“A steaming hot roast dinner is my favourite. I like the beef to be a little bit pink in the middle, the way the chefs on television do it, or maybe not quite that rare. The gravy must be a certain thickness with a lovely, glossy sheen. My goodness, my mouth is watering at the thought of it”, Gordon drooled.
"Yorkshire puddings made with lard are the best and I fill them up with gravy so they look like little paddling pools. I use goose fat for roasting my potatoes. Many wouldn't bother to make all of that effort just for themselves, but I'm always happy in the kitchen, cooking something and looking forward to my next meal.”
Gordon was not prepared to talk about his life-threatening weight problem but instead enthused about his one, sustained relationship with food. His whole existence revolved around recipes, cookery programmes, newly opened restaurants and ‘buy one, get-one-free’ offers. His doctor was coming to the end of an extensive list of suggestions to try to effect weight loss, none of which had helped to reduce Gordon’s girth. Dr Dowsett had considered that a psychological assessment might reveal some clues as to why Gordon filled every waking moment with thoughts of food. None of the suggested weight-loss regimes were successful as they inevitably reduced his dedication to eating activities. The larger he got, the less exercise he was able to take. His leather belt had no more room for holes.
“You know, I think it was my Mother’s way of showing me love, through food. She had difficulty displaying her affection. I mean, she never praised me or made me feel special. She seemed angry that she was a single mother. Perhaps she regretted keeping me. I never knew my father and there weren’t many single-parent households in those days. I was bullied for having no Dad, being chubby and wearing spectacles. A triple whammy, eh? I began to lose sight of my good points and believed I was useless at everything. Mother began an affair with the local butcher who put lots of extra bacon and sausages on our table. Soon I was like the cartoon character, Billy Bunter, but she kept making huge fry-ups, leaving me on my own while they sneaked off to the pictures. The greatest relationship I’ve had is with food but now my only friend is killing me. I read something shocking recently. The crematoriums are having to build larger, err...facilities for big-boned people like me. I might have to pay thirty percent extra for a larger coffin. Would you believe it? Not to mention the sheer indignity of it all!
Well, it got me thinking that I shouldn't give up just yet. Gastric bypass surgery isn’t the way forward; a tiny stomach pouch is no good for me. I've got an idea!
Could you prescribe some of those fat absorption tablets I've read about? I might get some weight off if the food just whooshes through my innards? I could have a go at ‘Obesity to Skinny Me’ classes again. I'm going to fit in an aeroplane seat, strap up using a seat belt extender, then I’m off to the continent to sample some cuisine!”
© Angela Craddock 2021-07-31