What Five Days In Rome Taught Me About Food

Monday September 14th 2015 saw The Fantastic Four (my fantastic father, fantastic mother, fantastic brother and not-so-fantastic self) jet off to the sacred land of pasta, pizza and paninis. That’s right-the Griswolds conquered Rome like a gladiator slaughtering a lion…or (more likely) vice versa.

Obviously, neither my family nor I departed the comfort of our homeland with any misconceptions that I would experience some sort of miraculous recovery on the Ryanair flight to our desired destination and would touchdown ready to indulge myself on the inexhaustible variety (or not so much “variety”, as we were soon to discover) of the Italian cuisine. However, I never prepared myself for the value of the eye-opening lessons which I did learn during my short time in The Eternal City. So I figured I would share just a few of the nuggets of wisdom which have taken up a place of residence in my adjusting mind, hopefully to be used to great advantage as I embark upon my recovery.

1) Food does not (necessarily) make you fat.

Within hours of landing in Italy, something had struck me about the daily routines of the Italians, an aspect of their lives which differed significantly from my own back home: these people really loved eating and they did a lot of what they loved! Everywhere I went, no matter what the hour, I found myself gazing enviously upon people enjoying the produce which was on offer to them from their surroundings without a care in the world. And know what else? Generally speaking, these people were off perfectly healthy BMIs and had what I would assume to be desirable body shapes! This, in turn, instilled a confidence in me that food is not the enemy but the ultimate ally; it is the fuel upon which we fluorish and thrive. This acknowledgement is the first step towards me rebuilding a positive and loving relationship with food.

2) Pizza is not all it is cracked up to be. 

Yes. You did read that caption correctly. Please refrain from calling the police. I’m sure you all can only imagine my family’s disbelief when, on only our second day in the pizza capital of the world, I voiced my desire to “allow” myself the privilege of enjoying what the other two bazillion tourists around us seemed to be salivating over. Cue me being whisked off to the nearest extortionately-priced pizza parlour directly facing the gates to Vatican City to indulge in a gluten-free funghi pizza (I love me my mushrooms). What ensued can only be described as the greatest disappointment in my life to date. What an anti-climax. However, I can now safely say that my pizza cravings (having been daily endorsed by constant exposure to filled doughy bases topped with 27 different cheeses, the ripest of tomatoes and the most luxurious of toppings on Instagram) are firmly out the window, never to return.

3) Consuming produce from a cow will not turn me into a cow. 

Gelato. Cheese. Milk. All of these products of the dairy persuasion tend to send alarm bells ringing in this disordered little mind of mine. However, over the past number of weeks, a dairy craving has taken me by storm. And when I say “craving”, I mean that each morning for Niamh is now incomplete without an anxiety-fuelled second serving of milk in my otherwise “safe” cereal bowl. As I begin to come to terms with this slight change in diet in accordance with my body’s needs, I also am able to recognise and appreciate the fact that I had the strength and courage to try one serving of melon-flavoured gelato and (believe it or not) some cheese whilst on holiday…and did it turn me black and white and moo all over? No. It did not. Case closed.

4) There is a reason why us Irish swear by potatoes. 

I do not wish to lead my beloved readers up the garden path. Be under no illusion as a result of the food experiences outlined that my trip to Rome was anorexia-free. It was very much so on the contrary. Every afternoon was a trial of me trying to find a street kiosk which would sell me an apple whilst my family enjoyed a hearty lunch, whilst every night saw me enter a silent depressive state as I began to regret all of the things I had allowed my “weak” self to “greedily enjoy” throughout the day. This is where Rome’s Scholars Lounge Irish Pub comes in. This lovely little home-away-from-home became our regular hideout for five days…and you can imagine my delight when I discovered that the chef was willing to make me a plain baked potato! Never again will I underestimate the power of the spud, perfect for filling a void, silencing the rumbles and fuelling a lengthy day of hiking around innumerable cobbled streets. Ladies and gentlemen, the sweet potato is a fad…the good ol’ Irish spud is here to stay!

5) MY FAMILY ARE FAB. 

We may be the most un-photogenic pack of mugs that ever graced the planet and we may drive each other insane…but my family are well and truly the stars of the show. It takes a very special bunch of people to fully commit to whipping someone as sick as myself out of their comfort zone and being encouraging throughout. I would also like to take this opportunity to acknowledge my gratitude and offer my sincerest of apologies to them, as I am not exactly the most pleasant person to spend quality time with at the moment…but these guys never ever ever complain. Well. Never seriously. They’re an alright bunch.

And that’s pretty much all I wanted to say on this subject, you’ll be glad to hear. Speak to y’all soon, when I will undoubtedly have some opinions to share regarding my first ever official meal plan which I am following as of TOMORROW. Tough times lie ahead but you know what they say: when the going gets tough, the tough get going.

-Niamhy xx

Candyflosslocks And Her Bowl Of Porridge (Which Was Just Right)

Friday September 4th 2015 was a pivotal day in the annals of my life.

To say I have had a ‘busy’ weekend would be an understatement. As of 8pm on this, Monday September 7th, I have:

1. Watched one of my favourite films for perhaps the millionth time. 
2. Enjoyed a good few lengthy walks.
3. Completed two (rather gruelling shifts) in the wonderful (pfft) world of weekend retail.
4. Had lots of fun with some Crayola and a tattoo colouring book. 
5. Fallen in love with this gorgeous man and his fabulous mind:
6. Been absolutely mortified by an interview and photoshoot (more to follow in a later post in the not-too-distant future)
7. Almost finished a book that I have been reading for nearly a month which I am forcing myself to finish or else I shall be filled with a sense of self-disappointment which will take up a permanent place of residency in my ego for the rest of eternity (a series of essays on Psychoanalysis and Women…interesting for the first 300 pages, but there is only so much one can read about penis envy and the Oedipus complex)
8. Made myself look like a candyfloss pixie princess with the help of my cousin’s hairdressing expertise and one bottle of lavender Renbow Crazy Colour…

My Little Pony called, he wants his mane back…

This hyperactivity is not something which is unusual for me, the sad truth being that days off from having to run around Belfast like a headless chicken being a rarity for my weary little self. However, something was different for me this weekend. A certain significant difference. It was the presence of a little energy boost. A little energy boost in the form of this:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. That is what you think it is. M&S gluten-free rice porridge. My star player of the weekend. Or MVP (Most Valued Porridge), if you will. Or perhaps VIP (Very Important Porridge)? Okay, okay, I’ll stop now.

Naturally, being Niamh, I couldn’t just have NORMAL porridge, oh no. I had MAGICAL HALLOWEEN THEMED WITCHY PURPLE PORRIDGE, made all the more extra-special by adding…drum roll please…BLUEBERRIES! So it actually looked more like this:

Yum.

I know what everyone is thinking. Yes, it may literally be just your average bowl of porridge. But for me, this symbolises much, much more than that. This simple bowl of indigo sludge holds in it an immense power, a power which gave me the strength and desire to break an eating routine which has taken control of seven years of my life. By increasing my daily calorie intake by consuming this one extra food substance this weekend, not only did I have a little extra energy to perform tasks which would have otherwise been completely painstaking for me, I also shattered the mocking illusion which lived in my mind that somehow my entire life would come down around me if I did not stick rigidly to the eating regime which has ruled my every waking moment for so long.

Needless to say,  I am not cured. Porridge is not some elixir of life, my energy levels still being sub-zero, and my aches and pains still being constant reminders of what I have put my body through. I am also not a convert. In four days, the star of this post has only filled a hole in my belly on two occasions. But it’s a start, right? As they say, two steps forward and one step back…

But a victory is still a victory.

Over and out.

-Niamhy xx