French Women Don’t Get Fat, But I’m Not French

After too long in between visits, I finally made a trip to the gynecologist for all those lovely pokes and prods that all women dread but know that it’s “for our own good.” Actually, the poking and prodding wasn’t the worst of it. The 40 seconds on the scale…well, that’s another story.

“You’re the same weight as you were when I saw you two years ago,” my gynecologist announced. “It’s time you lost some weight before it becomes too difficult.” She then proceeded to tick off a list of offending foods/ingredients. Refined sugar topped the list, followed closely by alcohol and fat.

Naturally, these ingredients are key parts of the diet in these parts: Bread. And cheese. And chocolate. And wine. Foods that (with the possible exception of the alcohol, which is more a weekend thing) are key parts of my diet.

Until now. I’ve struggled to lose the same weight over and over since moving to Switzerland, without much success. So I vowed to give up the refined sugar and the refined flour and the fat. And only go for the good stuff as far as the alcohol was concerned: I have to admit that saying no to a glass of Burgundy wine from Mr. Expat’s carefully curated cave requires strength that I don’t have. (And it kind of makes Mr. Expat angry too because, I think, in rejecting his wine, I am rejecting him. We’ve had this conversation and believe me, it wasn’t pretty.)

So far, so good. I have been able to change my eating habits at home – buy the bread made with whole wheat and refrain from getting the chocolate – but a trip out and about in Geneva is enough to send my blood sugar soaring just on sight. Every other shop is a tea room loaded with goodies, and in between the tea rooms are shops that just sell chocolate. I think that if the devil tempted me for 40 days and 40 nights, he’d just plop me down in the middle of the rues basses. (The desert wouldn’t work…all the chocolate would melt.)

Then there’s dinner out. I may be eliminating certain foods, but Mr. Expat is not, and sometimes I swear I am ruining his life by refusing to go into some of our local restaurants. On the menu: fondue, raclette, tartiflette, croute…Cheese and bread. Cheese and potatoes. Cheese and more cheese. “Can you eat this?” Mr. Expat asks hopefully. “No,” I reply stridently, “because it’s nothing but cheese and fat, and you know I don’t like pickles!” “But there’s fish on the menu too!” “Yes, but they serve it with fries!” And so on and so forth.

The good news is that I have been starting to shed the weight, slowly but surely. The bad news is that I think that some of the chocolate shops now have to file for bankruptcy.

You have to excuse me now. All this writing about chocolate is giving me a craving.

Update 15 June 2011: I am not too pleased to announce that my “no sugar” experiment lasted about two weeks and then died a terrible, sugar-induced-coma death. Haven’t been able to get back on the wagon. I suppose that all I can do is set a new goal – one not as severe – of having only two sugary desserts maximum a week and having wine only on weekends. Watch this space.