The magical joy of eating

Health 2023
The magical joy of eating
The magical joy of eating

Confess, when was the last time you ate, enjoying every bite? Not thinking about the he alth benefits, not counting calories, not tormented by remorse? Food can be a nightmare for a woman and cause a nervous breakdown. Or maybe one of life's greatest pleasures. But for this you need to forget about diets and eat only what you want, when you want, and be able to stop in time.

The magical joy of eating

Women who are happy with their weight do not exist in nature, and I am no exception. I've been on a constant diet ever since the day my freshman year in college, when my dear friend asked me where I found fashionable clothes in my size. I must say that my size was then forty-six, and there were no problems with clothes. I have periods of particularly strict diets - after childbirth, after a vacation in Italy, after endless New Year holidays … My husband calls this periods of exacerbations. I think I've tried every diet imaginable. I sat on kefir, raw buckwheat and separate meals. I ate only proteins, excluding carbohydrates, and then vice versa. I ate only celery soup with cabbage for a week and spent two weeks on apples. I didn’t eat after six for several years and weighed myself in the morning on an empty stomach. It would probably go on indefinitely. But when, after the old new year, I became depressed and decided to do a three-day wellness fast, my husband said: “That's enough. Either you will eat like all normal people, or I'm leaving. I want to live with a contented, well-fed woman, I want to have sausage in the fridge, and I want my wife to drink beer with me on Saturday night! Choose: either diet, or me!” So I chose my husband…

I decided to “eat like all normal people”, but it turned out that in recent years I have become so used to being guided by the advice of nutritionists that even now I definitely need someone's advice. Last year, "DO" wrote about the "system of French women" (August 2005 - ed.). Frankly speaking, I liked the main idea of ​​the article even then - there is everything that you want and enjoy it. At that moment, I decided that this was not for me: only severe restrictions could save my figure. But she put the magazine away anyway. And apparently, now is the time to get it. I decided this: for exactly two months I will enjoy food. I will eat fatty, sweet, smoked - whatever I want. And I won't even look at the alfalfa sprouts, I swear. Most likely, during this time I will get fat so that my husband will beg me to return to diets.


The most important thing, according to French women, is to eat what you want, and not what is he althy, correct or low-calorie. The body itself knows what it lacks, and you should not mislead it. I start my pleasant meals on Monday. I send my husband to work, and the child to school. Now I have half an hour to have breakfast and go to the office. Usually I eat oatmeal cooked with water, without s alt and sugar, and add some fruit to it - an apple, pear or orange, drink green tea, and read something during breakfast. Today everything will be different. First, no books: they distract and interfere with enjoying food. Secondly, no green tea, instead - a large cup of cocoa with milk (3.2% fat). Thirdly, no oatmeal. I'm making myself something I've been dreaming of for years: a giant fresh white bread sandwich with a crispy crust. Inside I put smoked brisket, cheese (a lot of cheese), lettuce (just a little bit) and add mayonnaise - and not fat-free, but the most real, olive (about 200 calories per tablespoon, but who counts?). Lightly warm up. I sit down at the table. I'm trying. I am an adult, self-possessed woman, but when I bite into the very first small piece of this huge sandwich and wash it down with cocoa, I want to scream with happiness. I take with me to work a large bar of milk chocolate, two bags of nuts (pine nuts and cashews), crispy cookies with coconut flakes and marshmallow, because I can do everything! But here’s the strange thing: if after oatmeal I started to have a snack at eleven o’clock (low-calorie cookies with vitamins, rye crackers without s alt, dried fruits), now I don’t feel like eating until the second, when it’s already quite possible to dine.


If I'm not on a strict diet, my usual lunch is vegetable soup and salad dressed with vegetable oil. Today I take myself mushroom cream soup with cream and cheese croutons, and for the second golden fried fish with mashed potatoes and a small plate with fabulous Olivier salad. From a distance of a few steps I feel how marvelously pickled cucumbers and sausages smell in it … It's some kind of new year in early February. This is the birthday of the heart! Seeing all this, my colleagues exhale in fright and, it seems, can no longer inhale. And while they crunch their cabbage salad in amazement, I slowly (this is the main parting word of French women) eat my soup with croutons and hot. And when it comes to Olivier, I almost realize with horror that I … don't want it. Anyone who has ever been on a diet will understand me. If you take a break in proper nutrition, then during this break you sweep away everything that is bad, and this seems completely logical: tomorrow the diet will start again and you will not be able to eat it. But since everything is now possible for me, I simply set aside this holiday with pickled cucumbers. I can eat it tomorrow. My body is now asking for not cucumbers at all. I head back to my desk, pour myself a cup of tea, and unwrap my completely unhe althy milk chocolate, which is ridiculously low in cocoa beans but filled with raisins and nuts. And feeling the first chocolate square melt in my mouth, I understand that the war is lost. I will become fat, terrible and no one will ever love me again, and sex will turn into a pleasant memory … I don’t know if carbohydrates make a person happy, but after eating half a bar, I understand that I feel good. And it would have been even better if the astonished colleagues did not look at me from all sides, who resolutely refused to join my celebration of life.


My husband's dream came true: today we all have dinner together, at seven o'clock in the evening (which is a whole hour after the last allowed meal, in case someone forgot). For dinner we eat fried meat, french fries and vegetable salad (but without alfalfa!), drink wine. We talk about what happened during the day. Just some kind of Forsyte Saga.

Husband is so happy that he washes the dishes after dinner. Before going to bed, the daughter asks in a mysterious whisper:

- Mom, are you pregnant? You are kind of weird…

I go to bed fully convinced that I won't fall asleep on a full stomach. Nothing happened. I fall asleep instantly, and for the first time in a long time, I am not tormented by images of mouth-watering dishes that I could eat right now. By the way, French women believe that the best gymnastics for the body is sex.


Why has it never occurred to me to make myself fresh juice for breakfast before? It takes the same amount of time to cut an orange in half as it does to peel it, cut it into wedges, slice it, and add it to uns alted oatmeal. But how much more delicious is drinking fresh juice from a crystal glass than chewing an orange with oatmeal! And why didn’t it occur to me what is more pleasant to eat on beautiful dishes? I save it for solemn occasions, but these plates will not fade, if from time to time you take them out for no reason, for yourself, just to make it nice! On beautiful dishes, ordinary rice with vegetables turns almost into risotto, and you don’t feel like rushing while eating. Apparently, French women are not so wrong: when you know that you can do everything and always, then you no longer need to overeat. Stop when you feel full. “You need to know the measure,” my dad likes to say instructively. It feels like I finally understand what he means. Following the recommendations of the French women, I go up to the fourth floor on foot and write down everything I ate during the day during the diet, and what I eat now. It's a shock: it turns out I don't eat much more than that. In the past, nearly half of what we ate came from low-calorie snacks, which added up to a very decent amount of calories.


Eclair in coffee glaze, with cream and coconut flakes. Chocolate cake with cherries. Hot pizza with olives, pineapple and seafood. Macaroni and cheese, finally! It's scary to think what happens if you put together all the time that I spent dreaming about these inaccessible joys. But here is what French women noticed: if you want ice cream, and you are trying to replace it with something useful, you will not succeed. Instead of ice cream, you are an apple, then a dried pear, then some raisins and fortified rye crackers … But it will still end with ice cream, because the body will take its toll anyway. Only if you endure three days, then on the fourth day you will eat much more of this ice cream than on the day when the idea of ​​\u200b\u200bice cream first occurred to you.


Exactly two months later, I take out the scales from the closet. In all that time, I never weighed myself. I feel by the clothes that I have recovered. But I do not feel that the weight gain was catastrophic. The scales show 66 kg instead of 64.5 at the beginning of my pleasant meal. I gained one and a half kilos. With a height of 168 cm, this is not much, but in a year with such a diet, I would have recovered quite significantly. Of course, I will slightly correct the advice of French women. I will not eat half a chocolate bar every day, but only 3 slices. But certainly with pleasure! And I've already signed up for the gym. It turns out that if you are not on a diet, then you have the strength to go in for aerobics or swim a couple of times a week. Oh, and of course, let's not forget that the most favorite gymnastics of French women is sex.

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