A feast or a famine
Diary of a home bird
‘BEEP, beep, beep, beep’. That’s the sound I dread. No, not a car beeping at me because I’ve performed some stupidly illegal turn (there’s a first!), but the beeping sound of my alarm.
Yes, I am still suffering on with my ‘clean lifestyle’. However, I must admit I slowly introduced alcohol back into the system last week.
The last couple of weeks have been interesting, and at some points, a shock to the system. For someone with little or no discipline (if there’s food in front of me I will eat it), having to limit myself to smaller portion sizes and certain foods, proved somewhat difficult.
Text messages from friends about lunch dates and coffee meet ups were discarded, along with the Friday night treats. Oh who am I kidding, the nightly treats!
I must admit, I broke out just shy of the full 21-day plan I was doing, and boy did I eat. It wasn’t your average snackbox meal, no sir-ee. It was a three-course meal in a five-star hotel. This time around there was no problem in my eyes being too big for my (slightly reduced) belly. Chips, bread, sauce and more bread, all for me, and some for the boyf!
It was a welcome relief from standing over a hot stove or peeling copious amounts of sweet potatoes. And what was really great too was not having to take out my calculator in order to help cook the meal. Confused? So was I. You see, my previous attempt at cooking beef was more of an exercise in my maths skills than my culinary skills.
“If the beef is 1.02kg and there’s 2.2 pounds in a kilo, and it’s 15 minutes per pound, then, ah, uh.” I nearly resorted to a text book in the hope that Pythagoras’s theorem might help.
Another dubious attempt at rustling up a meal saw myself and the boyf nearly poison ourselves after a close call with some ‘aromatic’ chicken fillets that I had defrosted.
Taking some pity on my plight, local Ballinrobe chef Niki Gannon of ‘Biaathome’ has offered to rustle up some ‘Paleo friendly’ meals for me. Here’s hoping I’ll get some inspiration to rustle up some of my own, without killing anyone!
Back to the ‘break out night’. I was like a child in a candy shop or whatever the equivalent is to a starved journalist. Not five minutes into our room and I was tucking into a frosted complimentary cupcake before dinner.
And after a three course meal and a feed of wine, what could a girl possibly want? Well, room service of course. ‘How did you possible eat room service after all that?’, I hear you ask. I didn’t. Turns out I was so exhausted from my big night of fine dining that I fell asleep before it arrived and the boyf was left to attempt tackling the feast.
Alas, it’s now back to reality. Instead of the midnight snack it’s midnight cooking prep for the following day. Late hotel check-outs have been replaced by early morning alarm bells and the only room service around these days is if I bring a glass of water to bed.
And did I mention it’s just over two weeks ’til the first Great Lakes Challenge run in Tourmakeady? I better hit the road.
In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.