A tale of two Sundays

This picture, on the right, is of Mark and Laszlo basking in the afterglow of a very pleasant picnic last weekend. When we woke up that morning, it was clear that it was going to be another beautifully sunny day – much the same as the rest of the week. Because so much of this summer has been patchy, we hadn't yet had a picnic – and picnics have become a regular fixture on our annual calendar. There's something a bit lacking, I feel, if we haven't picnicked by August – se we cut it fairly fine this year.

The first year Mark and I were together, he was co-opted onto a jury at the Old Bailey. It was absolute hell (he was involved in a murder trial, and I don't think it can have been very pleasant listening to the gory details day in and day out) – but the silver lining to the cloud was that he occasionally got an afternoon off. We'd head out for Hampstead Heath (often with my sister's dog, Baloo, in tow), having stopped off at Ottolenghi on the way to buy the food. (I don't know if you've ever been to Ottolenghi, but I can't recommend it highly enough – there are now four branches in London, selling the best ready-prepared salads, cold dishes, breads and patisserie I've found since I left Sydney. It ain't cheap, but it's worth it as a once-in-a-blue-moon treat. The recently published cookbook is pretty ace, too.)

I had to check the latest branch of Ottolenghi out for the foodie guide I'm working on, so it seemed clear that the fates wanted us to have our first (possibly only, if the weather doesn't get any better) picnic of the year. Once we had our food, we headed for Battersea Park, spread out a sheet under the shady branches of a tree, and tucked in. I was fairly good – I avoided the temptations of the patisserie and stuck to salads, including aubergine dressed in yoghurt and pomegranate seeds; chickpeas and fregola pasta; grilled aubergine with a herby dressing and a mixture of crunchy radishes, celery and cucumber. Yum. We washed it all down with a bottle of fizzy water, which I'd infused with some green tea leaves, fresh mint leaves and a squeeze of lime – really refreshing.

Once we'd enjoyed our meal – and Laszlo had run himself ragged playing with a small black dog – we sat and read the Sunday papers for another hour or so. I can hardly imagine a more perfect Sunday afternoon.

This Sunday could hardly have been more different. We awoke to overcast skies, which threatened rain – but held off until I'd been for a run (I'm very thankful for small mercies).

Mark has been feeling rather poorly for much of the week, so I thought the best thing for it would be a bowl of soup – another variation on the Asian chicken soup theme. Even though the rain began falling shortly before we tucked in, it did make the day feel a little bit happier – and I like to think it made Mark feel a little bit better.

Another Asian chicken soup for two

800 mls Asian chicken stock
a small thumb of galangal, peeled and sliced into discs
2 stalks of lemongrass, trimmed and bashed about a bit with the flat of a knife
a few dried kaffir lime leaves
1 small red chilli, sliced thinly
juice of 1 lime
2 tbsp fish sauce
50g wide rice noodles
150g shitake mushrooms, bottom end of the stalk trimmed, then slice the caps and remaining bit of stalk
a bunch of asparagus, sliced into 5-cm lengths (discard the tough, fibrous bit at the bottom)
2 chicken breasts, skinned and sliced thinly
4 spring onions, sliced
lots of chopped fresh coriander, with rather less mint and basil (if you can get Thai basil, so much the better)

Put the stock in a saucepan over a medium heat and stir in the galangal, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, chilli, lime and fish sauce. Bring to the boil, then allow it to simmer gently for 10 minutes, in order to allow the flavours to infuse into the stock.

Meanwhile, prepare the rice noodles according to the instructions on the packet (I had to pour boiling water over mine and allow it to stand for a few minutes before draining).

Stir the mushrooms into the stock. After a couple of minutes, stir in the asparagus. Once the asparagus is starting to get tender, stir in the chicken and cook until opaque.

Spoon into large bowls, then stir in the spring onions and herbs.

I digress...

This has got absolutely nothing to do with dieting, but I thought this was such a cute picture I wanted to post it anyway.

It's Laszlo, of course, with one of his favourite toys, Turkey Lurkey. The 'friends' that gave it to him just before Christmas did so knowing full well that Lurkey had the squeak from hell. Luckily Laszlo punctured Lurkey by January, thus killing the squeak.

Mark and I already have our revenge planned. The friends in question had a baby earlier this year and the only question is whether his first present will be a toy trumpet or a drum...

A long country walk

Last Sunday, Mark and I drove out to Kent with Laszlo to meet up with a couple of friends for a long country walk. After a bit of initial confusion – Katrina missed her train, so we had to go and pick her up from Sevenoaks rather than start our walk at Knockholt as we'd planned, then the GPS system took us the long way round to Sevenoaks from Knockholt, where we'd been waiting – we set off from the car park at Knole House, a splendid Jacobean mansion that once belonged to Vita Sackville-West's family.

The house (small castle, really) is surrounded by a deer park, a fact we weren't initially aware of until Laszlo disappeared over the horizon in search of new friends (or possibly fresh venison – it's kind of hard to tell what's going on in his little furry mind sometimes). By the time we'd reclaimed him, we were already 1/4 of a mile into our walk.

We then tramped through some woods, down a length of road, then skirted the edge of a golf course for the best part of an hour. The highlight of the pre-lunch bit of the walk came as we passed along the fringe of one of the holes. Two young guys were teeing off several hundred metres away, and I don't think they'd played much golf before because one of them hit the ball off course. It banged into a tree just in front of us, then dropped to the ground like a stone. Laszlo was on it like greased canine lightning, and scooped it up. He was about to bugger off with his prize when I leaped on him and got him to drop the thing. We apologised to the golfers, who at least had a sense of humour about it and didn't seem too angry.

Lunch was a not-terribly-healthy salad in a pub in a small village. The prawn and avocado salad looked like the safest bet on the menu, but the prawns came covered in gloopy Marie Rose sauce. Still, it was a pleasant enough spot for a bite (and a pint for everyone else – I stuck to a spiced tomato juice).

Refreshed, we set off again, and ended up in some dense woodland. The paths were very muddy, not to mention steep, so we slithered uphill and back down for a while – I was feeling the effects on the backs of my thighs by this stage, and was discreetly trying to catch my breath at the top of each hill. Katrina, just back from a walking holiday in the Breacon Beacons was having no such problems, and was striding along, OS map in hand. Lasz (right, in the Easter snow), too, was in fine form, bouncing along, running from the front of the pack to the back to check we were all making it alright. Then, just as we came to the end of the woods, we stumbled across a house that had chickens pecking around loose in the front garden. Laszlo saw them before we did, and was off. Mark took off after him and, for a minute or two, we were entertained by the sight of Mark chasing after Lasz, who was in hot pursuit of a terrified hen. He wouldn't have known what to do with one had he caught it, so I wasn't too worried (nor was the owner, luckily) and eventually Mark grabbed him and put him on the lead.

By the time we got back to the car park, we'd walked about six strenuous miles. We all slept well that night, particularly Lasz, who twitched strenuously in his sleep. I'm not sure whether he was dreaming about chasing deer, golf balls or chooks.

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?

No more excuses

I'm not an exercise novice. I've signed up to the gym any number of times. I've also fallen off the gym wagon any number of times, too. There's something about the relentless monotony of treadmills, exercise bikes, ski-track machines and rowers that fails to enthuse me. It works for some people – many find that time spent on a cardio machine is the best/only time they get to think in a freeform kind of way. I just spend half an hour counting down the number of seconds I need to keep going before I can pack up and go home for the day.

So although I start off an exercise regime with enthusiasm, my keeness wears off quickly, and I begin looking for excuses not to go to the gym. And, if you're a busy freelancer, with a packed schedule of deadlines, tastings and trips, it's all too easy to find those excuses.

At the end of May last year, Mark and I bought the puppy we'd been wanting to get for a couple of years. Laszlo is a black miniature schnauzer, and with him there are no excuses. Like any puppy, he's full of energy (see his showjumping session in the park last summer, above) so he needs to get a good walk every day. He's usually so keen to get out the front door that he grabs the lead in his teeth and tugs it (and me at the other end of the lead) all the way down the garden path and out to the park. Lasz and I spend a good 20 minutes walking most days (when I say walking, I mean that he runs a lot and I have to run after him – he's not very good at coming back when there are other dogs to chase and play with), and at weekends Mark and I usually take him further afield for a couple of long walks. (He – Laszlo, that is – came home with half of Sydenham woods on him last weekend after a particularly vigorous session with a Labradoodle.)

So far, so good. At least I'm getting a basic amount of brisk exercise every day. But I still run out of puff if I have to sprint for the bus, and I know a good fitness regime will not only help shift the kilos, it will also help me tone up and get in shape. That's why, from next week on, uber-trainer James, from Phoenix Exercise Professionals, will (I hope) be pushing me much harder than I would ever push myself in my quest to get get fit. With any luck the challenges he sets me should motivate me enough to keep me coming back for more.