The dreaded words that you knew were coming but hoped you could avoid, fall from you health professionals lips. Gluten-free. I always stated I would cry if I had to go gluten free and my preemptive moaning has brought on a worse curse. Gluten-free and dairy free and sugar free.
Kill me now.
What will I eat? More to the point, what will I bake?
Preliminary internet searches confirmed my worst fears. Sprouting granola ??? (I kid you not) No, I do not wish to eat nuts that have been boiled for an hour and what the hell is agave nectar and xylitol?
I have decided instead, to search out recipes from regular foodie blogs and just use the ones which avoid most of the things I need to avoid, or ones where easy substitutes can be found.
It's not actually that bad. Firstly, I'm doing this by choice. (We're trying to be healthy to coax my eggs-of-doom into making a baby that can live). Secondly, I'm sure lots of people do this already and they probably have taste buds too and also like to cook. Thirdly, I'm giving my self a time-frame. There's a light at the end of this tunnel baby. Who knows, I too, will probably turn into a righteous fun-free food freak before you can say amaranth porridge.
Goats milk and cheeses
Butter (a bit)
Natural yoghurt (cows milk)
Cold pressed oils
Fruit (3 pieces a day)
All those gluten free grains and flours I've yet to discover.
I tried not to show my disappointment. And the naturopath kept apologising each time she took away another of my favourite foods. I bit my bottom lip so it wouldn't tremble. I was so ashamed at how upset I was at giving up these foods. A part of my brain was lecturing me about foolish luxuries and gratitude that I can make food choices, but my heart was desperately sad. I love to cook. I particularly love to cook with butter, flour and sugar. My rhubarb muffins, baked for the first time this winter, had been a raving success at both my and my husbands place of work. There'd been requests, duplicate batches dispensed. The softness of the muffin. The perfect balance of sweet and tart and the crust on top of sugar and cinnamon.......In summer it was the blood plums poached in red wine and spices and then sunk into an almond frangipane held in a perfectly thin crisp pastry case...... Friends treasured these and with acts of incredible will power only let themselves eat them one at a time, so, like Charlie with his chocolate, they could spread the love out over the week.
And as sad as I am to be giving up eating these things, I'm equally sad to be giving up baking them. You see, baking and love go hand in hand. A dimpled pie of rabbit and fennel wrapped in layers of buttery filo speaks love in a way quinoa salad simply can't. And I just can't cook these things without eating them - you can taste the bitterness of my torture. It just wouldn't be right at all.
So this is my attempt to find new ways of spreading food love within the parameters set for me by those who know a lot more about nutrition and ovaries and babies then I ever will.
Walk with me as I embark on this food journey. I'm in the process of an early attempt at a tart case. I'll share this with you when they have been baked, filled and et.