Regardless of the predictions, we have had no sleet or snow, although there was a very heavy frost yesterday morning. The hills are still lying with snow, which looks quite beautiful especially in the early morning and late afternoon light. The photo above Don took yesterday afternoon from The Knock above Crieff.
Today is Day 1 on Phase II of the South Beach Diet. Still holding at 9 lbs lost. They pretty much guarantee you'll lose between 8 and 13 lbs in the first two weeks, so I suppose I can't complain, so I won't.
In Phase II you can add back some fruit and carbohydrates (carefully and selectively). I have been looking forward to breakfast for several days now, ever since I peeked at what was on the menu so I could create my grocery list last Sunday. Here's what was on for brekky: a cup of fresh strawberries and oatmeal made with skim milk topped with cinnamon and walnuts. No sugar, of course. Now up here in Scotland, some folks eat porridge with just salt, no sugar. I wasn't raised that way, though. My mother stirred butter, cinnamon, and brown sugar into my porridge and by golly, that's the way I like it. I tried sprinkling on some artificial sweetener but I could see it was going to take a helluva lot before it would taste sweet and then it would be overly sweet in that way only artificial sweeteners can taste. So I heaved a sigh and then heaved in the whole bowl of fresh strawberries I was planning to have on its own. That certainly helped although it really wasn't the way I wanted to eat either my oatmeal or my strawberries.
Then came lunch--a tabbouleh salad made with cucumbers, tomatoes, green onions, dried mint, fresh parsley, bulgar wheat and chicken topped with a vinaigrette. Sounds good you say? Not if bulgar is your least favorite carbohydrate. (Okay, least favorite after quinoa which, to my mind, doesn't count because I'm convinced quinoa is not even real food. I think it's a by-product of silk-making.) I am sure as I ate my lunch today I must have looked like the kid who had been ordered to stay at the table after everyone had finished dinner until she ate what was on her plate. Can you see the picture? Legs swinging under the chair, one elbow on the table, head tilted to rest in that hand, fork making doodles in the mess on her plate. Well I wasn't quite that bad but it did seem to take a long time to make that plateful of salad go away. I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that if bulgar wheat were the only thing I had to eat for a year, it still wouldn't be something I'd grow to like. But I ate it.
In Phase II you can add back some fruit and carbohydrates (carefully and selectively). I have been looking forward to breakfast for several days now, ever since I peeked at what was on the menu so I could create my grocery list last Sunday. Here's what was on for brekky: a cup of fresh strawberries and oatmeal made with skim milk topped with cinnamon and walnuts. No sugar, of course. Now up here in Scotland, some folks eat porridge with just salt, no sugar. I wasn't raised that way, though. My mother stirred butter, cinnamon, and brown sugar into my porridge and by golly, that's the way I like it. I tried sprinkling on some artificial sweetener but I could see it was going to take a helluva lot before it would taste sweet and then it would be overly sweet in that way only artificial sweeteners can taste. So I heaved a sigh and then heaved in the whole bowl of fresh strawberries I was planning to have on its own. That certainly helped although it really wasn't the way I wanted to eat either my oatmeal or my strawberries.
Then came lunch--a tabbouleh salad made with cucumbers, tomatoes, green onions, dried mint, fresh parsley, bulgar wheat and chicken topped with a vinaigrette. Sounds good you say? Not if bulgar is your least favorite carbohydrate. (Okay, least favorite after quinoa which, to my mind, doesn't count because I'm convinced quinoa is not even real food. I think it's a by-product of silk-making.) I am sure as I ate my lunch today I must have looked like the kid who had been ordered to stay at the table after everyone had finished dinner until she ate what was on her plate. Can you see the picture? Legs swinging under the chair, one elbow on the table, head tilted to rest in that hand, fork making doodles in the mess on her plate. Well I wasn't quite that bad but it did seem to take a long time to make that plateful of salad go away. I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that if bulgar wheat were the only thing I had to eat for a year, it still wouldn't be something I'd grow to like. But I ate it.
My afternoon snack was delicious, though: a fresh Conference pear with a wedge of Laughing Cow Light Cheese. But the best is yet to come. Tonight's dinner is fresh salmon fillets (no, that's not a misspelling: over here it's fillet [two Ls] and is pronounced "FILL-it") with a spinach stuffing, vegetable medley and mixed salad, and for dessert: chocolate-dipped strawberries! (My reward for choking down the bulgar.)
Okay, enough about the diet. Don has been out to his Probus Club meeting today. Yesterday he was asked if he would serve as vice president of the club next year. His astute question was: Am I correct in my assumption that the person who serves as vice president will be the next year's president? When the answer came back in the affirmative, Don replied to the original request in the negative, but kindly.
This afternoon he went out to play golf with John Southorn and did quite well. His poor knee is quite swollen, but he's still hirpling (another great Scots' word, that) around okay. Tomorrow morning he goes to Perth to see the physio.
While he's away to Perth, I'll be making my now-famous and well-favoured Knobby Apple Cake for the Thursday Club. You maybe have noticed I haven't mentioned our going to these community lunches which started up again on the 11th of January. There is nothing on offer there that I can have on my diet and so I stay away and so does Don. But I still am on the roster to make pudding twice during this 10-week session. I think I shall have to put a clothespeg on my nose to keep from having the aroma drive me round the twist while the cake is baking.
Below is a photo I took on Saturday night at the Burns Supper. At the start of every Burns' Supper, the haggis is brought in on a silver platter borne by the chef to the skirl of the pipes. In a stately procession from the rear of the room and through the hall, the chef holds the platter aloft for all to admire. When the haggis reaches the front of the room, Burns' poem, "Address to the Haggis," is then recited. John Laing did so beautifully and then, removing his sgian dubh or skein dhu ("SKEE-in doo" meaning "short knife") from his sock (he was wearing the kilt, of course), he sliced the haggis open with an X. Then he, the chef, and the piper are all given a dram of whisky. We all toast the three, the piper and chef drink theirs, and the man who delivered the address pours his dram onto the haggis to a great roar of approval.
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