Fatted chicken, foie gras and regulation fairy


Who says festive season, says for me and for 99% of the feminine population, weight stress at its highest level. It was, as far as I’m concerned, my second Zermatian Christmas. I’d be lying if I said it was an example of zen attitude, but it seems however to me that on the long trap paved path to food serenity, I’ve moved forward.

First of all, I have understood that I was going to put on weight. Without this thought making me immediately feel like eating twelve chocolates to reduce my anxiety. Then I haughtily ignored all stupid advises that proliferate in magazines – even the most honorable ones- when festive season is approaching. The dumbest of all being the one that consist in eating an apple, an egg (assured bad breath for new year’s eve), or, squarely, a good old spoonful of oil before agapes. With which purpose? Well, logical: to get there without being hungry.

Except that this calculation is stupid. Firstly, it’s the best way to offend your host: “no, you can forget about the capon you worked on for twelve hours because personally I just had three eggs without yolk and thus I’ll just eat air while watching you guys enjoy the dinner”.  Assured conviviality.

Secondly, it doesn’t work. Well not as far as I’m concerned. Personally, I’m totally capable of honoring the turkey, apple or not around 18h. Result: not only do you eat like everybody else but you also ate before. Double penalty, in short. With, on top of that, a less intense pleasure than if the turkey had been enjoyed while being famished.

Especially, may I remind you, the mantra of all Zermatian is the following: what you eat with hunger doesn’t make you gain weight.

In short, no subterfuge consisting in reducing your hunger before the dinner. Furthermore, thus, I’ve accepted to continue eating while my satiety was doing arm twirls like: “hey tart, I’m there, huh, may I point out that we have not even started the main dish and you are not hungry at all anymore? So you leave the table, now.”

“Shut up, hyena”, I answered her, remembering this discussion with Dr. Z., during which he reassured me: yes, during festive season or any other special occasions, every normal human being goes beyond his/her hunger. No one has a stomach big enough to reach dessert, having tasted everything and still being hungry.

Basically, for Christmas, you are sentenced to eat.

Thanks Zermati, but it doesn’t help much, you could say.

Indeed, except that this good doctor also taught me, and it’s essential in case of food marathon, that you must trust regulation fairy.

The latter is the key for everything, as it’s thanks to that mechanism that normally, the next day, the day after next, even the week following the overindulgence, you are naturally less hungry. The older you get, the longer it takes for regulation fairy to show up, that said. Like when you’re a kid the evening after a blowout, you fast without even noticing it. At my age, almost venerable, it can spread over several days. But she ends up showing up, madam regulation. And instinctively, you take smaller portions, you even skip a meal, simply because you body says no, it’s fine, stop it, I’m completely full.

I didn’t believe it, to say the truth. Especially when my regulation fairy had been nowhere to be found for the last twenty years. Not because of bitch mother nature as I thought then. If this tart fairy was taking it easy on an island somewhere, it’s for a simple and good reason: I was so busy feeling guilty for what I ate and regretting what had deprived myself of that I had upset everything and poor miss regul was totally jetlagged.

This year, thus, I made sure I started the meal with a big hunger. In order to enjoy it. Then, I tried to sa-v-our, enjoy each bite of foie gras (I’ll say twelve Our Father for my sin) or Bresse chicken. I ate slowly, which prevented me from taking several helpings. I took some dessert, a little bit, when I was full. But telling myself that the worst that could happen would be to gain one kilo. Or two. And that it wouldn’t change my life (this, still, is the hardest part and I can’t swear that today I totally don’t care about putting on weight).

Nevertheless the miracle happened. My fairy appeared in the following days. Without telling myself I had to pay attention, I did Lent in advance. Then I went to Istanbul where I had a firm intention to enjoy local dish without worrying. Hotel pancakes and double choc brownies, here I come, bring on the mezzes. All this without a scale, which theoretically makes me as nervous as Brian Joubert before a triple flip.

And then, same, regulation fairy showed up again. With the help, I have to admit, of Istanbul’s crazy hills which have awoken some organs which I thought were gone.  Like my hamstrings. And that have probably contributed to get rid of meat balls eaten every day.

Outcome of the whole thing: after two weeks of holidays, one extra kilo. Which, taking into consideration my free-style eating during those two weeks, seems to be a miracle close to the immaculate conception.

There you go, I don’t know if this rather long tale will help some of you but I found important to start the year on this positive note.

Apart from this, thanks for your wishes, I wish you a good and sweet one too. On our side, after dream like holidays, despite a fucking flu, we’ve started 2011 with stomach bug. Three children out of three on the ground, one of them, Darling, vomiting the smallest drop of water and on the verge of collapsing for any food evocation. I suspect we’ll get there too from Tuesday onwards. Happy new year, they said.

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