Three stirkes and you're out?

I've eaten THREE 3-course meals over the last THREE days. It's the dieters' triple threat, not to mention the worst nightmare for someone who has a problem saying words beginning in 'th' (which technically would also be correct as the meals were all 'free', too).

Why? I spent two days at Shellharbour on the NSW South Coast on a press trip. Supposedly was about testing out a bush walk to review for my readers, to inspire them to be fit and healthy, but mostly all I did was eat.

After a rough audit of my food choices during this trip (and the third meal at a launch in Sydney. Yet another 3-course meal with matching wines. Yawn – it's a tough life), I'd say I had a 51/49 strike rate – I manage to the right things most of the time... but only just.

I forgo afternoon snacks (tick)
But tend to get carried away with the bread (strike)
The bread at restuarants is so yummy, often some sort of sourdough, triple ground with ancient stones by blonde virgins, (or something similar but which fits on the menu better). It's also served with real butter softened with time and care, rather than a cocktail of chemicals. Having not eaten since lunch in preparation, I'm so low on blood sugar I fail to make the rational assesment of the further three mini-meals I'm about to eat and add a fourth course of bread. The lesson: One piece of bread is enough. You won't go hungry – trust me.

I skip the side sauce (tick)
But inhale every last chip in sight of my plate (strike)
I've posted previously about the devil in the sauce. Or the gravy. Or whatever-the-fancy-French name they've given to their leftover pan juices. I deemed the grain-fed porterhouse was tasty enough without the piped rosette of herbed butter (diet hero) but just can't seem to say no to potato side (loser). I sit in quiet awe of the sentence 'Can I have it with salad instead of the fries' but to date have never been able to utter it. The (not very helpful to your diet) lesson: Chips taste good and are hard to resist.

I drink lots of water (tick)
But it's mostly to rehydrate from the wine (strike)
Food and wine belong together like, er, Madge and Guy don't. There's nothing to really add here except to say that I'm going to try really hard to have two alcohol days in the near furture to make up for it. Hopefully within the next week. The lesson: Wine will not be your best friend in the morning.

I order tea not coffee or hot chocolate (tick)
But don't bother asking for skim milk (strike)
It might seem extreme to be obsessing over a quick flick of the wrist with the milk jug, but as I'd probably consumed 12,000 calories in the previous 3 courses, I need to save calories when I can. The lesson: Add one word – skim – to your order.

To summarise, even at the risk of sounding like I'm jumping on someone else's snappy diet dictum, the French eat 3-course meals pretty much every day and they don't get fat. It involves a complex set of lifestyle choices and I reckon switching to skim milk with my tea and eating fries (duh, they're French) might be a couple of them.

Round the world in 80 meals

Hi there. Remember me? I'm your fearless anti-diet campaigner. Sorry if you've been in a diet twilight zone, either hungry, or eating yourself to death while you wait for my next thrilling installment. I've been on a bit of a world tour and have these blog-worthy observations to make:

I've done a lot of eating since my last post. Pizza mostly. I've eaten Croatian pizza, ready-made Waitrose pizza from the UK and $10 pub pizza at my local.
Conclusion: Pizza is possibly the best food ever invented. There's really nothing you can't put on it and it can be healthy if you make it yourself. Seriously.

I also spent 4 days at a famous Thai health resort where I was offered more food than I'm likely to see in a month back here. Oh the perils of a buffet, even a healthy one. I surprised even myself with my discipline. (Confession: I also enthusiastically ordered the one allowable glass of wine with dinner each night and ate Burger King at the airport before flying home). Despite these small speed humps and the fact I eschewed the menu of physical activities in lieu of lying by the pool and watching Gilmore Girls DVDs in my suite, I left 2kg lighter and felt amazing, glowing and all that.
Conclusion: Eating chef-prepared health food and doing not much is a fabulous way to feel fabulous.

Five days in Dubai left me with a lot to say about incidental exercise. In the time I was there my physical activity consisted of walking from my mate's apartment, to the car, to a seat in a restaurant. Only a jaunt around a shopping mall did anything to raise my heart rate. I doubt I clocked 10,000 steps in total, let alone the recommended one day. Compared to Paris where I walked everywhere, charging up Metro steps and chased pigeons through the park while chanting ooh la la (OK, not really. Just trying to get you in le mood).
Conclusion: Parisian women don't get fat and people in Dubai seem to. Walk when you can.

I did much drinking to complement the eating I was doing. Especially in bonnie Glasgow where the summer light lingers until 11pm in July. I drank what seemed like litres and litres of booze – beer, cider, wine – everything in a glass bigger than my wee head, trying hard to keep up with the locals. I was also informed by my Scotland-dwelling friends that in some parts of Glasgow the male life expectancy is 55.
Conclusion: Drinking to excess will make you feel pretty shabby and is bad for your health.

There is also much to be said about airline food, and none of it relates to health properties. But my final observation is reserved for white bread. When travelling, you'll eat a lot of it.

Like water into wine

I've hit a new low. Or possibly hit on an ingenious new diet tip. TKF and I have taken to drinking water from wine glasses with our dinner. Much like those people who use the plastic replacement cigarettes from Nicroette, we are treating our penchant for wine at night as a psychological issue – that it's habitual rather than a real desire. And yes, just like those people sucking back on plastic toy cigarettes, we look completely ridiculous.

I'm blaming TKF. Her sister-in-law back home in the Kiwi motherland lost 12kg in some miracle amount of time this way. She cut out the booze, tricked herself into thinking she was relaxing with a glass of vino, continued to eat pineapple lumps and other NZ delicacies and the weight just melted off.

Neither TFK or I want to lose weight, we're just in the grip of ' two alcohol-free days a week guilt'. That is, we tend not to have them. (The other reason we've stopped drinking is neither of us is prepared to take off our chic home ensemble of house cardie, house trousers and le Ugh boots to go out and buy a damn bottle). There's no shame in the fact that I like to enjoy a glass of wine with my dinner, it's the best way to enjoy wine. The issue for me has been not being able to enjoy dinner without the wine. Le sigh.

So we sit up at the table of an evening, the finest in home cuisine prepared by moi served with a perfectly chilled glass of tap water from the Warrangamba Dam region. We make lame teatotal jokes that we could 'be wild and have the whole bottle!', and when we feel like a 'red', we pour it straight from the tap rather than have it chilled from the fridge. As I said, we've hit a new low.

But I've had three alcohol-free days in a row this week (possibly a personal record) but I can't say I feel any better or worse for it. However, this could be because I have a vested interest in this experiment failing miserably given aforementioned interest in wine (yes, I may once have escaped from the Golden Door Health Retreat in a covert operation to go buy wine and cheese). But I have saved myself from un-tolled empty calories and that, my friends, is the point (kind of).