The Food Was So Good, I Could Just Diet. Photos from J and R.

Whimsical Musings


Weight. The karmic retribution that plagues most foodies for the sin of gluttony coupled with sloth. I love being unobtrusive and obscure. My favourite seat at Sage (perhaps I should not be revealing this) is actually at the corner of the right hand side as you enter the restaurant, right where the pillar is. But it is extremely difficult to remain hidden, even by a big pillar when my paunch is the size of Everest, jutting out in it's full glory. A physical sign to announce to the world that I have arrived, the paunch being a debutant gift after completing finishing school in overeating. I do not believe in the Devil or any of those mumbo jumbo superstitious stuff. My idle mind is the workshop of edacity, the playground of lovely morsels of tidbits and food. Whisper sweet nothings inside my ear, and my mind wanders and tries to figure out where to have dinner to continue the conversation.


It is not like I have not tried to lose weight before. You name it, I've tried it. When the Atkin's Diet was in the vogue I made it my mission in life to get ketones in the urine. Being stuffed with proteins and fat and leafy vegetables with not a morsel of Carbohydrates for 2 weeks made my mouth smell like putrefying garbage, gave me a bad headache and nausea and I had to spend a longer time sitting on my throne in the morning than being stuck on the Federal Highway on a rainy day. Other than losing 4 kilograms, I also lost some friends due to halitosis and awful mood swings, and I lost a couple of bucks more for some medication for hemorrhoids.

The beetroot and grapefruit diet was worse. Half a Grapefruit, A cup of Coffee and half a cup of cereal for breakfast had me hallucinating by 10am. I thought the files to be pancakes and my secretary a red lobster and suddenly the CD-ROMs look strangely delectable by 11.

When I was not a foodie and just starting out at a much junior position in Bangkok, I had no problems with weight. I was a paltry 72kg. It was wonderful. I felt lighter and my present 2 dimensional face which needs google maps to render it into 3D view now, was much smaller and ermmm.... 3 dimensional. But then again, I was following the Wagyu diet. Not that I ate a lot of wagyu, but just like prime Wagyu, I was fed on beer and whiskey every night at the clubs and massages in the evening before hitting the clubs to dance the night away again. Of course if you have seen me dance, you would know that it would take copious amounts of alcohol for me to flail my arms and shake my bootie and generally make a fool of my self. The Ratchada Strip was my favourite grazing ground. Unfortunately hangovers in the morning gave me nausea and I was surviving on hot liquid diet as well. Porridge, Noodle Soup for breakfast and my lunches always at MK Suki, which serves Thai Hot Pot. Nothing more adventurous was possible and just by having chicken rice for lunch puts me into a prolonged food coma and wretching like an expecting mum after lunch.

A couple of jumps in the hierarchy saw me making the decision to stop my Wagyu diet. Turning up for work in the office wearing the shirt inside out would be ridiculously embarrassing. That was when my girth started expanding. It was controllable in Bangkok. The Gym at my apartment is fairly well equipped and is open 24 hours a day. I could still go clubbing till 6 in the morning at the small hell hole dance clubs for extra workout on weekends.

When I had my first posting in KL 3 years back, that was when my weight ballooned out of control. The public transportation was so bad, I had to drive. My apartment Gym (poorly equipped) closes at 9 and Clubs closes at 2 am. Drats. That meant that my wagyu diet was not going to go anywhere at all. A much heavier workload meant that I would not be getting enough sleep and the best way to keep awake for me is by snacking. Malaysia remains one of the funniest places to work. This is one place where the staff refuses to work for money, and would scheme and snake their way out of working extra hours. If you force them, the work they produce is just crap anyway, and that means I have to clean up their mess myself. My larder in the office and at home was better stocked than an animal that was going into hibernation. And the price to pay is 25 kg in 3 years.

I have recently embarked on an exercise program and so far have been able to reduce my weight by a miserable 3 kg in 3 months. The best way I can envision myself with a six pack will be to buy six cans of Heneiken and stick it to my abdominal wall. I still can't diet.

Food from this post was from Jarrod and Rawlins, who were such good sports and did not mind me being my prissy, sanctimonious self by refusing to write a review of the food because it was an invite. Nah... Actually I was stuffed when I went and did not get to taste much of the food.

Anyway, who could diet when faced with food like these all the time, screaming to be eaten?

Nice week ahead, all!