Damage limitation

I'm still not getting much change out of about 85 kilos, but then it is review season (as I might have mentioned already). Some magazines pay for your meal, allowing you to dine incognito, but the one I work for prefers to accept complimentary meals from PRs, which means the restaurant knows you're coming.

Now I'd rather eat anonymously when I'm reviewing, of course, but I do truly believe that the people in a kitchen can either cook or they can't – and if they can't they can't disguise the fact when the reviewer pitches up. Sure, it means that I sometimes get fawned over by the waiting staff, but it's very easy to take note of how the other diners in a restaurant are being treated and how happy they look. So, although the situation isn't ideal, I don't feel that my critics morals are being compromised quite as severely as it might appear.

The main downside, as far as I'm concerned this year, is that if a restaurant knows you're coming some of them tend to throw their best possible dishes at you – sometimes several courses of their best dishes – often with great wines to match. Under the circumstances, it's very difficult to turn anything down. I'm trying my best not to finish everything on my plate, but several recent meals have challenged me in that respect – in fact I was hard pushed not to pick the plate up and lick it clean at Lindsay House, Richard Corrigan's Soho restaurant. Another place I've been really enthusiastic about is Nahm, a Michelin-starred Thai restaurant that serves stupendously exciting food and offers an equally exciting wine list. The only downside to the place is the stultifyingly dull décor.

Anyway, I'm getting away from the main issue, which is that I've got to face up to the fact that if I'm eating out three times a week between now and the start of September, the diet isn't going to progress very fast, if at all. There's no point in beating myself up about it – I've just got to accept the reality of the situation and deal with it.

I'm balancing things out by sticking to the diet at home and doing a fair bit of exercise. With James' encouragement, I made it all the way round Clapham Common the other day – albeit by running for 10 minutes, then walking for five before picking the pace up again. It took 35 minutes in total, I felt like I was going to die – or melt, whichever happened first – but I made it...

Just say no

When I was small, my mum taught me that I should always finish what was on my plate – although I never quite figured out the relationship between my leftovers and the starving children in India, Cambodia or Biafra (or the various other causes célébres of the day). What was true of meals at home was doubly so of special occasion meals, such as those eaten at friends' houses or at restaurants.

Fast forward 30 years or so and the result of this indoctrination is an adult who eats out a lot and still finishes everything on her plate, even if it's the second five-course meal of the day. The consequences have been inevitable.

I'm lucky enough to have a great job that allows me to travel a lot. Furthermore, once I reach my destination, my hosts fall over themselves to show me a good time. I get taken out to great restaurants or get treated to meals en famille with great frequency. Fantastic bottles of wine are unearthed from their resting place in the cellars, the table groans with all kinds of prestige foods and meals last a minimum of two hours, if not well into the night.

I'm certainly not complaining (although by the time I get home after most trips I crave fresh vegetables and simple dishes – prestige meals don't tend to run to greens and fruit in most cases), but it's very difficult to say no if your hosts are putting on such a show of generosity. And, if everything's laid on (rather than ordering from a restaurant menu), it's difficult to ensure that appropriate food is easy to come by.

I knew well before I got on the plane that last week's trip to the Minervois and St Chinian in southern France would be a test of my resolve. Sure enough, shortly after landing, we were whisked straight to a wine tasting at Homps, once an important loading point for barges travelling along the Canal du Midi. In addition to the wines we were to taste, a table had been set with platefuls of local salamis, olives, cheeses, breads and pastries. Have I mentioned how hungry you can get when you're tasting wine?

Over the course of the next couple of days, we went from one eating opportunity to another, including several lavish meals. But I've learned one vital lesson. Contrary to what I'd been taught to believe, the sky doesn't land on your head if you leave some of the food on your plate. You can ask for the steak to come without the cream and mushroom sauce. And you absolutely must say no to white bread, dessert and other foods laden with simple carbohydrates (see above for the dessert that got away, a parfait flavoured with Muscat de St Jean de Minervois, a dessert wine – sob).

I managed it all last week and, while I regretted saying no to some of the dishes I would have enjoyed, I consoled myself with the fact that I wouldn't have enjoyed them half as much as I'd have regretted eating them by the next day.