When you stop smoking, the mother of all appetites starts. You gain health and additional padding. It’s been 35 days and probably half a dress size thus far. But I’m still squeezing into my size 7 jeans… just. Which is ridiculous, no grown woman should be able to fit into size 7 jeans, unless she's an elf. Least of all me, I am more used to having hips and a posterior Noah could park his ark on.
Last year was a bit freakish. I smoked heinously huge quantities, ate practically nothing and lost something in the realms of 3 stone. Not on purpose, I just wasn’t hungry (and now I know why fashion models fag their heads off like there’s no tomorrow). As for cooking, well it just didn’t venture that high up my priority list. There was too much other stuff to do.
So now I’m ravenous again and into food. Correction, I’m into good fresh food. I’m reinventing myself in the kitchen, or at least I’m trying. If you know me at all, you’ll realise this is quite a shock, horror, gasp moment – my culinary skills definitely exist more at the consuming than the manufacturing end. I make no promises, it’s not my natural forte, but watch this space… if there’s any left behind the expanding silhouette…
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OK, so cooking reinvention not quite going as planned. I attempted chilli jam, but amongst my guinea pigs it's being loving referred to as chilli toffee
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