That near Soylent Green hued image above was this evening’s supper. It’s chicken. It’s broccoli. It’s garlic, thyme, chicken broth, salt and pepper. All done in a wee smidge of olive oil. Not pretty to look at, but quite delicious served on a bed of brown rice.

It is not a stuffed baked potato and a slab of prime rib, but it did the trick and my body is thanking me for it. I’ve already lost the extra weight I gained as the result of discovering 18% coffee cream and Nutella, right-from-the-jar-in-spoonfuls.

I was going to write a few sentences lamenting the loss of such goodies, but truth is, right now I don’t miss it. I’m not beating myself up mentally for eating in excess, my clothes are already looser (brutal honesty: my clothes are always loose. I mean my bra. My bra is looser). I feel great, and am sleeping like a baby (except of course when the neighbours are shouting at one another and/or hubby is clear-cutting forests while sleeping).

And in case that pale green and pinky hued (I assure you, the chicken was thoroughly cooked) dish has you worried that I am not eating a variety of brightly coloured foods, look at dessert:

These are fresh picked from Ed’s garden. Fresh picked in 2008, and promptly frozen in ice cream pails in his deep freezer. I know, I know, there is an abundance of fresh out there right now, but in my obscure mind, I figure if the fruit has been frozen, so has any critters that might have been crawling around at the time of harvest. Frozen bugs don’t bother me, live wiggly ones do.