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.

More strong flavours

I've always loved hot and sour soup, even the really naff versions you get in cheap Chinese restaurants - it's something to do with the hit of peppery heat allied to the refreshingly sharp twang of vinegar, which I find a very appealing combination. It's exactly the kind of dish I like to come home to on a cold, snowy April day (how unseasonal is this snow?) So I was thrilled to discover a recipe for the stuff in Fuchsia Dunlop's wonderful book, Sichuan Cookery. Over the years, I've adapted her recipe to suit my own tastes, so the version below is mine, not hers – including all the inaccuracies and inauthentic touches. You'll find some of the more exotic ingredients in your local Asian supermarket.

Enough Hot and Sour Soup for five main-meal portions

a good handful of dried wood-ear fungus
350-400g pork loin, cut into matchstick strips (marinaded with 2 tsp Shaoxing wine, 1/2 tsp salt, 3 tsp potato starch and 2 tbsp water)
250g tinned bamboo shoots, cut into thin strips
1 tbsp groundnut or vegetable oil
a thumb of fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchstick strips
1 small green or red chilli, sliced finely
200g shitake mushrooms, sliced
2 litres chicken stock
400g fresh beancurd, cubed
150g peas (frozen will do fine)
2 tbsp Shaoxing wine
2 tsp light soy sauce
2 tsp dark soy sauce
6 tbsp potato flour mixed with 100 ml water
salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper
150g prawns (I use small frozen prawns, which I defrost before I use them – it's certainly not worth going to the expense of buying fresh prawns, or large ones)

To serve:
8 spring onions, sliced
2 eggs, whisked up with 2 tsp sesame oil
6-8 tbsp black Chinese vinegar

Soak the wood-ear fungus in enough boiling water to cover. Leave for half an hour or so, then cut into strips.

Stir the marinade ingredients together, then mix thoroughly with the pork strips.

Blanch the bamboo shoots in boiling water, then refresh under a cold tap.

Heat the groundnut oil, then stir fry the ginger and chilli together for a few seconds. Add the shitake mushrooms and fry over a lowish heat for a few minutes, until the mushrooms start to cook.

Add the chicken stock and bring to the boil. Reduce to a simmer, then stir in the beancurd, pork and peas. Add the Shaoxing wine, soy sauces and seasonings – use lots of black pepper to give the soup that peppery bite. Simmer for a few minutes, to let the flavours meld together.

Stir a spoonful of hot soup into the potato flour and water mixture, then tip the whole lot into the pot and stir. The soup should become thick and glossy, without becoming gluey.

Stir the prawns into the soup to heat them through (don't cook them too long, though, or they become rubbery and unappetising).

Meanwhile, divide the spring onions between the serving bowls.

At the last minute, use a fork to trace 'threads' of the egg and sesame oil mixture across the surface of the simmering soup (these will cook in the hot liquid).

Stir in just enough vinegar to give the soup the required twang, without making it overly sharp. Pour straight into the bowls without allowing the vinegar to cook (it seems to lose its sharpness if you do that) and serve.

'Tis the season to feel guilty

I've long held the suspicion that guilt is a waste of emotion. That doesn't prevent me from feeling weighed down with guilt right now.

To begin with, I've been absolutely rubbish at posting over the past few days. In my defence, I should probably mention the fact that I've been away in France for three days and have had 8,000 words to write this week (split into five different articles rather than one massive piece). But I should have found the time – or even made the time – to log on more regularly.

Part of the reason I haven't, I suspect, has something to do with my other burden of guilt. My weight's not gone down much at all over the past three weeks. I weighed in at about 86.7 kilos when I got back from Bordeaux 10 days ago, then went up to about 87.3 a couple of days later, then lost about 300 grammes by the end of the week, and am now back up to 87.1 kilos. Now I could make all kinds of excuses for this, such as the fact that, due to the exercise I'm laying down muscle rather than fat (it weighs more), but I suspect the truth is that the weight came off so easily in the first few weeks that I got slack. I conned myself into believing that it would come off without too much effort from me, as long as I showed a modicum of self-restraint. I now think I will need to be a bit stricter about what I'm eating and when I'm eating it. In short, I have to go back to the principles I was sticking to religiously early on in the diet. This is going to be a tough recommendation to follow, especially given that it's my mum's 70th birthday dinner tomorrow night and I'm judging a food-and-Champagne-matching competition all day on Tuesday, but if I want to see some results, I'm going to have to put in a bit of effort. Nobody said this was going to be fun.

Another day, another salad

I love my salads almost as much as I love my soup. So that's the first thing I thought of when a couple of friends came round for Sunday lunch a fortnight ago bearing a large smoked duck breast as a present (wine writers don't often give other wine writers bottles of wine when they're invited for lunch – for some reason culinary gifts are deemed to be far more acceptable).

The duck breast in question ended up in a fine salad that Mark and I enjoyed midweek – it's the kind of thing I like to rustle up when I'm busy and don't have much time for faffing in the kitchen (and at the moment I have very little time at all, what with trips to Burgundy and Bordeaux, plus all kinds of impossible deadlines – at least six before breakfast each morning...)

I bought some of those tender young salad leaves – nothing too bitter or peppery – sliced the duck, then extracted the seeds from a ripe pomegranate. I also added a little finely sliced red onion and some chopped walnuts, then dressed it all with a simple vinaigrette based on walnut oil (yes, walnut oil again – but I'm not sick of it yet), with a little pomegranate molasses (a sweet-sour syrup that I used as a substitute for balsamic vinegar – only a little, mind) and some red wine vinegar plus a dab of Dijon mustard.

We enjoyed it so much I went out and bought another duck breast at the weekend so we can have the same salad again some time soon – as long as our late winter gives way to a slightly warmer spring.

Redemption songs

I'm feeling quite virtuous because, despite the bad weather, I've hauled my sorry carcass out for a run twice in the past three days. The last time, half an hour ago, I made it all the way round the park. OK, so I had to walk across the centre, splitting my figure-of-eight run in two, but I did it!

One of the things that helped was having some music to run to (I found that Prince's 'When the Doves Cry' got me going, but John Lee Hooker's blues weren't quite as helpful). What I need to do is create a playlist of get-up-and-go tunes that will, er, get me going.

Now I wonder whether I should tell James that I made it round the park or not?

Fiddly food

I think I've already explained my theory that highly flavoured food is more satisfying when you're on a diet than bland food. I also tend to think that food that takes a while to eat because it's fiddly in some way (eg chicken wings, shell-on prawns, etc) also does the trick.

So this dish of Thai-spiced mussels (above) has to be the ideal combination of fiddly and flavoursome. We certainly enjoyed them this week.

Thai mussels for two

1kg mussels (I think smaller rope-grown black mussels are tastier than the big green ones from New Zealand)
1 tbsp grated ginger
1-2 small chillies, sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tbsp vegetable or peanut oil
1/2 onion, sliced into thin rings
2-3 stalks of lemongrass, bashed about a bit
300 ml fish stock
300 ml low-calorie coconut milk
1-2 tbsp fish sauce (nam pla – if you don't have any, light soy sauce will do)
lots of chopped fresh coriander, Thai basil (use the regular stuff if you can't find it) and mint

Make sure the mussels are clean before you start cooking. This means getting rid of their beards and the worst of any dirt clinging to their shells.

Stir-fry the ginger, chillies and garlic in the oil in a big saucepan for about 30 seconds, until they start releasing some of their aromatics.

Turn the heat down and, adding the onion, cook on a low heat until the onion is soft and translucent.

Add the lemongrass and cook for another few seconds.

Pour in the stock, coconut milk and fish sauce. Bring up to the boil then reduce to a simmer.

Tip the mussels into the pot, put the lid on and cook for just long enough for the shells to open (overcooked mussels go rubbery, those that are just cooked are tender and sweet). Shake the pot vigorously a couple of times to ensure the mussels cook evenly.

Serve in large bowls with a spoon so you can sup the sauce as if it were a soup.

We also had a small green salad with half a sliced avocado and some toasted sesame seeds, dressed with a simple mixture of lime juice, a bit of soy and a splash of sesame oil.

Letting myself down

Most people find the early days of a diet the hardest, but I was so fired up with enthusiasm in the early weeks – and the results were so immediate – that I had no problem at all sticking to the regime.

Now I seem to have struck the doldrums. My weight isn't budging at all (cosmic payback for my excesses in Burgundy perhaps) and, far from being close to being able to jog right around the park (as James promised I would by the end of March), I'm struggling to make it halfway round – a point I reached almost a fortnight ago. I feel I've let him down as well as myself.

Add to that the fact that I've now lost just enough weight to start being able to wear clothes I enjoy wearing, and it's not surprising my willpower's wearing thin (even if I'm not wearing any thinner).

The only thing encouraging me to stick at it at the moment (at a time when all around me are eating chocolate Easter eggs) is Mark, who's started to refer to me as the 'slinky minx'. That and the fact that I'm so stubborn that I'll be damned if I'm going to be put off now.

The French have an expression: 'reculer pour mieux sauter', to take a step back in order to take a better leap fowards. I hope that's what's going on now.