Believe it or not, there's a soup recipe in here.

Poor Weightwatchers. I started out so full of hope and promise and had a whole 2 days counting points and getting used to the system. But then the embolism happened and it all fell by the wayside. I did try to be dedicated. I even kept track of what I was eating for the first few days, but when it became apparent I was going to be in for a while I decided to write the week off. I did try and remain on best behaviour though. When Mum came to see me on my first day in hospital I accepted the Nutrigrain bars and satsumas but made her take the massive bag of mini cheddars and the funsize Mars bars home.

However it turns out that I was to find myself on a much more productive diet than Weightwatchers. It’s called the Hospital Diet and basically someone tries to feed you the worst food imaginable. So bad that you actually start to develop a bit of a phobia of it and dread the appearance of the mealtime trolley. So horrendous that you end up just ordering salads which you will try to eat but will lose the will to live half way through due to the lack of dressing or salt and pepper. You’ll also develop a rabid fear of coleslaw – NHS Hull and East Riding seem to think that approximately half a ton of coleslaw is required when you have a salad.

Once I was on the outside I did resume my Weightwatchers (apart from Saturday when I went mental and had a Macdonalds for lunch and a steak the size of my head for dinner) meaning that I’ve spent a grand total of 5 days on the plan. Yesterday was my first weigh in I have lost the grand total of 8lbs in 2 weeks. (I'll leave some room for applause now.)


The Hospital Diet was an excellent kick in the right direction, and having lost so much in one go I actually have an incentive to carry on losing weight.

So I guess if I’ve committed to lose this weight I’d better, you know, lose weight and to this end I have nominated my former arch enemy, soup, to help me with this task.

I’m thinking I need all the help I can get until I’m able to step foot in the gym again (the date has been set, next week sees the return of the gym as a regular horrifying feature in my life) so the soup book is out, many many interesting looking recipes have been bookmarked and I am determined to make soup my new best friend.

First on the list was Carrot soup. Mainly because I already had all the ingredients and just needed to buy a leek to complete the list (I will hold my hands up, I’ve never bought a leek before. I’ve just never had a use for one it would seem).

I can see why people are fans of the soupagement. It doesn’t really take that long to make. Most of them require fairly minimal ingredients or rely on stock-cupboard stores. And it’s only just dawned on me how freakin’ cheap it is to make! Why did I not have this revelation sooner?!

This soup is nice although I couldn’t help but feel it was lacking a little something. Probably carrots seeing as I intended to make this soup a week before I injured my ankle and when I opened the bag I discovered that half the buggers had gone off, so I was about 100g short of carroty goodness.

Carrot Soup
- 1 onion, finely diced
- 1 leek, finely sliced
-450g carrots, peeled and grated
- 2 pints vegetable stock
- 150ml natural yoghurt (optional)
- 1 tbsp chives (optional)

- In a large pan with a splash of oil, stir onions and leek, season with salt and leave to sweat for 3 minutes before stirring in the carrots.
- Cover and cook for a further 5 minutes.
- Bring stock to the boil and pour over the vegetables, cover and simmer for 6-7 minutes.
- Liquidize and then season to taste
- Optional - stir in cream and chives


Recipe from here

It’s still nice even if I was a little short on carrots. It was also not watery, an essential for me in the soup stakes. If it’s watery it’s just too annoying to eat.

And it made a good 4 portions (probably 5 if you’re like me and wanted to eek it out that little bit further) out it which has meant that your lunches for the week are sorted, as long as you don’t mind being a creature of habit for a whole week.

If you speak Weightwatchers this next sentence will mean something to you, the rest of you, look away now please...

...it has zero points. Zilch. Not one. (As long as you don’t add the natural yoghurt that is and I don’t feel the poorer for missing it out.) My only points at lunchtime comes from the slice of toast I have my soup, I can’t eat a bowl of soup on its own, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.

The Girl vs The Soup

Some time ago Petit Filoux threw down a challenge. I had to fight the Battle of the Soup.

I had made the foolish mistake of revealing that I don’t really like soup. I am aware that this will bring gasps of horror from some of you, it does from most people. “What do you mean you don’t like soup?!” I just....don’t like it.

I don’t mean that I absolutely will not eat it and never let it touch my lips. Just that there is always going to be something I would rather have on the menu.

If I’m in a situation where soup is unavoidable or inevitable I quite like it, it’s not a horrifying experience, it’s just...boring. Maybe it’s that I have a need to chew. If I haven’t chewed then I don’t feel like I’ve eaten anything.

My dislike of soup extended to epic levels when I was in my first year at university. I got my tongue pierced and was warned by the scary man covering in tattoos and metal that my tongue would swell up to twice it’s normal size and I wouldn’t be able to eat anything other than soup.

I kind of wished he’d told me that before he’d shoved a titanium rod through my tongue.

It did indeed swell to twice its normal size, although contrary to popular belief I was still perfectly capable of talking and swallowing. My Mum, who I hadn’t told I’d had it done, asked me if I had a cold one day but otherwise didn’t suspect a thing.

Eating was an issue though. And I even bought lots of soup. I had soup coming out of my ears. But I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it. Instead I would sit with a sandwich and tear of really small bits of it and then push it to the back of my mouth, letting my molars get some action. It would take me about half an hour but I certainly showed that soup a thing or two.

But Petit Filoux told me I had to make this soup and I’m afraid I can’t turn down that kind of challenge. Plus if I am going to have my life taken over by WW then apparently soup is the way forward. (I should have known that soup and the notion of losing weight would join forces against me one day.)

And if soup is the way forward then this guy is the standard bearer behind which all other soups must get in line.

Red Lentil and Chickpea love

It is very tasty, with more than a kick of spice (I may have gone slightly overboard with the chilli flakes) which is nicely cooled down with a little bit of greek yoghurt. If I had to have a soup then a tomato-based one would be first in line so this baby ticks all the boxes and most importantly, it’s filling. It will fill you up like a....well I don’t know what it’ll fill you up like, but it will.

I was a little daunted by the chickpeas to begin with. I like my soup smooth and most certainly do not like those bloody horrible ‘Big Soups’ with slimy chunks of vegetable and potato in them.

*gag*

But actually I didn’t really notice them, I didn’t feel like they had a massive impact, I could probably happily make the soup again without them and it wouldn’t be the worse for it.

So I am souping it up all this week at work. The recipe made 4 big bowls, (This is where WW is going to kill me because I’m going to find out that actually I should be having about half that amount) and they are in little individual boxes, ready to make the journey into work to be scoffed down with a bread roll – thus satisfying the mouth’s need to have something to chew.

So impressed was I that I got out the never touched Soup Recipe Book and began tearing up strips of paper with gusto, bookmarking all the soups that I would like to make in the future. I expect this blog will soon be re-named Living in a Soup Bowl.

Has soup ruled victorious and conquered me once and for all?

Not completely. At the moment he serves a purpose so we have come to an uneasy truce. It’ll be a long time before I bow down and kiss his sloppy feet.

But congratulations must go to Petit Filoux (and her boyfriend who I hope now feels calmer about my admission of soup hatred) for making me see the error of my ways and forcing me to confront my demons.

If you would like the recipe (and why the hell wouldn't you after this acesome review?!), then why don’t you have a clickety click HERE.