YES DUKAN! Diary of a Dukan Dieter

Regular readers will know my penchant for a good daily mail headline. So when I saw the oh-so-punny ‘Can you slim down for the beach in time? Yes DUKAN!’ headline on the website today, I couldn’t click fast enough to this page which promised to deliver all the answers. Three lines down and I read that this, the latest miracle diet, even has the Middleton stamp of approval. I was hooked.

The Dukan Diet is the latest in the long line of faddy diets which get whipped out at the same time every year. I’m no fool. I know it will probably never work and if it does I’ll balloon up to twice the size as soon as I eat a morsel of food from the bad column. But with the big, bold, ominous headline questioning the very same thing I had pondered that morning, my beach-body count down, how could I walk away from this diet which promises to shift my midriff?

So I’m in. I’ve read the rules and I sort of understand them. The bikini-body countdown clock is set to six weeks. Can I really do this? In the wise words of the mail, yes dukan!

The new Zizzi summer menu: a preview

You probably know Zizzi. As restaurant chains go it hasn’t reached one-on-every-corner Pizza Express fame, but it’s certainly reached the one-in-every-sizeable-town milepost. I’ve eaten there many times. Like most reasonably-priced restaurant chains, it’s never been spectacular, but it’s been great for a quick bite with friends or a late supper after a film. I can’t say I’ve ever gone out of my way to eat at Zizzi for the menu before.

 

However, last night my average opinion of Zizzi was quashed and usurped by a significantly higher one. I was kindly invited to a special preview of the new Zizzi summer menu. A glance at the menu I was presented with on arrival warranted a level of scepticism. Could this run-of-the-mill chain really pull of Venetian tapas?

Three, ok seven, canapés later I was already eating more than my words. The Arancini (risotto balls) were melt-in-the-mouth divine and the mushroom bruschetta was as good as you’d find in small-town Italy.

For the next course I sampled the goat’s cheese salad, topped with butternut squash, lentils and mint, followed by an asparagus and ricotta masterpiece. As the title of this blog suggests, I’m not a natural salad fan, but the combination of flavours in these two unique dishes meant I would happily opt for a salad as a main.

Next came the real fun. Zizzi have finally solved the problems for fickle foodies everywhere with their new pizza meets calzone masterpiece, which I’m oh-so-cleverly dubbed the pizzone. My waning appetite at this point in the evening prevented me from gorging on the entire pizzone but I was in awe of the dish long after I left.

Just as I thought I would struggle with desert, the gelatos came out, with flavours in Latte, cream, chocolate and pistachio. And for the final trick? They were served on mini donuts. A delightfully creative end to an evening of fine dining, and not bad for a run-of-the-mill high street chain.

Colonic irrigation: part I

When you tell people you’ve had colonic irrigation they react in one of two ways. Those in the first category promptly rearrange their facial features, signalling their disapproval of the over-share and their strong desire to be excluded from any future sharing of the intimate nature.

But those in the second category can’t wait to hear all about it, because secretly, they too would like nothing better than to have all their toxins removed via their back exit.

I went to Margie Finchell on the recommendation of a friend. Margie’s been in the business for 25 years and counts the London fashion crowd and a number of celebrities among her clients. You’ll be hard pressed to get any names out of her though, as she tells me in her New York twang – “Dahhling, I don’t see diamonds and pearls. All I see is poo”.

And once inside her clinic I feel like I’m in LA, as she casts her eyes over a list of my daily food intake with a furrowed brow. “My gaaad you eat alotta carbs don’t you? You must be bloated all the time!” I smile nervously, sucking in my stomach and cursing myself for not lying to her about the Big Mac I’d consumed only hours before.

“Here’s what you should be eating”, she says, handing me a list of food you’re more likely to find in the forest than in Tesco’s. Needless to say junk food is cast aside, as are the majority of carbohydrates, alcohol and my beloved Diet Coke addiction. “Stick to my list for a week and you’ll feel so good you won’t want to go back to that junk.” I promise her I’ll do my best.

Minutes later I’m stripped of the clothes below my waist and I’m about to stripped of my dignity as Margie rolls me onto one side to being proceedings.

Once the tube is in I begin to relax a little as she explains exactly what she is doing. One tube is feeding water into my colon, building up enough pressure to flush out all the toxins, which go out the other tube. Margie’s even kind enough to strategically place a mirror, allowing me to see exactly what is going out – once I take a peek I can’t tear myself away and I spend the next 45 minutes with eyes glued to the tube.

During the session Margie sporadically rolls me onto my back to massage my stomach to make the process more productive. Despite all my inhibitions I feel incredibly relaxed, Classic FM plays out the Official Royal Wedding Soundtrack in the background and I contemplate the prospect of being toxin-free.

Just as I start to think I might actually be enjoying myself, it’s all over. I do exactly as Margie tells me as I hold a napkin up to my behind and make the oh-so-elegant dash across the room to the toilet to get rid of the excess water.

“Try to get home quickly dahhling, there’ll be some excess water up there” Margie warns me as I dress myself and step out onto the wide West London pavement. I brace myself for the hour long tube ride home.

As for the health and diet benefits, I shall have to wait and see how I feel a week from now. But there’s certainly a spring in my step as I make my way back to the tube – or maybe that’s the excess water.

To book a session with Margie Finchell visit http://www.londoncolonics.net/

a decision of colonic proportions

Colonic Irrigation. It’s hard to say the words out loud without conjuring up images of tubes and compromising positions.

But is this the stuff of A list skeletons who’ll do anything for a flat stomach, or is this toxin-busting goodness ritual having something of a renaissance?

On the recommendation of a friend who has recently felt the benefits of the colonic in a big way, I’m going further than no glut has gone before. Yes, I’m taking to the tube.

While the weight loss benefits of colonic have been widely discussed, the internal impact is often skimmed over. According the many (pricey) clinics offering the service, your post colonic body can count a reduced risk of bowel cancer, a stronger immune system and healthier gut, among its improvements.  Plus, the quirkiest (and priciest) of the clinics even promise to increase relaxation, improve your sleep pattern and generally put you at ease with the world.

No modest set of promises I think you’ll agree. But which of these can we count on and which were born of overoptimistic pr?

Watch this space for the biggest over-share of my journalistic career…

would you rather…?

Be a fatty or a blindy?

No, not the questionable drinking game usually only started when already drunk, this time it’s a real life, serious survey. Researchers in the US have posed this very question to American women as part of a survey on attitudes to obesity for the American Journal of Public Health.

And the results are more shocking than your tipsy friend’s admission that she’d rather have no arms than no legs.

One in six of the women questioned would rather be blind than obese. Yes, that’s right, they would rather not see anything, ever, than be overweight.

And you too can play along at home.

Other options in the would-you-rather-be-obese-or game included having herpes, depression and an addiction to alcohol.

Upon hearing this admission it would be easy to jump up on our British High Horse and gallop off on a rant about the fat, lazy yanks. But are our perceptions of obesity really any better? Is it really any more acceptable to be a fat Brit?

I think if everyone was honest with themselves, some would certainly opt for something curable over obesity and I’m sure a select few would even take blindness over a serious weight gain. And not because of laziness, but because being fat is deemed socially unacceptable.

Because while we may not have LA where skinny sets the example, we do have heat magazine and circles of shame, judgemental friends and flaky boyfriends. And few of us would like to admit what a travesty it would be to wake up one day as an obese person.

But before you make up your mind, I urge you to think of the poor size six blind girl out there somewhere wringing her hands at this news.

Luckily, nobody’s holding a gun to our heads and for most of us the only time we’ll be pushed for a would-you-rather answer will be with a drink in our hands.

No pain, no gain

Today, adding her two cents, Talia Lapidus, on why exercise is the secret to being gluttonous.

My relationship with food is like a friend who you love to hate. Some days l ignore the incessant pang in my brain telling me I mustn’t get fat, and I’ll eat whatever I want. Other days, food is the enemy and fat and carbs are the devil.

Until now I’ve never been asked to qualify my relationship with food, and I never realised how much time I dedicate to thinking about food, talking about food, preparing food, watching food –  Come Dine With Me, I don’t literally watch food.

Like any typical student, when I first went to university I gorged myself on kebabs and greasy pizzas. And not just because I was lazy and didn’t know how to cook anything but pasta, but because it tasted damn good.

These days I like to think my taste buds have matured. I’ll opt for a tasty risotto over a greasy takeaway and if I can’t pronounce something on a menu, I’ll probably order it.

But my enjoyment of food is peppered with that voice in my head telling me not to get fat.

So for me, the only answer is exercise. I’ll go for a run or work out in the gym about four times a week and I’ve just started training for a half marathon in October.

I feel better when I exercise. It makes it ok if I’ve had a bad day at work and want to turn to the chocolate for comfort. It’s a bit of a vicious cycle. I go to the gym to get thinner but exercise leaves me feeling starving. So I eat more. Somehow it all feels worth it though. And as my super-fit mother loves to tell me, it’s all about keeping your insides healthy and ‘one day my bones will thank me!’

So while it’s sweaty, huffy and hellish, exercise is my saviour. Not because it makes me feel good but because it lets me eat what I want, guilt free.

I might need reminding of that on marathon day…

 By Talia Lapidus

@talialapidus

Let’s talk about food

Yesterday we had Jess on why being skinny isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Today, Helen Stuart, on ratatouille, self-love and why you won’t catch her lusting after a pair of J brands. 

Oliver had it right when he sang ‘Food, glorious food.’ Much like the author of this blog, I love food in all its forms. A Cadbury’s Twirl with a cup of tea pleases me just as much as a fancy four course dinner. In fact, probably more so.

I’ve always been this way and as a result of my appetite and distaste for any exercise that causes blotching and sweating, I am not the sveltest of ladies. But, unlike the vast majority of women, I am not prepared to sacrifice one of my biggest passions in life in order to conform.

In addition to my large appetite for food, I also devour magazines. Glossies, weeklies, women’s, men’s, fashion and celebrity tat – I love them all. Thus it saddens me to see the dreaded ‘d’ word appear in all of them. The idea that we collectively need to lose weight has become pervasive in our popular. Granted, obesity is a growing problem, but you rarely see the ‘Healthy Joints and No Creaking NHS diet’ – as Gok wouldn’t say, it’s all about the lack of body confidence.

Yes, I’d look awful in skinny jeans and a bikini just isn’t going to happen, but who’s to say I’m unhealthy. A healthy diet is a balanced diet which fulfils all your nutritional needs. And you know what? Sometimes those needs call for a bar of chocolate or a glass of wine, just as sometimes you need a big plate of salad and a detox juice (we’ve all had one of those weekends).

Sure I eat a lot, and sometimes – like most twenty-somethings – I eat crap. But I also eat well. I love nothing more than a cracking ratatouille with chunks of fresh baguette, or a large plate of salad, drizzled in a fine mist of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. But let’s face it, that will never cure a hangover.

We all need to be taught from a young age – whether by parents, teachers or youth workers – that we need food to live. It’s easy to eat healthily. Have everything – in moderation – and eat as much as you need to feel full and energised.

I used to think people who had eating disorders just took diets to extremes. Unfortunately, in my first two years at university, I witnessed a close friend succumb to a disorder and it was then that I realised – it’s all in the mind. For the people who suffer from these mental illnesses, it’s not about being thin. It’s not about eating or weighing less. It’s not about eating (or not eating) specific foods. It’s about control.

This is why we all need to address our minds before we address our tummies. Establish a balanced relationship with food, indulge in a little self-love (the other kind, get your minds out of the gutter!) and eat. It really is as simple as that.

By Helen Stuart 

If you liked this, read more from Helen on her blog Bonnets and Bustles.