All you can eat buffet


That week in Doha, apart from the fact that it was a source of anxiety for several already discussed reasons, was for me a sort of initiatory trip in my long quest of food serenity. Since a bit more than one year Zermating on a daily basis, it was, with my stay at my step-mother’s, one of the biggest challenge I’ve had to face.


Because all you can eat buffet.

The all you can eat buffet, for any person having suffered in her life of hyperphagia, it’s devil, it opens the door to every window, it means assured stuffing, going wild from starters already. And thus there, it was food open bar, morning, midday and evening. During the rest of the day as well, the press room being supplied with delicious junk food all day long. To fill you, Qataris are flat out.

Fucking sense of hospitality.

Especially that those guys, they know how to cook. I confirm by the way that there was no semolina, however for humus, aubergine caviar, warm pita bread, double cream tzatziki and kebab, it was oil abundance. Same for dessert, series of Lebanese cakes AND western treats which had no reason to be jealous of best pastries from around here. I especially had a strawberry cheesecake that was a killer.


And I’m not talking about freshly squeezed oranges – they had a priori wiped out a dozen of Moroccan orangery for the occasion – served all the time, when it was not natural melon, pineapple, guava or mango juice.

In short, you’ve understood, land of plenty and abundance, all this.

The anxiety of the keeper in front of his goal is nothing compared to what I felt during the first breakfast when I caught the eye of the Hyatt employee in charge of making pancakes on demand.

Last week was thus my all inclusive baptism of fire. It must be said that I remember week-ends after which I succeeded in coming back with 4 or 5 extra kilos. I’m not talking about my luggage unfortunately. And this time, I couldn’t really explain, nothing, nada, not one gram.

Well, I’m not saying I don’t have the start of an explanation.

Squeezed oranges.

No more details.

But even. The fact is that I’ve tasted everything that was tempting me without gorging. For breakfast, I managed not to eat twelve pancakes, three brioches and four omelets. Without mentioning the bowl of Oreos which I didn’t even touch. I didn’t deprive myself, I didn’t dream of what I didn’t taste. And I did – almost – not feel guilty for what I’d swallowed. Wait, I’m not saying my food diary – which I didn’t write but you get me – would have given a hard on to Dukon, right. One evening, to go with my Cosmopolitan at Dunes bar, I think I compulsively munched 278 puffed cashew nuts (awesome, I still dream about it). But afterwards, at the buffet, the famous one, I settled for a few grams of humus to go with the flow. Without even thinking about it.

I’m not crowing over a victory, just like I’ll always be a smoker – especially currently as I’m on top of that subject – I believe I’ll always be likely to drawn my ill-being, my anxieties and even my happiness in any food containing chocolate, butter or sugar. But until now, everything is going rather well, my satiety, I found it and I won’t let it go.

Next, Christmas and its thousand and one temptations is fast approaching…

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