Eating myself healthy?  It was long overdue. I decide to follow Jamie Oliver’s plan.  After all, he seemed to be looking quite good on it.  I bought myself a copy of the book of his recent TV show, Eat Yourself Healthy.  Admittedly, I did find myself asking the question, what had all his previous cookbooks been promoting if not healthy eating?  But I decided that was a mealy-mouthed start to my new regime and decide not to pursue it.  New cookbook, new me.

The first recipe I tried was Herby Chickpea and Feta Salad.  It required buying in quite a lot of items, which were not ever-presents in my pantry.  Nevertheless, the results were largely positive.  No cooking was involved, just a lot of fine chopping, and the tomato sauce was a notable triumph.  I felt healthier eating it.  It had an altogether worthiness, which could only be healthy.

My fault, probably, but even after I had eaten my fill, I still seemed to have a lot of Herby Chickpea and Feta Salad left over.  In fact, there was so much left over that I was still eating Herby Chickpea and Feta Salad for the next three days, until I felt so healthy that it was almost unhealthy.

Week two of my new healthy eating regime, a fresh visit to the supermarket, and I was ready to incorporate three more of Jamie’s meals into my weekly menu: Fish Pie Soup, Creamy Peanut Chicken and Sweet and Sour Prawns.

Admittedly, I slightly adapted all the recipes––where I discovered I had forgotten to buy any carrots, I used spinach instead; and as I didn’t have any Soy Sauce, I left it out entirely, but decided that the omission would mean that the recipe was even more healthy.

And the results?  All the meals were rather tasty.  The Creamy Peanut Chicken was a particular triumph. All things considered, I was rather enjoying Jamie’s recipes; actually did feel healthier as a result of them.  But…

Somehow, I couldn’t rid myself of a bitter after-taste.  This took the form of for every mouthful of Jamie’s meals that I ate, I found myself imagining Jamie himself eating a starter of foie gras, followed by a big plate of steak and chips, finishing up with a thick chocolate mousse topped with clotted cream.

It was like an awful recurring nightmare.  And the more I tried to reject this fiction, the greater its invidious persuasion ate into me.  There was Jamie, right up in my face, laughing at me; mocking me; salivating over me.  Was this the price for healthy eating?

Perhaps I was just suffering from UPF withdrawal?  Were these the hallucinations of processed-food cold turkey?

So, what now?  Will I stick to the path of food righteousness, or crack and stuff myself with empty-calorie, packaged ready-meals?

Only time will tell.

© Beery Sue

Beery Sue is a turkey twizzler short of a meal-deal.