsa was amazing. A-ma-zing. On Friday last we had it with tuna steaks but we were trying to conflate two dishes that didn't really want to be conflated. However, we enjoyed the salsa element so much that we decided to give it another go and allow it to be the star which is how we came to eat it one night with grilled lamb and wild rice. These are bold flavours that enjoy the companionship of red meat and a robust fish like tuna, but I honestly think you could serve it with chicken as well, perhaps in a wrap with a drizzle of yoghurt. Or, you could just eat it out of the bowl. Whatever. Just try it.
Incidentally, Mr Ottolenghi says that it benefits from being allowed to steep in the fridge for a few days. We concur. At the very least, prepare it for an hour before you wish to serve it. The ingredient quantities below should be taken as approximate - the only things that will impact on the points are the olive oil and sugar.
Ingredients
½ cucumber, peeled, seeded and cut into cubes
1 large, ripe papaya, peeled, seeded and cut into cubes
1 large, ripe mango, peeled, stoned and cut into cubes
1 red chilli finely chopped
Tbsp grated root ginger (NB: we grate ours straight from the freezer with a Microplane which gives excellent results every time)
1 small red onion, finely chopped
Juice of ½ lemon
2 tbsp Thai fish sauce
2 tbsp olive oil
Tbsp caster sugar
Makes approximately 6-8 servings (2 pro points per portion if 8)
Method: um, combine ingredients. Season, taste and adjust as required.
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
Moving on (up?)
I recently made the decision that I am going to move out of my current property come the end of September. I don't know yet if my destination will be D's house or somewhere entirely different but it has become increasingly clear to me that staying here will mean I run the risk of wallowing.
It's such a shame as the house I live in is lovely, if a little impractical (being spread across four floors) and so handy for work and I want so much to love it but...it's a bit when you were a teenager, buying a beautiful dress and then wearing it on a really bad date. The negative associations linger like the smell of Lynx deodorant.
So as of the 1st October it will be a fresh start, either as a housewife in Leeds suburbia or elsewhere. I mean, I'll still be working in Leeds so by elsewhere I mean...another part of Leeds. Or possibly Harrogate. Just not here. One thing is definitely for sure. At some point early in October you, my lovely blog readers will log on to a post in which I say that this time, this fresh start will be the one where I achieve that state of Nirvana which is Goal Weight. And you, because you are lovely, will cheer me on and agree with me despite the fact this is the eleventy billionth time you have heard it.
I feel like I should thank you in advance...
It's such a shame as the house I live in is lovely, if a little impractical (being spread across four floors) and so handy for work and I want so much to love it but...it's a bit when you were a teenager, buying a beautiful dress and then wearing it on a really bad date. The negative associations linger like the smell of Lynx deodorant.
So as of the 1st October it will be a fresh start, either as a housewife in Leeds suburbia or elsewhere. I mean, I'll still be working in Leeds so by elsewhere I mean...another part of Leeds. Or possibly Harrogate. Just not here. One thing is definitely for sure. At some point early in October you, my lovely blog readers will log on to a post in which I say that this time, this fresh start will be the one where I achieve that state of Nirvana which is Goal Weight. And you, because you are lovely, will cheer me on and agree with me despite the fact this is the eleventy billionth time you have heard it.
I feel like I should thank you in advance...
Wednesday, 7 August 2013
Salts Mill and barbecued chicken: a good day
Whatever my last post may imply, it's not all doom and gloom chez Seren. Take Saturday, for instance. Saturday was a Very Good Day.
When we lived in York, D and I used to set whole days aside to go round and visit all the tourist hotspots. It's so easy to take stuff for granted when it is under your nose. We haven't done so much of that in Leeds - the whole marriage separation thang may be partly responsible - but last Saturday we went to visit Salts Mill which has been on the radar for a while.
It's a funny old place. A Grade II listed World Heritage Site which is essentially a middle class shopping Mecca. It's an old mill building, dating back to the 1850s which has been converted into a peculiar mash up of gallery (primarily Hockney) and very, very exclusive shopping mall complete with eateries. It sounds like I'm being sneery and I really am not. I had a fabulous time wandering around and I would urge anyone in the Bradford area to pop along for a mooch. I intend to do all my Christmas shopping there.
Of course, being a responsible food blogger I insisted that we stop for lunch at the Salts Mill Diner (one of, I think, three separate places to eat).
I went for one of the specials of mushroom ravioli with spinach in a garlic and chilli butter. It was nice, although rather polite - every component could have been taken up a notch or two. D opted for a chicken Caesar salad, a rather unusual choice for him which he appeared to enjoy well enough although I, personally, was rather perturbed by the inclusion of olives.
Given that we were both rather restrained and resisted the urge to indulge our mutual love of kitchen implements and overpriced stationery, on the way back we treated ourselves to a trip to Waitrose to stock up on Saturday Night Provisions which included the wee beastie on the left; a spatchcocked chicken which we left to bathe in a concoction of olive oil, half a head of crushed garlic, lemon juice and lemon thyme leaves before setting to cook over white hot coals. The result was an utter delight. I have long been wary of barbecued chicken but spatchcocking is undoubtedly the answer: twenty minutes on each side gave perfectly cooked results. I left the butchery element to the male contingent but he reports it to be quite disarmingly easy. We served the meat with nothing more than salad and crusty bread which is, quite frankly, all it really required.
It was a quiet, pottering sort of day but a lovely one nonetheless. The kind of day that it is good to remember during darker moments (see last post. Or not.)
When we lived in York, D and I used to set whole days aside to go round and visit all the tourist hotspots. It's so easy to take stuff for granted when it is under your nose. We haven't done so much of that in Leeds - the whole marriage separation thang may be partly responsible - but last Saturday we went to visit Salts Mill which has been on the radar for a while.
It's a funny old place. A Grade II listed World Heritage Site which is essentially a middle class shopping Mecca. It's an old mill building, dating back to the 1850s which has been converted into a peculiar mash up of gallery (primarily Hockney) and very, very exclusive shopping mall complete with eateries. It sounds like I'm being sneery and I really am not. I had a fabulous time wandering around and I would urge anyone in the Bradford area to pop along for a mooch. I intend to do all my Christmas shopping there.
Of course, being a responsible food blogger I insisted that we stop for lunch at the Salts Mill Diner (one of, I think, three separate places to eat).
I went for one of the specials of mushroom ravioli with spinach in a garlic and chilli butter. It was nice, although rather polite - every component could have been taken up a notch or two. D opted for a chicken Caesar salad, a rather unusual choice for him which he appeared to enjoy well enough although I, personally, was rather perturbed by the inclusion of olives.
Given that we were both rather restrained and resisted the urge to indulge our mutual love of kitchen implements and overpriced stationery, on the way back we treated ourselves to a trip to Waitrose to stock up on Saturday Night Provisions which included the wee beastie on the left; a spatchcocked chicken which we left to bathe in a concoction of olive oil, half a head of crushed garlic, lemon juice and lemon thyme leaves before setting to cook over white hot coals. The result was an utter delight. I have long been wary of barbecued chicken but spatchcocking is undoubtedly the answer: twenty minutes on each side gave perfectly cooked results. I left the butchery element to the male contingent but he reports it to be quite disarmingly easy. We served the meat with nothing more than salad and crusty bread which is, quite frankly, all it really required.
It was a quiet, pottering sort of day but a lovely one nonetheless. The kind of day that it is good to remember during darker moments (see last post. Or not.)
Monday, 5 August 2013
Food for thought: Notes from a CBT session
I wanted to put some notes down about my ongoing CBT sessions, primarily for my own benefit. While sometimes the content may sound fairly negative, these words do not represent my mood for the majority of the time when I am my usual (sort of) cheery self. I hope that some of these observations could prove useful for others who have ever used food or any other substances in a slightly unhealthy way. I am not a medical professional and so if anything here is ringing lots and lots of bells then I would suggest you go and speak to your GP in the first instance. CBT, as well as many other counselling services, are available on the NHS albeit with a waiting list.
For those of you who follow this blog for somewhat lighter ramblings about dieting and dining then do feel free to skip.
Cognitive behavioural therapy involves far less talking about the death of your first pet hamster (RIP Pythagorus) and far more trying to identify patterns of thought and emotion and the attendant behaviours that these provoke. So, before you deal with the negative behaviours – in my case that potent combination of panic attacks and self medicating with cheese on toast and cheap wine – you have to pinpoint the moment when the urge to enact it arises. And then, once you have done that, you can start to identify positive behaviours with which to replace them. Otherwise you are left with gaping voids and black holes and they are never good, except as science fiction plot devices.
For me, one of the hardest things about the past year has been all the empty time. It’s the fact that I can go home from work at five, get back to work at nine the next morning and not have spoken to a soul in between. And I’m not talking about meaningful conversation, just the type of mundane chat with which anyone fills their evening – those thin, glistening threads that connect you to the rest of the world. I start to feel disjointed, faraway. I’m not someone who finds it easy to pick up the phone to a friend so I sit and eventually find myself retreating into the places in my head that are deeper in shadow.
Weekends are the worst for this. Especially those weekends when there is nothing arranged. But, having said that, even some weekends where I have had distractions lined up in the diary I have ended up cancelling them because, buried deep within my lair of duvet, the outside world seems a very distant and frightening place indeed.
And when it comes to filling the emptiness and the silence that is when my old friends and comfort blankets reappear. Some people take succour in music, others in exercise, for me it is the familiar foods and a few glasses of wine to soften the edges of the vast, quiet space.
And so firstly I must learn to sit with the emotions that being in the deep, deep quiet invokes. I must learn to be present with the sense of fear and loneliness, the nagging anxiety that I am unloved and unlovable. We talked about how these emotions could be visualised; as clouds perhaps, or leaves in a stream, or people leaving and entering a room – the point being, of course, that they are transient, that they pass and when they have passed rationality re-emerges and with it an end to the automatic groping for something, anything to help. And then, when the immediacy of the emotions has gone and the urge to act has waned, then you find something else.
One immediate concern of mine was that these behaviours are so deep entrenched as to become almost instinctive reactions – I’m alone, I’m sad, I’m angry – I eat. How can I find the impetus to use these techniques when the first time I’m really aware of what I’m doing is when I’m halfway through a family size bar of Dairy Milk? It’s not easy. We discussed visual stimuli – if using the cloud visualisation, for example, having a picture or a prompt to hand or even just going outside (although the neighbours may wonder what I’m doing standing in the middle of the yard staring up at the sky…) And breathe, breathe, breathe. The most immediate thing you can do to ground yourself is close your eyes and just focus on the process of breathing.
Finally, and I think that this is important; I need to remember that negative emotion isn’t a bad thing in itself. Sometimes, it is a fundamental evolutionary tool – fear, for example, fear can keep us safe. Sadness or anger can highlight for us areas of our life that need work and change. Or they can remind us of how much we love and are loved. They are part of the human condition, and a necessary part at that.
For those of you who follow this blog for somewhat lighter ramblings about dieting and dining then do feel free to skip.
Cognitive behavioural therapy involves far less talking about the death of your first pet hamster (RIP Pythagorus) and far more trying to identify patterns of thought and emotion and the attendant behaviours that these provoke. So, before you deal with the negative behaviours – in my case that potent combination of panic attacks and self medicating with cheese on toast and cheap wine – you have to pinpoint the moment when the urge to enact it arises. And then, once you have done that, you can start to identify positive behaviours with which to replace them. Otherwise you are left with gaping voids and black holes and they are never good, except as science fiction plot devices.
For me, one of the hardest things about the past year has been all the empty time. It’s the fact that I can go home from work at five, get back to work at nine the next morning and not have spoken to a soul in between. And I’m not talking about meaningful conversation, just the type of mundane chat with which anyone fills their evening – those thin, glistening threads that connect you to the rest of the world. I start to feel disjointed, faraway. I’m not someone who finds it easy to pick up the phone to a friend so I sit and eventually find myself retreating into the places in my head that are deeper in shadow.
Weekends are the worst for this. Especially those weekends when there is nothing arranged. But, having said that, even some weekends where I have had distractions lined up in the diary I have ended up cancelling them because, buried deep within my lair of duvet, the outside world seems a very distant and frightening place indeed.
And when it comes to filling the emptiness and the silence that is when my old friends and comfort blankets reappear. Some people take succour in music, others in exercise, for me it is the familiar foods and a few glasses of wine to soften the edges of the vast, quiet space.
And so firstly I must learn to sit with the emotions that being in the deep, deep quiet invokes. I must learn to be present with the sense of fear and loneliness, the nagging anxiety that I am unloved and unlovable. We talked about how these emotions could be visualised; as clouds perhaps, or leaves in a stream, or people leaving and entering a room – the point being, of course, that they are transient, that they pass and when they have passed rationality re-emerges and with it an end to the automatic groping for something, anything to help. And then, when the immediacy of the emotions has gone and the urge to act has waned, then you find something else.
One immediate concern of mine was that these behaviours are so deep entrenched as to become almost instinctive reactions – I’m alone, I’m sad, I’m angry – I eat. How can I find the impetus to use these techniques when the first time I’m really aware of what I’m doing is when I’m halfway through a family size bar of Dairy Milk? It’s not easy. We discussed visual stimuli – if using the cloud visualisation, for example, having a picture or a prompt to hand or even just going outside (although the neighbours may wonder what I’m doing standing in the middle of the yard staring up at the sky…) And breathe, breathe, breathe. The most immediate thing you can do to ground yourself is close your eyes and just focus on the process of breathing.
Finally, and I think that this is important; I need to remember that negative emotion isn’t a bad thing in itself. Sometimes, it is a fundamental evolutionary tool – fear, for example, fear can keep us safe. Sadness or anger can highlight for us areas of our life that need work and change. Or they can remind us of how much we love and are loved. They are part of the human condition, and a necessary part at that.
Tuesday, 30 July 2013
Steady as she goes
I’m all about the even keel at the moment.
My weight loss, over the last couple of months, has been pretty small. But, but, but. I am, as of Saturday, six pounds down from my all time high. The main thing to my mind is that I have arrested the steady increase that has characterised this last year, as erratic eating habits, one too many glasses of wine and a lack of interest in anything remotely resembling physical activity has taken its toll. So that is good. That is progress. I have accepted that until the situation with D is resolved once and for all, I won’t be too hard on myself. Maintenance is ok if it what I need to get me through these last few weeks of uncertainty with my sanity intact. It has to be mindful maintenance though. I have got back into the habit of a daily hop on the scales (which are a most pleasing shade of fuchsia pink). I know daily weighing is not for everyone but for me it is a small act of mindfulness every day. When I am not doing it, it is because I know that I won’t like what I see.
Oh, and talking of sanity, marriage counselling may now be over (the lovely Josie has nodded off into the sunset) but my own personal course of CBT sessions have now started with Earnest Ross. He nods a lot less but has a very emphatic head tilt. Also, he is the first mental health professional that I have ever met who doesn’t automatically proffer tissues when the inevitable snivelling starts. He expects you to reach for your own tissues. Perhaps he views independence and pro-activity as important parts of the therapy process.
My weight loss, over the last couple of months, has been pretty small. But, but, but. I am, as of Saturday, six pounds down from my all time high. The main thing to my mind is that I have arrested the steady increase that has characterised this last year, as erratic eating habits, one too many glasses of wine and a lack of interest in anything remotely resembling physical activity has taken its toll. So that is good. That is progress. I have accepted that until the situation with D is resolved once and for all, I won’t be too hard on myself. Maintenance is ok if it what I need to get me through these last few weeks of uncertainty with my sanity intact. It has to be mindful maintenance though. I have got back into the habit of a daily hop on the scales (which are a most pleasing shade of fuchsia pink). I know daily weighing is not for everyone but for me it is a small act of mindfulness every day. When I am not doing it, it is because I know that I won’t like what I see.
Oh, and talking of sanity, marriage counselling may now be over (the lovely Josie has nodded off into the sunset) but my own personal course of CBT sessions have now started with Earnest Ross. He nods a lot less but has a very emphatic head tilt. Also, he is the first mental health professional that I have ever met who doesn’t automatically proffer tissues when the inevitable snivelling starts. He expects you to reach for your own tissues. Perhaps he views independence and pro-activity as important parts of the therapy process.
Wednesday, 24 July 2013
Recipe corner: Banana and cinnamon blondies
When I returned from my jaunting at the weekend I was met by the sad sight of two dead bananas in the fruit bowl. Not just on the turn, or a bit spotty, but dead. And they’d taken half a lemon with them.
Now, we all know that the only thing a dead banana is good for is baking. Usually I turn to my go-to recipe for banana bread but I decided to go for something a little different which I’ve had bookmarked for a while.
I think I ever so slightly over cooked these, so I’ve adjusted the baking time to reflect that. Brownies and blondies are tricky animals – you want them crusty on top and gooey in the middle and these were tending towards the cakey in the outer pieces. I also have upped the cinnamon on the original recipe, but then I am a cinnamon fiend, so feel free to turn it back down. It’s subsequently occurred to me that these would be fantastic with pecans rather than hazelnuts and also that chunks of white chocolate running through might be quite tasty – although given how sweet these little beauties are already this might push them over the edge.
Oh, and also, these are seriously good as a pudding – try blasting them in the microwave for 30 seconds and then serving with half fat crème fraiche and a trickle of golden syrup or toffee sauce. Divine.
I’ve suggested cutting these into sixteen pieces, but, to be honest they are sweet enough that twenty would probably do as well – this would reduce them to 4 pro points each which is well worth it.
Ingredients
2 dead bananas, mashed
125g unsalted butter
325g light brown sugar
150g plain flour
2 scant tsp baking powder
Pinch of salt
3 tsp cinnamon
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
50g chopped hazelnuts (or any other nut you happen to fancy)
Makes 16, 5 pro points per portion
Although easy to make, these blondies to require a few different bowls. So be prepared for some washing up while they are in the oven.
Speaking of the oven, preheat to 180. And line a square baking tin – 8 by 8 should give you a decent depth.
In a saucepan, over a low heat, melt together the butter and the sugar until it is liquid gold. Set aside to cool slightly.
Sieve together the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon.
Lightly beat the eggs together with the vanilla essence. Pour in the cooled butter and sugar, stir, add the chopped nuts and mashed banana and stir again until well combined.
Now gently mix in your dried ingredients. You will be presented with quite a loose batter. Pour into the prepared tin.
Bake for around 20 minutes and check – the top should be golden and crusty and there should be a slight wobble to the cake which will set as it cools. It may require more time but keep an eye on it after the 20 minutes stage.
Allow to cool slightly before turning out and cutting into sixteen pieces. Serve with a cup of tea. Those bananas did not die in vain.
Now, we all know that the only thing a dead banana is good for is baking. Usually I turn to my go-to recipe for banana bread but I decided to go for something a little different which I’ve had bookmarked for a while.
I think I ever so slightly over cooked these, so I’ve adjusted the baking time to reflect that. Brownies and blondies are tricky animals – you want them crusty on top and gooey in the middle and these were tending towards the cakey in the outer pieces. I also have upped the cinnamon on the original recipe, but then I am a cinnamon fiend, so feel free to turn it back down. It’s subsequently occurred to me that these would be fantastic with pecans rather than hazelnuts and also that chunks of white chocolate running through might be quite tasty – although given how sweet these little beauties are already this might push them over the edge.
Oh, and also, these are seriously good as a pudding – try blasting them in the microwave for 30 seconds and then serving with half fat crème fraiche and a trickle of golden syrup or toffee sauce. Divine.
I’ve suggested cutting these into sixteen pieces, but, to be honest they are sweet enough that twenty would probably do as well – this would reduce them to 4 pro points each which is well worth it.
Ingredients
2 dead bananas, mashed
125g unsalted butter
325g light brown sugar
150g plain flour
2 scant tsp baking powder
Pinch of salt
3 tsp cinnamon
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
50g chopped hazelnuts (or any other nut you happen to fancy)
Makes 16, 5 pro points per portion
Although easy to make, these blondies to require a few different bowls. So be prepared for some washing up while they are in the oven.
Speaking of the oven, preheat to 180. And line a square baking tin – 8 by 8 should give you a decent depth.
In a saucepan, over a low heat, melt together the butter and the sugar until it is liquid gold. Set aside to cool slightly.
Sieve together the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon.
Lightly beat the eggs together with the vanilla essence. Pour in the cooled butter and sugar, stir, add the chopped nuts and mashed banana and stir again until well combined.
Now gently mix in your dried ingredients. You will be presented with quite a loose batter. Pour into the prepared tin.
Bake for around 20 minutes and check – the top should be golden and crusty and there should be a slight wobble to the cake which will set as it cools. It may require more time but keep an eye on it after the 20 minutes stage.
Allow to cool slightly before turning out and cutting into sixteen pieces. Serve with a cup of tea. Those bananas did not die in vain.
Monday, 22 July 2013
Messing about on the river (but only after lunch)
The sky over Leeds may be as grey as grey can be this morning, but at least, if last weekend proved to be the last of the summer proper, I'll be safe in the knowledge that I actually got out and did something in the sunshine.
Friday saw me winging my way down to London to go to the open air theatre in Regent's Park to see a production of "Pride and Prejudice" which was absolutely fantastic. The setting is utterly lovely as well though, the trees and trellises of the overpriced bar strung through with fairly lights, the fireflies zinging through the gathering dusk....oh, I came over all goosepimply. Lovely stuff. If you live down that way I heartily recommend it for an evening's entertainment. One can dine there beforehand, or, you can do as we did and pop to M&S for a sandwich to enjoy on the grass outside the theatre. That way you have more money for the overpriced bar.
On Saturday, boasting the kind of eye bags that can only be brought about by staying up drinking wine in a gay pub until four in the morning, we headed to York and Albany in Camden, with a view to nixing the hangover prior to a riverboat trip. This is a Gordon Ramsay place that I can't say had been on my radar particularly but was very pleasant indeed. We sat in the bar area which meant that the whole party had access to both the bar and restaurant menus - ideal if you are in a largeish group with varying tastes. I, of course, got over excited at the sight of the a la carte and went ahead with that, but others opted for the stone baked pizzas (which looked gorgeous) and the bar burger, complete with a side of chips caused serious food envy when it arrived.
My choice of starter, after a restoratively spicy Bloody Mary, were some tasty but rather unphotogenic sweetbreads (top, right). I was exceedingly happy that these arrived on toast (most things are improved this way) and loved the iron rich cream sauce. Personally, if something on a menu is described as being served with broad beans and mint I would expect to a) taste mint and b) see more than three or four broad beans but hey ho.
I followed that with a skate wing in burnt butter with capers and watercress (middle, right). Such a simple dish but so delicious if done well, which this was, with no skimping on the butter or the punchy little capers.
Finally, it had to be done - profiteroles with elderflower cream. Again, not the most photogenic of dishes, and the elderflower taste was incredibly delicate and could have done with being taken up a notch so as to hold its own next to the rich chocolate. Still, enjoyable stuff.
It was generally agreed that where York and Albany really excelled was its drink menu. Between us we managed to sample a fair few cocktails including an amazing rhubarb and ginger mule that, as you can see from the picture, was served in a seriously cute little copper mug. Cocktails were priced at £9.50 a pop for the most part, which is not ridiculously expensive for central London, and real care and attention was lavished on them by the bar staff.
Altogether a very enjoyable place to while away a Saturday lunchtime - and, I should add, that we took up residence on the largest bar table for a full three and a half hours with nary so much as an eyelid flicker from any of the lovely staff to indicate that they would quite like it back at some point - and then proceeded to split the bill across seven credit cards (differing amounts on each) which was met with smiles and cheeriness. They earned their 12.5% I reckon.
Rolling, rather than walking, we arrived at Camden Lock.
The princely sum of £11.50 will get you a riverbus trip down to Little Venice and back which is an extremely pleasant way to digest a rather too big lunch.
So, as I said, this morning's grey skies are not going to get me down. I've had a weekend of good times with good friends and there's a little boozy food baby to prove it. Detox starts here...
 |
| Gherkin! |
On Saturday, boasting the kind of eye bags that can only be brought about by staying up drinking wine in a gay pub until four in the morning, we headed to York and Albany in Camden, with a view to nixing the hangover prior to a riverboat trip. This is a Gordon Ramsay place that I can't say had been on my radar particularly but was very pleasant indeed. We sat in the bar area which meant that the whole party had access to both the bar and restaurant menus - ideal if you are in a largeish group with varying tastes. I, of course, got over excited at the sight of the a la carte and went ahead with that, but others opted for the stone baked pizzas (which looked gorgeous) and the bar burger, complete with a side of chips caused serious food envy when it arrived.
My choice of starter, after a restoratively spicy Bloody Mary, were some tasty but rather unphotogenic sweetbreads (top, right). I was exceedingly happy that these arrived on toast (most things are improved this way) and loved the iron rich cream sauce. Personally, if something on a menu is described as being served with broad beans and mint I would expect to a) taste mint and b) see more than three or four broad beans but hey ho.
I followed that with a skate wing in burnt butter with capers and watercress (middle, right). Such a simple dish but so delicious if done well, which this was, with no skimping on the butter or the punchy little capers.
Finally, it had to be done - profiteroles with elderflower cream. Again, not the most photogenic of dishes, and the elderflower taste was incredibly delicate and could have done with being taken up a notch so as to hold its own next to the rich chocolate. Still, enjoyable stuff.
It was generally agreed that where York and Albany really excelled was its drink menu. Between us we managed to sample a fair few cocktails including an amazing rhubarb and ginger mule that, as you can see from the picture, was served in a seriously cute little copper mug. Cocktails were priced at £9.50 a pop for the most part, which is not ridiculously expensive for central London, and real care and attention was lavished on them by the bar staff.
Altogether a very enjoyable place to while away a Saturday lunchtime - and, I should add, that we took up residence on the largest bar table for a full three and a half hours with nary so much as an eyelid flicker from any of the lovely staff to indicate that they would quite like it back at some point - and then proceeded to split the bill across seven credit cards (differing amounts on each) which was met with smiles and cheeriness. They earned their 12.5% I reckon.
Rolling, rather than walking, we arrived at Camden Lock.
 |
| Barges and bunting |
So, as I said, this morning's grey skies are not going to get me down. I've had a weekend of good times with good friends and there's a little boozy food baby to prove it. Detox starts here...
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Recipe corner: Sea bass with Parmesan risotto and cherry tomatoes
Sometimes, when we’re dining out, D and I like to play a guessing game whereby we try and predict what the other will order. Yes, I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking how much fun it would be to have us as dining companions and you’d be right. Barrel of laughs, that’s us. But it’s a long standing tradition now.
The thing is, the game has revealed me to be distressingly predictable when it comes to certain ingredients. If a given item appears on the menu that D knows I am 99% likely to choose it. I make it too easy. And I am not particularly motivated to fight those inclinations.
Sea bass, for example. Or just plain bass as I believe we should call it now. It is, quite simply, one of my absolute favourite things. If it pops up on a menu D has the game won because I just can’t resist. It seems odd, therefore, that I don’t cook with it more – particularly since it is so low in points as well! A decent sized fillet is just 3 pro points, not much more than 100 calories.
I tend to associate sea bass with Mediterranean type flavours; for a fairly delicate fish it goes surprisingly well with a range of robust ingredients. Equally, it can hold its own in the face of spice, and I have had it served in with an Indian curry style sauce that worked very well indeed. This weekend though, I went very simple to allow all the lovely, natural flavour to sing.
Incidentally this risotto, though as basic as basic can be, is absolutely delicious and would work as an accompaniment for all sorts of ingredients. Don’t be put off by the seemingly meagre portion of rice, it is rich enough to be perfectly satisfying.
Ingredients
2 x sea bass fillets (about 120g each)
Tbsp olive oil
Cherry tomatoes (preferably on the vine – they look so pretty!)
30g butter
Shallot, finely chopped
60ml vermouth (use white wine if you haven’t got any)
100g Arborio rice
300ml chicken stock
40g Parmesan cheese, finely grated
Serves 2, 16 pro points per portion
Switch the oven to 180 and whack in the cherry tomatoes to roast – they’ll take about 30 minutes but are relatively forgiving.
For the risotto, melt half the butter in a sturdy pan and, when ready, soften the shallot. When it is translucent (do not allow it to brown, you want mellow flavours here) tip in the rice, stir well to ensure that it is coated and then add the vermouth and allow to bubble off.
At this stage you know the drill: add a ladle of stock at a time and stir briskly, bashing the grains of rice about the pan, to absorb. Continue to do this for as long as it takes to cook the rice to the al dente stage – I would say about ten minutes, but keep checking the grains and work to your own taste. You may find you don’t use all the stock.
The fish will take about four minutes to cook, so time it to coincide roughly with the risotto being ready. Season the fillet well – the skin in particular needs a good sprinkling of salt. When ready, heat the oil in a pan – you want it really hot to enable you to get a good, crisp skin without overcooking the fish. Place the fillets skin side down into the hot pan and leave for three minutes. After that, flip them, turn the heat right down and allow them just a further minute to finish cooking.
When the risotto is cooked, add the remainder of the butter and the Parmesan, cover and leave to sit for a minute or so – don’t be tempted to skip this step, it really does make a difference.
Serve risotto and fish garnished with the cherry tomatoes and reflect upon the fact that, however predicable you may be, at least you have excellent taste.
The thing is, the game has revealed me to be distressingly predictable when it comes to certain ingredients. If a given item appears on the menu that D knows I am 99% likely to choose it. I make it too easy. And I am not particularly motivated to fight those inclinations.
Sea bass, for example. Or just plain bass as I believe we should call it now. It is, quite simply, one of my absolute favourite things. If it pops up on a menu D has the game won because I just can’t resist. It seems odd, therefore, that I don’t cook with it more – particularly since it is so low in points as well! A decent sized fillet is just 3 pro points, not much more than 100 calories.
I tend to associate sea bass with Mediterranean type flavours; for a fairly delicate fish it goes surprisingly well with a range of robust ingredients. Equally, it can hold its own in the face of spice, and I have had it served in with an Indian curry style sauce that worked very well indeed. This weekend though, I went very simple to allow all the lovely, natural flavour to sing.
Incidentally this risotto, though as basic as basic can be, is absolutely delicious and would work as an accompaniment for all sorts of ingredients. Don’t be put off by the seemingly meagre portion of rice, it is rich enough to be perfectly satisfying.
Ingredients
2 x sea bass fillets (about 120g each)
Tbsp olive oil
Cherry tomatoes (preferably on the vine – they look so pretty!)
30g butter
Shallot, finely chopped
60ml vermouth (use white wine if you haven’t got any)
100g Arborio rice
300ml chicken stock
40g Parmesan cheese, finely grated
Serves 2, 16 pro points per portion
Switch the oven to 180 and whack in the cherry tomatoes to roast – they’ll take about 30 minutes but are relatively forgiving.
For the risotto, melt half the butter in a sturdy pan and, when ready, soften the shallot. When it is translucent (do not allow it to brown, you want mellow flavours here) tip in the rice, stir well to ensure that it is coated and then add the vermouth and allow to bubble off.
At this stage you know the drill: add a ladle of stock at a time and stir briskly, bashing the grains of rice about the pan, to absorb. Continue to do this for as long as it takes to cook the rice to the al dente stage – I would say about ten minutes, but keep checking the grains and work to your own taste. You may find you don’t use all the stock.
The fish will take about four minutes to cook, so time it to coincide roughly with the risotto being ready. Season the fillet well – the skin in particular needs a good sprinkling of salt. When ready, heat the oil in a pan – you want it really hot to enable you to get a good, crisp skin without overcooking the fish. Place the fillets skin side down into the hot pan and leave for three minutes. After that, flip them, turn the heat right down and allow them just a further minute to finish cooking.
When the risotto is cooked, add the remainder of the butter and the Parmesan, cover and leave to sit for a minute or so – don’t be tempted to skip this step, it really does make a difference.
Serve risotto and fish garnished with the cherry tomatoes and reflect upon the fact that, however predicable you may be, at least you have excellent taste.
Tuesday, 16 July 2013
A sad day for York foodies
Our beloved J Baker’s is closed.
We thought that it had looked quiet lately. But still, this was unexpected and rather sad. If ever I had a sentimental attachment to a restaurant it was that one, as my many mentions of it on here might have indicated. For me, the food was never anything less than delicious, but more than that, it had wit, humour, flair all rooted very firmly in locality and nostalgia. I shall miss it very much and am glad we made the effort to go back there recently.
On a wider point though, it is bad news for the York restaurant scene which (in my opinion) has never been as good as it should be. There are, in common with many cities in the UK, too many chains and, among the non chains, too many mediocre middle of the road establishments that are frightened to offer anything different. With the wealth of tourist footfall through the city, I would have thought there is plenty of scope for more dining experiences akin to J Baker’s. Sadly, it looks like I'm wrong.
I remain hopeful that Jeff Baker has merely opted for a change in direction – a comment on the York Evening Press website referred to him moving to another city - and if that is the case then I wish him well and hope to dine with him again someday soon. And, to ease the blow, Andrew Pern of the superlative Star Inn is opening a new place in York this autumn which I am very, very, very excited about. After all, this is the man to whom I entrusted my wedding breakfast.
 |
 |
I remain hopeful that Jeff Baker has merely opted for a change in direction – a comment on the York Evening Press website referred to him moving to another city - and if that is the case then I wish him well and hope to dine with him again someday soon. And, to ease the blow, Andrew Pern of the superlative Star Inn is opening a new place in York this autumn which I am very, very, very excited about. After all, this is the man to whom I entrusted my wedding breakfast.
Tuesday, 9 July 2013
Recipe corner - Trout and Parma ham
I was browsing a couple of new food blogs the other day and was struck by the utter beauty of the accompanying photography. Damn these people who are able to create delicious food and make it look good too. It's not just the finished products that look good either - it's the casually strewn about strands of spaghetti, the gentle curve of a cherry tomato on the side of a saucer, or an artfully placed carrot/knife installation. I've tried to do that, I really have, and they just look like I'm being my usual, haphazard self. What I want to know is, do these people ever eat a hot meal? I mean, really, when I'm plating up my dinner my thought processes are usually along the lines of "Must get food to belly as quickly as possible*....oh, should take a picture for the blog, where's the phone, grab, point, click - and we'll see if I can Instagram it into oblivion later."
*The naked greed demonstrated by this sentence is probably one of the reasons that I am fat.
Anyway, for today's example of the worst food photographer on the Blogosphere I give you:
Yeah. Lucky it tasted good.
This is surf and turf Nigel Slater style, based very closely upon his original recipe here. Trout, smeared with flavoured butter, wrapped in Parma ham and baked in the oven it was one of the tastiest things that I have cooked and eaten in a while. And, despite a generous helping of butter, points friendly.
I chose to make the butter in advance and chill it. You could avoid this step and just smear the room temperature butter on the fish when assembling which would be a slightly quicker albeit messier process. I'd probably just end up getting butter everywhere and be forced to lick it off my fingers.*
*The ardent love of butter demonstrated in this sentence is probably another reason why I am fat.
I served this with new potatoes which could be squished into the buttery juices, and the tail end of this year's asparagus (sob!)
Ingredients
2 trout fillets (approx. 110g each)
50g Parma ham in thin slices
30g butter
Clove of garlic, crushed
Tsp dried sage (or use fresh if, unlike me, you remember to buy it; dried worked perfectly well)
2 lemon wedges
Handful of flatleaf parsley, roughly chopped.
Serves 2, 8 pro points per portion
Make the butter in advance if you wish; ensure the butter itself is at room temperature and mash together with the crushed garlic, sage and some seasoning. Tip the softened butter onto a small square of clingfilm and roll up into a little sausage of artery clogging goodness. Bung in the fridge for a couple of hours to firm up.
When ready to cook, preheat the oven to 180.
Divide your slices of Parma ham into two portions and lay out vertically on a board. Season the trout and then set, horizontally and skin side up, on the top of the ham to form a cross shape.
Remove the butter sausage from the fridge, liberate from the clingfilm and thinly slice. Lay the slices of butter on top of the trout. Wrap the Parma ham around the trout fillet not bothering if the ends remain exposed.
Sit the fish, skin side up, in a baking dish with the two wedges of lemon. Bake in the oven for 15-20 minutes. Before serving, squeeze over the roasted lemon juice and sprinkle with chopped parsley.
*The naked greed demonstrated by this sentence is probably one of the reasons that I am fat.
Anyway, for today's example of the worst food photographer on the Blogosphere I give you:
This is surf and turf Nigel Slater style, based very closely upon his original recipe here. Trout, smeared with flavoured butter, wrapped in Parma ham and baked in the oven it was one of the tastiest things that I have cooked and eaten in a while. And, despite a generous helping of butter, points friendly.
I chose to make the butter in advance and chill it. You could avoid this step and just smear the room temperature butter on the fish when assembling which would be a slightly quicker albeit messier process. I'd probably just end up getting butter everywhere and be forced to lick it off my fingers.*
*The ardent love of butter demonstrated in this sentence is probably another reason why I am fat.
I served this with new potatoes which could be squished into the buttery juices, and the tail end of this year's asparagus (sob!)
Ingredients
2 trout fillets (approx. 110g each)
50g Parma ham in thin slices
30g butter
Clove of garlic, crushed
Tsp dried sage (or use fresh if, unlike me, you remember to buy it; dried worked perfectly well)
2 lemon wedges
Handful of flatleaf parsley, roughly chopped.
Serves 2, 8 pro points per portion
Make the butter in advance if you wish; ensure the butter itself is at room temperature and mash together with the crushed garlic, sage and some seasoning. Tip the softened butter onto a small square of clingfilm and roll up into a little sausage of artery clogging goodness. Bung in the fridge for a couple of hours to firm up.
When ready to cook, preheat the oven to 180.
Divide your slices of Parma ham into two portions and lay out vertically on a board. Season the trout and then set, horizontally and skin side up, on the top of the ham to form a cross shape.
Remove the butter sausage from the fridge, liberate from the clingfilm and thinly slice. Lay the slices of butter on top of the trout. Wrap the Parma ham around the trout fillet not bothering if the ends remain exposed.
Sit the fish, skin side up, in a baking dish with the two wedges of lemon. Bake in the oven for 15-20 minutes. Before serving, squeeze over the roasted lemon juice and sprinkle with chopped parsley.
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
Why isn't ert the opposite of inert?
I have been known to “hang out” (get me with the modern parlance) on the WW message boards from time to time. Weight loss – especially when you have a bit to lose – is like…I don’t know, golf, in that it is one of those things that becomes incredibly interesting and all consuming to you in a way that is utterly inexplicable to those who can’t relate.
Anyhoo, there is a lovely lady, K, on there who had lost stones and stones and who now runs seasonal challenges for other people – she puts you into teams and then you report your weight loss (or lack thereof) each week and she sends motivational messages and awards stars to the individuals and teams who lose the most weight…it’s all very much the kind of thing I appreciate and I thought I’d join this season for some additional motivation. I am in team 3 and they are lucky to have me (hollow laugh).
I had to report a gain for my first week of the challenge – which will be no surprise to anyone who saw my rather depressing post yesterday. I commented to K that real life was getting in the way of Weight Watching and she sent me a lovely response back:
You’re so right about real life interfering with our WW efforts! I think if you just stick at it, things will get better on the WW front. I look at it as a measure of my control over a small piece of a chaotic world. Everything else might be going wrong, but if I have control over what I eat, things are good in one part of my life.
Wise words indeed, from a woman who has proved that it is possible to lose a substantial amount of weight and, what’s even more incredible, keep it off.
So – things may be up in the air with D but today, just today, I’m going to take back a bit of control elsewhere.
Anyhoo, there is a lovely lady, K, on there who had lost stones and stones and who now runs seasonal challenges for other people – she puts you into teams and then you report your weight loss (or lack thereof) each week and she sends motivational messages and awards stars to the individuals and teams who lose the most weight…it’s all very much the kind of thing I appreciate and I thought I’d join this season for some additional motivation. I am in team 3 and they are lucky to have me (hollow laugh).
I had to report a gain for my first week of the challenge – which will be no surprise to anyone who saw my rather depressing post yesterday. I commented to K that real life was getting in the way of Weight Watching and she sent me a lovely response back:
You’re so right about real life interfering with our WW efforts! I think if you just stick at it, things will get better on the WW front. I look at it as a measure of my control over a small piece of a chaotic world. Everything else might be going wrong, but if I have control over what I eat, things are good in one part of my life.
Wise words indeed, from a woman who has proved that it is possible to lose a substantial amount of weight and, what’s even more incredible, keep it off.
So – things may be up in the air with D but today, just today, I’m going to take back a bit of control elsewhere.
Tuesday, 2 July 2013
I am inert
July. How did it get to be July? Just two more months and we reach the point of the calendar at which D and I said that we would make a final decision as to the future of our marriage.
This poor little blog has drifted away from its original purpose this year. It hasn’t been a blog about losing weight (although the scales have started to flurry downwards in recent weeks – and I’ve actually been stepping on the scales which is progress). It hasn’t really been a blog about food either, meal out posts aside, because the food I’ve been eating at home has been highly uninteresting. I don’t suppose anyone stumbling across it nowadays would feel inspired to learn more about Weight Watchers (although I am not, and never wish to be, an out and out advert for the company – I just happen to think that their healthy eating plan is eminently doable and sensible) or listen to a word I have to say on the subject of healthy eating. I still love it (the blog) though. I love the fact that it is an opportunity to do a little bit of writing every now and again and writing is something that really makes my heart sing. I love that I have retained little vignettes of my life across the past few years – and yes, most of them are food related but to be honest I have always been someone who measures out their days in meals rather than coffee spoons. And I want to continue to write it and, hopefully, make it less of the one woman pity party that it occasionally veers towards.
I guess that I am partly contemplating this now because I am distracted at the thought of the approaching deadline. If we decide to get back together, this blog will hopefully subside back into a cosy record of domestic meals and a suburban housewife’s battle of the bulge. But if we don’t? What then?
I recognise that my life cannot proceed in this, the state of limbo that I have existed in since last September. That, for me, has been the hardest thing about this process. The initial, horrific pain has subsided – as pain generally does – to a dull ache of loss. But the mourning process that must proceed from a relationship break up that I’ve not been able to fully go through. I feel like I’m caught in aspic – not quite single, not quite a wife. And it’s making me very, very tired now. Tired, and fed up and stubbornly resisting committing myself properly to anything. Like counting points. Or sorting out my messy spare room. Or knocking a couple of annoying tasks off my work to-do list. Or being anything other than inert.
Or perhaps it is just the weather. Let us be British and blame the weather instead.
This poor little blog has drifted away from its original purpose this year. It hasn’t been a blog about losing weight (although the scales have started to flurry downwards in recent weeks – and I’ve actually been stepping on the scales which is progress). It hasn’t really been a blog about food either, meal out posts aside, because the food I’ve been eating at home has been highly uninteresting. I don’t suppose anyone stumbling across it nowadays would feel inspired to learn more about Weight Watchers (although I am not, and never wish to be, an out and out advert for the company – I just happen to think that their healthy eating plan is eminently doable and sensible) or listen to a word I have to say on the subject of healthy eating. I still love it (the blog) though. I love the fact that it is an opportunity to do a little bit of writing every now and again and writing is something that really makes my heart sing. I love that I have retained little vignettes of my life across the past few years – and yes, most of them are food related but to be honest I have always been someone who measures out their days in meals rather than coffee spoons. And I want to continue to write it and, hopefully, make it less of the one woman pity party that it occasionally veers towards.
I guess that I am partly contemplating this now because I am distracted at the thought of the approaching deadline. If we decide to get back together, this blog will hopefully subside back into a cosy record of domestic meals and a suburban housewife’s battle of the bulge. But if we don’t? What then?
I recognise that my life cannot proceed in this, the state of limbo that I have existed in since last September. That, for me, has been the hardest thing about this process. The initial, horrific pain has subsided – as pain generally does – to a dull ache of loss. But the mourning process that must proceed from a relationship break up that I’ve not been able to fully go through. I feel like I’m caught in aspic – not quite single, not quite a wife. And it’s making me very, very tired now. Tired, and fed up and stubbornly resisting committing myself properly to anything. Like counting points. Or sorting out my messy spare room. Or knocking a couple of annoying tasks off my work to-do list. Or being anything other than inert.
Or perhaps it is just the weather. Let us be British and blame the weather instead.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
