Ep01: Where it all began

“Confessions of a Cream-Loving Skeptic”  

I’ve eaten whatever I pleased for most of my life. More cream? Yes please. More sugar? Obviously. More salt? Don’t insult me with less. These things make food taste divine. That’s not up for debate.

But are they great for your health? Well, that depends on whether you define “health” as living forever or just dying with a smile on your face. As a chef by trade, I know how to make food that makes people close their eyes and moan. And let me tell you, fat, salt, and sugar are the holy trinity of flavor. You want bland? Go lick a rice cake.

Now, if you’re anything like me and I suspect you are, because you’re still reading, you know that cutting back on those flavor bombs is no small feat. It’s like asking a painter to use only beige. Or a jazz musician to play scales. Technically possible. It can be done but who wants to?

But here I am, trying to make peace with lentils and leafy greens. Not because I’ve lost my taste buds, but because I’d like to keep my knees working and my brain firing for a few more years. So yes, I’m learning to cook without drowning everything in butter. But I reserve the right to complain about it.

“Mind Over Muffins”  

I’ve been overweight for most of my life. Not dramatically so, just enough to keep me in the “should probably do something about it” category. I’ve never been one for diets. Tried a couple in my twenties, both ended in disappointment and a whole lot more weight. The truth? The only thing that’s ever worked is cutting something out entirely. Sugar, fat, gluten, joy or whatever villain the health gurus are flogging that week.

But let’s not kid ourselves. It's simple: eat less than you burn. That’s it. That’s the whole show. Calories in, calories out. A concept so basic it could be printed on a serviette. And yet, here we are, still struggling.

Why? Because no one talks about the real hurdle: mind over matter. You can hand me a chart, a meal plan, a motivational quote in curly font but unless you’ve got a strategy for convincing my brain that steamed kale is worth the sacrifice, we’re not getting far.

“Eat less, exercise more.” “No pain, no gain.” These are the bumper stickers of the wellness world. But where’s the guidebook for surviving the emotional fallout of saying no to cheese? Where’s the support group for people who mourn butter? Or miss meat?

So yes, the solution is simple. But simple doesn’t mean easy. And if you think I’m going to pretend that celery sticks are satisfying, you’ve got another thing coming. I’ll eat them. I’ll even roast them (which I've done and they're good). But I reserve the right to grumble.

“Mindset, Fruitcake, and the Binge Spiral”  

Finding solid advice on developing the right mindset for weight loss is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Everyone’s got opinions, but very few have anything useful to say. Most apps come with menus, meal plans, and sanctimonious smoothie recipes but back in 2019, I stumbled across one app that actually helped. I hesitate to call it a diet. What it did come with was psychology. Actual brain stuff. The kind that helps you stay mentally motivated when your body is screaming for buttered toast.

Noom, it was called (no affiliate nonsense, just a nod of respect.). And yes, it’s a paid app. But it worked. It used a traffic light system; green, yellow, red and gave me just enough structure to plan meals that didn’t taste like cardboard. I could still cook with flavor, still feel like myself, and still stay within the daily limits of sound nutrition.

I had to invent a whole new culinary universe to satisfy my overstimulated palate. Because if the food is boring, I’m out. I’ll be halfway through a block of chocolate before you can say “steamed broccoli.”

But for six glorious months, I stuck with it. I dropped 20 kilos. I walked down the aisle in a wedding dress that made me feel like a goddess. The food was divine. The cake? To die for. And yes, I ate the entire bottom tier myself over the following week. Moist, rich fruitcake with icing so good it could start a religion.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of the end.

My resolve crumbled like shortbread. Over the next six months, I put back 25 kilos. The usual pattern, lose some, gain back more. The taste for the holy trinity came roaring back, and the binge cycle kicked in like an old friend with bad intentions.

Three-quarters of a king-size block of chocolate? Easy. A packet of Gingernuts? Gone. A bag of Werther’s Originals? Don’t even blink. Roast dinner with all the trimmings and two helpings of dessert? Child’s play.

You get the picture. I’m not here to pretend I’ve got it all figured out. But I am here to tell the truth. And sometimes, the truth tastes like icing.

“Knees, Pills, and the Art of Not Giving Up”  

Let’s talk knees. Mine are shot. Early sports injuries, years of carrying more weight than the weight charts say I should, and a steady decline in activity have turned them into creaky, swollen relics of their former selves. X-rays confirmed what I already suspected: severe osteoarthritis, no cartilage on the inside of either joint, and a charming bowing of the calf bones. The right knee likes to stab me with random red-hot poker pain, while the left just clicks like a metronome—mercifully, without agony.

Walking downhill? A cruel joke. Stairs? A vertical betrayal. By the end of each day, my feet, ankles, and calves were puffed up like overcooked dumplings. Add restless legs and constipation to the mix and you’ve got yourself a party. A very uncomfortable one.

I’ve been prescribed more pills than a pharmacy stocks, by more doctors than I care to count. It was like playing medication roulette. Then I found a new one who took one look at my blood pressure (often soaring past 200/100) and said, “No surgery until that’s under control.” Fair enough. I was sitting around 97kg, having already dropped 5kg by being less of a gourmand ie: greedy pig and eating only one poached egg instead of two, and that sort of thing,

We started a new regime. I logged my blood pressure religiously for three months. Another 5kg gone. Sitting at 92kg. And finally, after trying a cocktail of meds, my blood pressure is now normal. Cue the confetti. But I’m not thrilled about the daily pill parade. They come with side effects, and frankly, I’d rather not be a walking pharmacy.

Then came the blood test. Pre-diabetic. Elevated cholesterol. Despite the weight loss. Well, jeepers. If losing 10kg doesn’t fix it, what will? Should I just throw in the towel, grab a rocking chair, and wait for the apocalypse? I’ve had a good run. Done plenty. And judging by the news, the world might be wrapping up anyway.

But here’s the twist: the small weight loss did help. The knee pain eased. The fluid retention backed off. I got referred to physio instead of surgery. And after just two sessions plus moving into a house with stairs at the top of a hill (because why not add a challenge?) my knees are actually functioning better.

So no, I’m not giving up. I may grumble, I may binge on fruitcake, I may curse the stairs. But I’m still climbing. And that, my friends, is the point.

“From Eye-Roll to Eggplant: My Reluctant Return to Plants” 

So there I was, blood sugar up, cholesterol waving red flags, and my new mainstream doctor whom I liked very much, sent me some resources. I clicked the link, and what should pop up but the dreaded words: Plant-Based Diet. I groaned. Loudly. “Oh get lost, I’m not going to be a vegan!”

I forgot about it for a week and one morning after a good dose of red-hot poker knee, I thought about the fact that a mainstream doctor was handing out alternative info. Convince me, I muttered.

I called my husband, and we watched the hour-and-a-half documentary. And wouldn’t you know it, the evidence was compelling. We looked at each other and realized: This is basically what we were eating five years ago when I lost 20kg.

We loved it then so we resolved to try again. This time, we’d avoid animal-based foods. Avoidance, mind you, not elimination. I’m not trying to live forever. Just long enough to enjoy my meals and maybe walk up a flight of stairs without sounding like a steam engine.

If you’re curious, the film is called Forks over Knives and I highly recommend it. Especially if you’re a skeptic with a soft spot for science and a hard spot for kale.

I’ve been on the regime for two weeks now. I’ve started a new mode of cooking—less dairy, less fish, more plants. From this week, we’re going fully vegetarian.

"Why a blog?"

A good friend of mine, who had both knees replaced and still suffers, decided she wants to try it too. But says she doesn’t know how to cook this way even though she is a great cook. After two hours on the phone explaining recipes, I thought: Why not document what I do? Recipes, tips, tricks, flavor pairings, prep hacks, the whole shebang. If it helps her, maybe it’ll help someone else too.

My lifelong love of the most delicious, wrong foods has probably shaved years off my life. The threat of heart disease, diabetes, cancer, sure, they’re scary. But the mental anguish of knowing I’m eating myself into a corner? That’s a whole other beast. They say a healthy body makes a healthy mind. And in my experience, it’s true. I’ve never felt better than when I ate more vegetables. And after two weeks on plants, my number twos are award-winning.

Now all I have to do is stick to it. Let’s go!

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Ep02: So you blew it! Nothing is ever plain sailing

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