Happy New Year!
It is so lovely to be getting back into this cooking challenge, albeit very slowly. I was looking at my challenge stats this morning (as you do when you are a spreadsheet geek) and noticed that the numbers reflected my path back to wellness. There was a year of zero recipes, followed by a year in which I managed to cook and post four times. This year, which is only halfway over (challenge anniversary is July) I am already posting my third recipe with another to come in a few weeks. Given my slightly improved energy levels, I am hoping that this number will continue to improve year on year because there is no way I am stopping after having cooked almost seven hundred recipes!
As I prepared the mincemeat, complete with the most gorgeous smelling brandy, I reflected on the evolution of my adjustment to a strict low histamine diet. When it comes to food, willpower has never been a strength of mine. In the past, any eating regime I have adopted has generally lasted somewhere between an hour and a few days. The difference now is that guilt is the least of my worries if I cheat. The potential ramifications of eating the wrong thing is a very good motivator and the reason I am now able to resist the foods that used to be favourites of mine. And I had a lot of favourites!
Take Christmas mince pies, which I have adored since I was very young. The satisfying combination of melt-in-the-mouth pastry and deliciously rehydrated dried fruit was like a drug for me. When I was at my most restrained, I used to help myself to at least three pies and feel no guilt for indulging in what was, at the time, a most innocent pleasure.
Nowadays, just staring too long at a mince pie can be detrimental to my health. Of course I exaggerate, but the ingredients are definitely very high on my no-go list. But with my newfound willpower, I have been happily planning this gorgeous sweet treat for my family for weeks now, with only moments of longing. The desire to be well and to participate in life has finally become significantly stronger than my desire to eat food that will hurt me. The moments of pleasure are simply not worth the repercussions, which can be terrifying and can cause my general health to take several steps backward. Even so, it can be a lonely endeavour.
I had to laugh last night when my husband, warmed by the glow of several ales, expressed the most gorgeous show of solidarity, professing that he will be eating the same diet as me for two months so that he can better understand how it feels. Within an hour, two months had become two days and today, he meekly confessed that it may or may not happen at all. I am absolutely fine with that of course, very much appreciating the sentiment, regardless of follow through.
So, it will be mince pie time in a few weeks, and perhaps some mincemeat ice-cream if I am feeling particularly industrious. Watch this space!
