The love of a good man

Before you all reach for the sick bags, I've got a serious point to make. If you're going to go on a diet for any length of time, you've either got to be single or have the full and wholehearted support of those you live with.

Now, the idea of gastronomic restraint doesn't come naturally to either Mark (with Laszlo in our kitchen last weekend, above) or myself. In fact, over the three years we've been together, I've put on around 10 kilos. I can probably put some of that gain down to work – but I reckon the fact that we love eating together has something to do with it too. A good weekend for both of us would involve a trip to Borough Market, where we buy loads of fresh fish, delicious ravioli, armfuls of seasonal fruit and veg, Italian cheeses (specially this aged Pecorino that Mark enjoys so much that I'm almost jealous of the cheese). For dinner we might enjoy a big steak with a baked potato, and there's often a dim sum lunch somewhere on the way to a film and a bottle of wine between us most evenings. Although we don't eat out in restaurants all that often, when we do we rarely restrain ourselves. And, when we moved in together just over a year ago, I took up cooking a big dinner for the two of us just so that I would get to hear how much Mark had enjoyed it.

I loved that bit of our lives – unrestrained, greedy and full of the pleasures of great food. But these days I can't give in to the luxury of rampant gourmetism. I'm not saying that the food I'm cooking and eating at the moment is boring – I'm trying my hardest to make sure it isn't. But I do know that Mark misses certain aspects of the way we used to eat. However, because he loves me, because he wants a slimmer, healthier me (and, to be frank, because he could stand to lose the odd pound or two himself), he's prepared to stick with my dietary game plan.

I sometimes give Mark larger portions of whatever we're eating than I take myself and I occasionally add a dollop of something indulgent to his plate, but by and large, he's eating what I'm eating. And he's trying really hard to be as encouraging and supportive as he can be – without looking like he's trying (if you know what I mean). How lucky can a dieting girl get?