This morning, my space-age Fitbit scale informed me that my body-mass index is now officially out of the “overweight” class, and that my body-fat percentage is only about five points above the level said to be ideal for a woman of my age. I realize that BMI is a widely debunked standard, and that five seconds of contact between an electronic gadget and the soles of my feet is hardly a foolproof way to assess fatness, but I nevertheless believe that I have reached a preliminary objective.

Closet contents are thinning, too. I will definitely need smaller trousers for winter, and I can zip up my undergraduate jacket, a cowhide item designed for a young man with hips like a trout.

On the COVID front, I’m still hosting the cough from Hell, but olfactory functions are gradually returning — I could almost taste my coffee this morning. I will do another test when the cat decides to get off my lap.

The Römertopf method for cooking lamb shanks is most definitely a winner, improved still more by browning the shanks before baking, and using the same skillet to reduce the sauce after the pot came out of the oven. I’ll eat the second shank later in the week when I can taste it properly, but last night’s had the right sweet-bitter balance with just enough acid bite from the tomatoes.