On relosing weight

Losing weight is one of the great rollercoasters of life (another is financial security, but that’s another story). You work hard, you watch the pounds slowly go away, then poof- something disrupts your carefully built routine, takes you off the treadmill for a while, and the pounds pile back on. And bring their friends too.

This is normal. This is life. For the thousands, perhaps millions, of us who haven’t had a stable weight since their teens, this is also deep deep despair. Weight is a great discriminator, gathering all our fears, all our weaknesses into one single flabby point. It makes our features look old, but our actions look immature; it changes the way we fit into the world, from the width of an airline seat to the attitudes of employers and strangers. Weight shouts "lazy" even at the active amongst us; shouts careless except at those camouflaged with immaculate make-up (and the world is also full of larger women with perfect lipstick). We legislate on age, gender, colour (not that that always helps, but at least the framework is there), but fat, flabby, bulky, hefty all have their connotations and uses.

But it’s not all despair. And apparently strangely, one of the first steps in losing the weight again seems to be holding an acceptance in your heart of who you are now, what you are now; to love the person you are and the body you are in regardless of the extra pounds. Because one of the biggest enemies is indeed that despair. Because that’s the rot that stops us going out for a run ("it’ll never make a difference now I’m fat") or doesn’t stop us reaching for that biscuit ("it won’t make any difference, I’m already fat"). And that is indeed rot: there is no magical non-overlapping fat-you and thin-you; there is just you. And what you do now affects you, and what you put in and take out of your body affects your body. Every little bit. Every walk-to-the-next-bus-stop, every extra bag of crisps: it all makes a difference. And the good news is that you get to be in charge of this ‘you’ character. You are just you. The weight thing is ancillary. So if it makes you feel better to be thinner, then do that extra walk and say no to that biscuit.

Me, I lost a lot of weight (3 stones at the last count), but put a lot back on (holding steady at just over an extra stone). Yes, that’s depressing. Yes, it’s rough starting again every time. Except it’s not really starting again. Because each time I understand what’s happening, each time I learn a little more about what I need to do (or not do) to start pushing down that weight, I’m going to write it down here, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to follow, or if the food analogy is a bit too much, a carefully-knotted set of bedsheets to climb back into the size-12 window with. And hopefully, slowly, I won’t be starting again each time, but continuing at a place that I left off from earlier. With a bit more wisdom to beat down that despair with.

Someone I love very much is upset about their weight (in fact, two people I love very much had an almost-identical conversation about it with me this weekend). I need to lose weight, they need to lose weight; I miss being active. It’s a simple fix really: get out there and get proactive myself, and drag them along with me when I can. Stop bringing tempting foods with me so they don’t suffer afterwards too. Stop being a partner-in-crime and start being supportive instead. And ban the chips and chocolate. Full stop. Until we’re active enough to earn them (and even then, just share a small one). Onwards!

Time to make a list

I am conscious of not having Simoned recently, so I've bought pork belly and will be attempting one of his pork recipes soon.

Meanwhile, since I'm stuck in the house and I'm still trying to simplify my life, I thought I'd make a Sara-specific basic storecupboard list (and eat up everything else that's in the cupboards til they look like this):

• Spices: black peppercorns, sea salt, chilli flakes, paprika, nutmegs, vegetable stockcubes, beef stockcubes, saffron stalks, truffles.
  
• Wet: olive oil, soy sauce, balsamic vinegar, rice vinegar, sunflower oil, lemon juice, longlife milk
  
• Dry: brown sugar, self-raising flour, plain flour, bread mix
  
• Tins: tomato soup, baked beans, chickpeas, kidney beans, sardines or pilchards, anchovies
• Bits: brown rice, deCeccio pasta, Mr Mash, risotto rice, white beans, coffeebeans, coffee, hot chocolate, cereal, crackers
  
• Condiments: ketchup, marmite, honey, jam, dijon mustard, horseradish
  
• Fridge: gouda cheese, milk, butter, tomato paste, chorizo
  
• Frozen: mixed soft fruit
  
• Fresh: yams, onions, lemons, apples/pears, garlic.

And there are some Simon bits to keep too: mace, cloves.

On bike, off bike...

After a day of being irritatingly smug about cycling instead of using my car, I've fallen off it. Don't try to brake, undo a cleat (the thing that firmly attaches a shoe to a pedal) and round a corner at the same time: it doesn't work. And it's surprisingly difficult to undo said cleat whilst lying down. But I've cycled everywhere today (station and back, meeting and back, shopping and back), I feel good about it and I'm going to do it all over again tomorrow. Hopefully taking a longer route home too: I'll start by trying to get 10 miles in, and work my way up from there.

Pimp (del)(del)(del) Map my ride and friends

I'm trying a no-car week. Which failed miserably on the first day (monday) because I didn't have the nuts to cycle to the dentist (it's only a few miles) during worktime. Oh, and my dentist is in a dodgy area and I didn't have the requisite number (more than one) of bike locks. But it's Tuesday and I'll try again. Is interesting though: I used to spend most of my spare time on a bike (I averaged 300 miles a week when I lived in a flat place: many of them spent cycling to the nearest hill to practice grimping) , but now I'm daunted by more than 2 miles. I need to fix this, and cycling to work instead of using the car is only the start of it.

Ah... despite chickening out at cycling to the dentist, my travel this week includes: going to the doctors, to Hwsgo and a meeting in Farnborough. And whilst I was trying to find a route from the train station to my meeting (I've given up on the business image and reverted back to cycling techie. It's me. I'm happy with it), I found Map My Ride and its sister site Map My Run. Excellent idea. I've already measured a set of routes by hand for the wiki at work, but a "how do I get 5 miles in at lunchtime without being fumigated by a truck" website is a great idea. I'll be in checking at lunchtime. I would be running, but I did my first BodyPump class (weights to music) for a while last night, and I need to be a bit gentle on myself. The good news is that the back problem survived this okay. The bad news is that I seem to have quite a lot of muscle strength in the meantime. Oh, and my weight. 176.6lbs. Which is a slight improvement on the last few days at 177.4. I have much to do again, but at least I'm starting to do it.

1 Simon: Braised Endives

I have been quite bad (very bad is reserved for very special occasions) and not released the review of Hwsgo's Braised Endives yet. This is partly system rebuild (the photos are elsewhere) and partly a wrestling with my conscience about whether I could claim a Simon that someone else (albeit someone very close) cooked. So this is a review, right, unless I get down the wire with the 'how many Simons did I manage to cook in 2 years (note the more relaxed timetabling slipping in there)' thing.

Hwsgo braised the endives (and has done so at least twice since, which is possibly a good measure of how good the recipe is) at the same time as grilling some nice fat Cornish sardines, neither of which took an excessive amount of time (less than half an hour). It was truly excellent and classic Simon: rich and comforting, with enough sauce to enjoy again with bread at the end of the meal. Oh, you wanted me to review the food? Later...

One good, one bad, all shellfish

Well I did manage to have a bad meal in Philadelphia: an oyster plate at Pearl's Oyster bar in Reading Market. Where do I start... well, it's a plate. With oysters and fries and coleslaw and two little pots of relish. But the oysters are in batter: not light, floaty, enhance-the-taste tempura, but the sort of batter usually found round a 3am fried and anonymous piece of chicken: heavy, nasty, cloying. And the oysters? There are fish stands in the market with lovely lovely fresh fish in them, all full glassy eyes and taut shimmering tails. These oysters didn't taste that way. Although that may have had something to do with the strange slimy green sauce that they were each wrapped around. I had coffee with this; the cheque arrived on my table before I could even think of asking for a second cup. Think I didn't enjoy this? Let's talk about the other seafood...

...The Imperial Inn in Chinatown. I wandered in quite late, alone, and was amused to be ushered past all the big circular tables and gilded decor into a singles, locals and other sad folks room. Which was really rather jolly: I had a table with a prime view of a Chinese news channel (earthquake pictures very sobering over dinner) and the lady who was really in charge doing the accounts and being properly fussed over. As was I. As soon as I sat down and started thinking about my order, a glass of ice water, a pot of chinese tea and some nibbles (some form of chinese cheese straws as far as I could tell) and sauces appeared, although it's only fair to warn you that the yellow sauce with the nibbles is in fact very hot mustard and not a sweet mango relish as I'd supposed. So repressing the urge to order something smaller, I decided to try the pork dim sum and the mixed seafood-and-other-stuff (chicken, pork, vegetables) sizzling plate. And a beer: which arrived, as asked and requested, with the main meal; not a moment sooner, not a moment later. Which given it was a very drinkable pot of tea suited me just nicely. The dim sun: cheap, hot and four of them: looked hand-made, tasted authentic (as in would be perfectly acceptable in Wing Wah's in Birmingham: that's an accolade, btw). The sizzling plate: delicious (and came with rice: no "do you want anything with that madam", just a sensible bowl of proper sticky rice) , with big fat fried prawns (light tempura) and some other battered seafood that was firm, tasty and had just the right amount of bounce to it. Now Imperial managed that well as part of a much more complex dish: why couldn't Pearl's?

I ended with the water and a fortune cookie. "You are a person of strong sense of duty". Hmmm.

Philled me up

Hanging out in Philadelphia for a few days, and I haven't managed to have a bad meal here yet. Which is something of a record: either I'm getting very very good at choosing where to eat, or this place is a genuine foodie hotspot that I hadn't noticed before.

Case in point: Reading Terminal Market. I'm staying a block away, so it seemed silly not to try eating there at least once. Although I was only going out to get some more coffee from WaWas (24oz cups of decent filter coffee: one of the things that the US does well), it was close enough to lunchtime to drop in for something to eat at the oyster bar. Except. Except. I thought I'd have a walk around the market stalls first. And found Greek, Mexican, seafood, French bakeries, Chinese, Italian, Thai and sushi restaurants, all looking good, all deeply tempting. And then I was saved: the one thing I'd been hoping to try on this trip hove into view, and I ended up eating big plump blueberry pancakes with bacon at one of the Amish cafes. And I mean Amish, not some pastiche of 'Amish-style food' and low-paid girls in suitably ethnic frocks. I think they're used to that cultural pause/ intake of breath when someone rounds the corner and meets them for the first time (yes, reader, even I the seasoned liberal and traveller have cultural pauses sometimes) : the zip-free lass who served me in the Dutch Eating Place just grinned at me, got me some coffee and gave me a minute to get my bearings. Darned good pancakes, good enough that I may have to find a lower-fat route to the coffee next time.

Other places tried this trip: El Vez (great mexican presented in a modern european style; I think: it's a little difficult to tell past the haze of the blood orange and pomegranite margueritas), Marathon grill (damn fine quesadillas in all flavours, and more biiig cups of coffee), Capo Giro (Italian ice cream; highly rated icecreams online, but disappointing in reality apart from the stunningly good dark chocolate flavour), Mosulu (great setting on a schooner, but the chef, although good, seems unconfident, covering way too many of the dishes with over-sweet flavours) and the Caribou Cafe (I know where all the good French food has gone now. It's not in France anymore; it's hiding out in Pennsylvania. No problems getting a table-for-one inside on a busy day or turning up mid-afternoon for lunch; great food, and very moreish sourdough with it). I'm staying near Chinatown, but with this much choice, Chinese, even the sort of Chinese that sees queen conch as a staple food ingredient, just isn't tempting me at the moment. And more problematically I may also finally be full: tonight may just be a staying inside with a bag full of low-fat soy crisps (Glennys, cheddar flavour) sort of night. And maybe some more coffee.