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!" --30-- gersh.kuntzman@verizon.net