A rant

I haven’t updated since Monday, and between now and then a lot has happened. On Tuesday, I was all ready to review a few bits and bobs, not much. (Summary? Encona hot pepper sauce, which was like a fiery version of thai chilli, probably good in rice dishes but not chicken sandwiches, Nandos peri-peri sauce is brilliant for that though, it lacks the sweetness. The Caffé Misto from Starbucks was nowhere near as good as the Mocha light, probably because the coffee taste was stronger, hahah, I’m such a light weight).

Then my flatmate’s friend brought in the leftovers of this GINORRRRRRMOUS birthday cake his mum, a professional baker, had made him, and asked us to help finish it. Here I was, thinking I was making progress with my skewed way of thinking, but the instant I saw that cake – despite madly craving a slice – I was filled with fear.

Some people are afraid of spiders, others of height. Me? A fucking chocolate cake. Funny that it’s one of those things I’d have jumped on in glee in the past. Our society’s messed up drive for that stupid “perfect woman” ideal really has a lot to answer for. All of my flatmates took a slice, and I fought the urge to flee when I was handed mine.
I ate it, (wolfed it down actually), and dear gawd it was good. Ultra chocolatey, super moist from the strawberries studding the inside, with a layer of ganache wrapped around it. But of course, as soon as I’d finished the guilt was there.

It’s not that I’m a cake or chocolate free zone anymore – it’s because it wasn’t PLANNED. My day intake of what, how much, calories, etc, is calculated and evaluated over and over and over every evening. It’s exhausting and I can’t help it, but it’s just something I find myself doing.

Up until that cake moment, I really thought I’d been making progress towards not having to plan everything anymore. But as soon as I left to go to my room, I did the thing I’ve never really –ever- done before, I made myself throw up. (For an entire half an hour!) Such was the desire to get that cake gone, the guilt.

Then there was relief after purging, and inevitably the guilt later on from doing it. (I –promised- myself I never would). Leaving a post on gwyneth’s forums, I hoped for some help.
The next day I got it. Gwyneth basically gave me a reality check, the scare tactics I needed to try to pull myself out of this mess. And you know what? As I sat there Wednesday evening, craving dinner – a “sinful” pasta bowlful, I actually went and made it, then proceeded to scrape the bowl clean.

Hurray!

On a side note, I tried a variation on that Greek Yogurt pancake recipe, using an entire egg rather than just the egg white – (this recipe here) – and although it’s probably because most of the taste comes from the fruit, I found that it really didn’t make all that much difference. In fact, I preferred the egg white recipe as it’s both healthier and made for a less stodgy texture.
Plus I tried cooking the mixture two ways – one with adding the berries on top, and the other with mixing them in beforehand. Although the “on top” method seemed to burn the berries (it didn’t), it worked better, as when I reheated one of each for breakfast today to compare, the “mixed in” version had gone a tad soggy, and tasted more dense. (Though perhaps that’s due to using the egg yolk this time).