Here is Marty Markowitz's dream: A juicy brisket-and-turkey sandwich piled high on
 twin rolls and a slice of his favorite Junior's cheesecake, the one with layers of
 fudge icing, chocolate mousse, cheesecake and Devil's food.

For Brooklyn's beloved borough president, that's a meal to die for. Eating like that
 has added 15 pounds to Markowitz's already swollen mid-section, so he's going on a
 diet.

And he's taking all of Brooklyn with him. Next month, Markowitz will kick off
 "Lighten Up, Brooklyn," a 10-week stunt designed to get an entire pudgy borough to
 cut down on Junior's cheesecake, skip the sublime caponatina at Joe's of Avenue U,
 put down that Jamaican meat patty from Christie's on Flatbush Avenue, walk past the
 jelly donuts at Cuccio's in Gravesend, avoid the chicken Kiev at Primorski's in
 Brighton Beach, have the salmon instead of the porterhouse at Peter Luger's, and
 don't even think of having the fried chicken at the North Carolina Country Kitchen
 in Bed-Stuy.

This is going to be tough. Brooklyn is a foodie's paradise! Can the Borough of
 Churches really observe an extended Lent?

Markowitz knows there are skeptics -- this is Brooklyn, where people are skeptical
 of a sunny day -- but believes in his mission. "We need to lose weight," the Beep
 told the Gnome. "If Brooklynites like me -- I'm 190 pounds and I should be 150! --
 can lose 20 pounds, we'll be happier and healthier."

Markowitz's massive mass reduction is modeled on a Philadelphia initiative begun
 last year. After being named the fattest city in the country by Men's Fitness,
 Philly mayor John Street appointed the city's first "health and fitness czar" and
 put the City of Brotherly Love -- the city of Geno's cheese steaks, Tony Luke's
 pork sandwiches and those chocolate chip cookies on South Street -- on a diet.

The czarina, Gwen Foster, told me that Philadelphia's program is aided by the fact
 that Street is an ascetic, fruit-munching, exercise fanatic. "If your borough
 president is a thin, healthy man, he'll be able to lead by example."

Thin? Healthy? Well, maybe not, but as the anti-John Street, Marty Markowitz will
 lead his constituents by struggling with them rather than acting nutritionally
 superior.

On one level, "Lighten Up, Brooklyn" is Markowitz's way of exercising or exorcising
 his own demons. "I'm the poster boy for this because I don't exercise, I eat big
 dinners late at night and what I eat is bad for me," said one of the great eaters
 in a great eating borough.

With a true showman's flair, Markowitz intends to register potential dieters in
 every neighborhood and have the neighborhoods compete to lose the most weight --
 sort of like a Low Cal Little League.

His timing can't be faulted. The nation as a whole is rapidly growing as bloated as
 a Defense Department budget. A recent Harris Poll indicated that 80 percent of the
 country is overweight, up from 58 percent in 1983. Americans are now the fattest
 people on the planet (which is only fair, considering how we throw our weight
 around).

Is Brooklyn fatter than the other boroughs? It's unclear, but Health Department
 statistics indicate that heart disease -- obesity's partner in crime -- is far more
 widespread in Brooklyn than in the "thin belt" of Manhattan and the Bronx.
 Gravesend has the highest heart disease rate in the city.

It's no wonder: In a three-block radius from the Avenue U subway station is Eagle
 Cheese (where the mozzarella is so fresh that the milk runs down your chin), Joe's
 of Avenue U (a Sicilian joint where your beverage options include wine, beer, soda
 or olive oil), and Cuccio's bakery (famous for a jelly donut that explodes with
 strawberry jam if you so much as look at it).

Can anyone lose weight in this neighborhood? Is anyone trying? The rack of
 "sugar-free" cookies at Cuccio's is as forlorn as a girl in a taffeta dress being
 stood up on her prom night.

Around the corner at Joe's, owner Ina Ciaramitaro thrust a panelle sandwich into my
 hand and watched me devour the sublime mound of freshly deep-fried chickpea
 pancakes, fresh ricotta cheese and Parmesan.

"Chick peas are very healthy," she said. When I counter that deep fat, ricotta and
 Parmesan are not, she looks at me perplexed. "Without the oil, the ricotta or the
 Parmesan, it's not a panelle sandwich!" she said.

Back in Park Slope, Markowitz merely sighed when I told him about my fact-finding
 (burp) tour of sclerotic Gravesend

"Well, we know this is going to be a challenge," he said. "I mean, this isn't
 Manhattan, with its small portions and 'creative new American cuisine' with the
 squash rhubarb ravioli. This is Brooklyn!"

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gersh.kuntzman@verizon.net