Whisky on the Table

I knew my relationship with The Nutritionist was doomed when, during yesterday's consultation on gluten-freedom, she proffered for my inspection The Gluten-Free Diet Table. Now, a well-planned table is a method of data presentation near and dear to my heart. I enjoy the neat columns and crisp lines, the knowledge within offset nicely by the surrounding negative space.  A thoughtfully-chosen heading can convey layers of meaning while the tidy boxes underneath provide the argument's structural support. A good table is a thing of beauty.

This was not a good table. My hackles rose as soon as I saw it. Two headings, 'Foods Allowed' and 'Foods Not Allowed', were too evocative of my stern and scary third-grade teacher for comfort, the connotations of 'no' and 'cannot' sitting uneasily with my view of food as something that should be all about 'yes.' Some of the assumptions ('foods to avoid: frozen french fries - especially those in restaurants') were redundant or even downright insulting to any foodie worth the sobriquet. But worse - far worse - were the inconsistencies and errors with which The Table's rows were riddled and The Nutritionist's regrettable inability to provide remedy for the falsehoods.

I will not detail these here (although the presence of buckwheat in the 'not allowed' column was patently incorrect: buckwheat, as we all know, is a dicot of the family polygonaceae, and therefore a gluten-free fruit related to rhubarb). The item that jumped out at me, that caused my heart to leap into my throat, was the presence of my tipple of choice - whisky - in both columns!

I asked The Nutritionist how this was possible. Discounting troubling religious and philosophical explanations, how could something be permitted and forbidden at the same time? She answered that corn whiskey was fine, but whiskies distilled from other cereals were forbidden. I let the corn reference slide (I am nothing if not a lady), but patiently explained that the only whisky I drink comes from malted barley, generally distilled in a single artisanal establishment, preferably in the Highlands or islands of Scotland. The Nutritionist wasn't getting it. 'I've never met a woman who drank Scotch before,' she opined, before repeating that 1) barley is a grain 2) grain contains gluten 3) QED: whisky contains gluten. I left my appointment broken and bowed, vowing never to consult The Table again.

It just didn't seem right. Fortunately, the Scotch Whisky Association (bless them) were able to provide the antidote to my pain. Turns out, whisky is extremely gluten-free, thanks to the wonders of distillation. Alcohol boils off at the relatively low temperature of 78 deg C, leaving behind the proteins (of which gluten is but one) suspended in their less volatile solution. The SWA does warn that whisky can be contaminated through exposure to unprocessed barley during manufacture or the addition of malt coloring after distillation, but who are we kidding? I think that's a risk worth taking.

Ye're all right, hen.

Addendum to the Report of the Spaghetti Committee: The Calorie Conundrum

From great heights, how the proud do fall. Today I belly-flopped into a trap, bristling with punji sticks. It hurt.

I need to back up a bit. As part of my new regime, my quack had recommended I see The Nutritionist, who would help me navigate the murky waters of gluten-freedom. Ever dutiful, I presented myself in her office this afternoon, food diary in hand, flush with triumph after yesterday's painstaking and, it must be said, extremely time-consuming spaghetti experiment. 'I am really on the ball,' I thought, perhaps immodestly. 'She is going to be incredibly impressed by the research I am doing. I'll sure be able to tell HER a thing or two!' I should add that The Nutritionist seemed like a very nice lady, eager to please and wanting to help.

I launched into a description of my g/f pasta travails and helpfully tendered some of my findings, thinking she could use them in future consultations. On a roll, I told that I now had a chart detailing the dry weights of various g/f noodles required for something like reasonable servings. I even offered, as a final flourish, some editorial comments on the relative gastronomic merits of the spaghetti specimens tested. She looked at me like I had two heads.  'But what about the calories?' she whispered.

Oops. Hadn't thought of that.

I should mention that, as a rule, calories are not things by which I am preoccupied. My BMI is below normal and I don't really eat very much (all evidence of these scribblings to the contrary). But The Nutritionist gave me pause. I saw myself through her eyes in six months' time, ballooned to gargantuan proportions by a surfeit of gluten-free spaghetti. 'People new to such diets often gain a bit of weight,' she added sadly, 'because they don't realize how dense and filling these products can be.'

Curses! I had made a common mistake, which is something I don't like to do. I prefer, of course, to make mistakes that are uncommon.

I raced home, preparing myself mentally for the Bad News. And boy, was it ever bad. Hasty calculations in Moleskine (which is beginning to resemble the notebook Sean Connery carried around in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - all bits of glued-in paper and illegible aides memoire) revealed that the ideal corn-pasta serving I had empirically generated contained 560 calories. Spaghetti style, 580. And the much-reviled multi-grain pasta a colossal 610 calories. Yikes - more than a Big Mac! Hyperventilation was narrowly averted only through the timely application of a calming hot cup of Earl Grey.

So it's back to the manufacturers' instructions and Lillipution spaghetti-portions, at least for me - and another lesson learned. I'll get the hang of this ... one day.

Next up: more wit and wisdom from The Nutritionist, including her thoughts on the whisky issue

Official Report of the Spaghetti Committee

Background
During the preparation of a recent dinner, it seemed that Spaghetti Style gluten-free spaghetti cooked differently than Barilla durum wheat spaghetti, viz. equal amounts of the dry product appeared to yield different amounts of cooked pasta. This anomaly was in direct contravention to the manufacturers' claim that, in both cases, two ounces (dry weight) constituted a single serving of pasta. Given the serious consequences for consumers' satisfaction and fullness index, it was deemed necessary to perform further testing at the first available opportunity.

Test plan and execution
Four different brands of spaghetti were acquired from the supermarket, as follows: Barilla traditional semolina and durum wheat spaghetti (the control); Pasta Joy Spaghetti Style with Rice Bran (Brown Rice Pasta) (see previous post); De Boles Multi Grain Spaghetti Style pasta (a mixture of brown and white rice flours, amaranth flour, quinoa flour, and xanthan gum); and De Boles Corn Spaghetti Style pasta (100% yellow corn flour).  Except for the Barilla, all the noodles were certified gluten-free.

Equal amounts of dried pasta were carefully measured (dry weight = 113.4 grams or 4 oz.) and labelled as follows:

A simple displacement setup was engineered and the respective volumes of pasta (dry weight) established:

Each variety was then cooked according to the manufacturer's instructions. At the end of cooking, the weight and volume were measured again. Note was also taken of overall appeal.

Results
Equal dry weights of pasta yielded different uncooked displacement volumes, detailed below. In all cases, both volume and weight increased during cooking, although there was considerable variation from brand to brand:

Barilla. Initial weight: 113.4g. Cooked weight: 283.5g. Initial disp. volume: 120ml. Cooked disp. volume: 300ml. Increase in weight: 150%. Increase in volume: 150%.

Spaghetti Style. Initial weight: 113.4g. Cooked weight: 205.5g. Initial disp. volume: 100ml. Cooked disp. volume: 200 ml. Increase in weight: 81%. Increase in volume: 100%.

Multi-Grain. Initial weight: 113.4g. Cooked weight: 198.4g. Initial disp. volume: 88ml. Cooked disp. volume: 200ml. Increase in weight: 75%. Increase in volume: 127%.

Corn. Initial weight: 113.4g. Cooked weight: 212.6g. Initial disp. volume: 98ml. Cooked disp. volume: 225ml. Increase in weight: 88%. Increase in volume: 130%.

Discussion
Initial suspicions that g/f pasta cooks differently from traditional varieties were confirmed. All the pasta increased in both weight and volume during cooking, rendering groundless the earlier fear that some of the Spaghetti Style had somehow disappeared out the ventilation fan (this observational error may be explained by the fact that of all the noodles, the Spaghetti Style's volume increased the least). The Barilla's increase in weight and volume (a whopping 150% in both cases) was unmatched by any of the g/f products, with the corn pasta trailing in second place with an 88% increase in weight. To match the final desirable Barilla weight (cooked weight being deemed more important than volume when evaluating the fullness index) would require 156g of Spaghetti Style; 162g of multi-grain; and 151g of corn.

Of the three g/f varieties, the corn pasta was a clear winner in texture and taste - although it more resembled capelli d'angelo than spaghetti. This detail was of little consequence, however, since the Kid Squid reported he would happily eat a bowlful with his favorite sauce (a rash statement that will be tested for veracity later this week: reportage to follow). The Spaghetti Style has been described elsewhere. Of the mult-grain pasta, the less said the better: it tasted as unpleasant as the picture above suggests (the multigrain is the slimy pile on the lower left)  and will not be gracing my pantry shelves any time soon.

Next up: We discover we're sick of pasta and decide to have chicken curry and basmati rice for dinner.

The Case of the Disappearing Spaghetti Style

Last night we tried Pasta Joy Spaghetti Style with Rice Bran (Brown Rice Pasta), which I had earlier selected (for pantry-replenishment purposes) from the gluten-free shelf at Wegmans. Printed right on the label, for everyone to see, was the promise of excellent results and al dente perfection every time. 'How can I go wrong?' I thought optimistically, as later I prepared copious amounts of salted water for boilage. The packet instructions indicated the product should be cooked in the usual pasta-like manner, although with a slightly longer bubbling time than might generally be considered prudent.

As luck would have it, I had a built-in point of comparison for the new noodles. The Kid Squid, perhaps not as supportive as a loyal son ought to be, expressed a preference for his favorite Barilla spaghetti. Sir, on the other hand, agreed to try Spaghetti Style - a demonstration of solidarity that will not soon be forgotten. A simple tomato sauce was concocted (with a few added meatballs for certain members of the party) and pasta preparation commenced.

Three four-ounce dry rations of spaghetti and Spaghetti Style were duly apportioned. Even before cooking, there were a few marked differences between the traditional and brown rice varieties in terms of color, texture, and aroma. Instead of the rich golden hue of the Italian product, so reminiscent of Puglia and its rolling fields of durum wheat, the Canadian pasta (did I mention it was from Canada?) had a muddy brown sepia tone more appropriate for the slushy puddles found, one imagines, during late winter in Toronto. The outside surface was a bit raspy, like sandpaper, which caused it to snag on the cutting board rather than roll impishly off the countertop as the Italian stuff is wont to do.  Finally, the aroma of the rice version was notably nutty - fine for financiers, but a bit too earnest for pasta, in my opinion.

Into the pots for their allotted cooking times! Sure enough, the rice pasta took longer, as promised by the good folks at the manufacturer. About eight minutes longer, as it happened, during which I accidentally ingested gluten when I unthinkingly tested the Kid Squid's pasta for doneness  (a task for which he himself is responsible thenceforward). I must have missed the rice pasta's very narrow window for 'al dente perfection', because by the time the chalky interior of the Spaghetti Style was deemed ready for consumption, the outside was mushy and gelatinous. I will spend some time refining cooking times and report the results to breathless readers in a future posting.

All this was as nothing, however, compared to the disaster that followed. I dumped the Kid Squid's Barilla into the colander with predictably satisfactory results. When I decanted the Spaghetti Style, however, I was shocked - shocked! - to discover a measly pile of pasta barely sufficient to feed one hungry adult. A quick calculation confirmed that eight ounces had indeed gone into the pot twenty minutes before, yet the finished bowlful looked barely larger than Kid Squid's (which supposedly contained only half the pasta in dry weight). A frenzied consultation ensued. I maintained that some of the Spaghetti Style had inexplicably disappeared during cooking, while Sir argued contrary-wise that the Barilla had somehow increased in volume. Whose hypothesis was correct? The tension level in the kitchen mounted as I considered the joylessness of nothing but spaghetti sauce for dinner.

After Sir and I had finished competing for the remaining rice pasta we reached a sort of detente by devising an experimental test plan, the execution of which should provide sufficient empirical data to unravel the mystery. My previously anticipated weekend project, the development of a gluten-free madeleine recipe, will have to be postponed until this more urgent business is concluded. 

The guilty party

Next up: the exciting results of my g/f spaghetti experiments

The Cupboard is Bare

There is a gaping maw in my life - a pitiless vacuum sucking the air out of my kitchen like one of those space-time portals in Star Trek. I am speaking of ... the pantry.

Formerly replete with gluten-containing products of all shapes and sizes, it is now an empty shell - a poor reflection of its usual, bountiful self. Last weekend, during Phase I of the Gluten-Cleansing Project, I emptied the shelves of all the different flours I have come to know and love over the years: soft and snowy cake flour, reliable all-purpose flour, high-gluten bread flour, even some whole-meal flour (not sure why I had that in the house, but I must have had my reasons). Contemplating the empty baking-ingredients shelf last Saturday was the low point of my first gluten-free week. Then I discovered Bob and his Red Mill (see Financiers, Part 1) and, far too briefly, all was right with the world.

Yesterday, gloom returned during GCP [Phase II] , when I removed all the boxes of pasta from their appointed precincts. Lest readers think that the only deleterious effect of a gluten-free diet is that I am denied the odd cake or baked good, I must affirm that pasta is my carb of choice. I serve it, on average, three or four times a week either as a main course or side dish. It might be virtually au naturel with parmesan and a little olive oil (maybe butter if I'm feeling wicked) or deliciously coated with luscious sauce. Spaetzle with roasts. Ditalini and orzo in soups. Udon with fish, chicken, and vegetables. Soba in a zesty dipping sauce. My first thought, when confronted with the reality of gluten-free living was not, 'Oh no, I'll never eat cake again!' - although that might be readers' understandable impression. Rather, the cry that rang beseechingly in the heavens was, 'How am I going to live without pasta?'
Potatoes and rice are very nice. But in our house, noodles rule.

So, with great reluctance, I brought a big cardboard shipping box home from work and lovingly nestled in packing peanuts all the pasta I planned to send to my dear friend The Diva, who said she would gladly take it off my hands. The packed box weighed almost eight pounds. I admit to sniffling a bit as a I entrusted it to my friendly UPS driver and waved my handkerchief in fond farewell. But I know my pasta is going to a good home.

Next up: I will report my findings on something called Pasta Joy Spaghetti Style with Rice Bran (Brown Rice Pasta). It is from Canada, and not from Japan as one might suppose with a name like that.

Just Desserts, Episode 2: Motherhood and Margaritas

Moleskine and I were under no illusions as we settled down to watch the latest episode of Just Desserts. Last week, most of the pastry cheftestants heedlessly - nay, recklessly - ignored the rich possibilities afforded by gluten-free sweets and created the sorts of tortes and sables I have recently come to regard with deep suspicion and regret. So I suppose it was inevitable that, as gluten-rich batters were stirred, baked and unmolded, my mind would wander and I would find myself contemplating (of all things) motherhood.

This is not such a strange thing in and of itself. Motherhood, for better or worse, has been a recurring theme in art and culture for forever: consider Michelangelo's Pieta, every German folk-tale ever told to scare the crap out of young children, and the Alien movies (especially the second and third ones). It should therefore have been of surprise to no one that Bravo's producers would jump on the bandwagon and choose this deeply complicated and emotional concept as a conceit upon which to build their latest gluten-fest.

Nonetheless, it was pretty bizarre. There was Tim, the self-confessed 'mama' of the house, pouring coffee and making breakfast for everybody (I know the feeling, Tim!).  We learned that Zac's issues with his vegan mom led him to pursue a confectionery career - and a more salutary lesson for would-be vegan care-givers I cannot imagine. Elizabeth Falkner, who would probably be the coolest mom ever, went all nurturing and maternal when called upon to console Seth during one of his many outbursts (see my Pieta reference, above).  As for Seth - well, the relationship he has with his mother will no doubt be grist for innumerable therapy sessions in the decades to come. I hope the other pastry-cheftestants are getting danger money, that's all I'm saying.

On to the competition! The quickfire penny-candy inspiration challenge was kind of funny, in a sickly-sweet sort of way, and I would have thought it ripe for gluten-free creativity. Alas, no. Only Tim, my hero, amassed g/f points for his basil pudding with citrus granita, crowned priapically with an orange lollipop. Zac lost points by asserting that cake-baking (with or without 'cray-moo', one supposes) is the only way that true confectionery skill can be demonstrated to the foolish and shallow judges. Zac is my new villain.

Gluten-veneration continued unabated through the elimination challenge, with more cake (ginger, blueberry, pineapple, cola-spiced and mojito-flavored) than a g/f dessert-lover could comfortably imagine. The episode was not a total loss, thankfully, since several illuminating facts were offered up for our delectation: blue in the pastry world is usually a faux pas; desserts in bowls are Bad Things; pastry chefs feel lost and alone without their recipes; and if you are in the bottom three, you are not the only one (this last concept was elucidated by Seth, who demonstrated that when he is aufed from JD, he can always fall back on a career as a middle-school math teacher).

The Pompadour made his usual vague pronouncements about desserts 'not coming together' and being 'not what he was hoping for', thus earning him a place at the top of Moleskine's list of unsuccessful constructive criticism providers.  Sir, who came rather late to the party, made the invaluable observation that each of the Pompadour's sideburns resembled a relief map of Italy, although the boot on the right side of his head was kicking eastwards towards Albania rather than westwards towards Sicily, as is geographically customary.

So it was good-bye to dear Tim, who made a curdled and soupy (albeit gluten-free) pudding, and congratulations to Erika, whose Margarita bombe won props from the judges for its clear tequila sauce and beautiful layers (easily discerned because she miscounted and had to serve her dessert in halves). It did look lovely - except, of course, for its pastry base.

Next week: A bake sale challenge! Will the heartbreak never end?

Erratum: many thanks to the sharp-eyed reader who pointed out that Tim's lollipop was planted in an orange and pistachio parfait, and not a basil pudding as previously reported. The pudding was his elimination dessert, and thus lollipop-free. Fractured Amy apologizes for this egregious error and assures the public she is putting systems in place to ensure such an incident is not repeated.

Xanthan Xperiment: Financiers (Part 2)

Having hurled myself into the gluten-free baking maelstrom and emerged (dizzy but satisfied) from the abyss, I am prepared to counter outraged readers' protests that my so-called 'authentic' French financiers are, in fact, the wrong shape. Instead of calling to mind the traditional rectangular gold bars after which they are named, my financiers have the proud silhouettes of tiny thatched huts. This is because they are, in fact, baked in mini-muffin tins.

I should explain. I do possess an honest-to-goodness French silicon financier mold, obtained with surprising difficulty and at great expense from a cookware shop in Arras some while back (the Kid Squid, to his disgust, accompanied me on my feverish quest, which required several hours that might otherwise have been profitably spent crawling around reconstructed First World War trenches). When I got my treasure home and baked up my first batch of petits gateaux, I was dismayed by the result. Instead of a crisp, buttery, slightly brown and caramelized exterior, I was confronted with a pale, flabby, soft 'crust' barely worthy of the name. Quelle horreur!  'Nope,' I decided, 'metal is the way to go,' and as, like Alton Brown, I am a great believer in kitchen implements' multi-tasking abilitilies, it has been mini-muffin tins ever since. I prefer the ones that make twenty-four at a time. The cakes are about 4 cm wide at the base: perfect as a tea-time treat.

The following recipe is adapted from one that appeared in the big yellow Gourmet cookbook of a few years ago. It is, of course, gluten-free. I have discovered through careful experimentation that in this recipe Bob's Red Mill all-purpose gluten-free baking flour may be freely substituted for white all-purpose flour (and vise versa) with no discernable detriment to taste or texture.

Gluten-free financiers

• 1/3 cup gluten-free flour (see note, above)
• 1/3 cup granulated sugar
• 2/3 cup almond flour or finely ground almonds, depending on the texture you are going for
• pinch of salt
• 4 large egg whites, room temp
• splash vanilla
• 4 oz melted butter, cooled

Preheat your oven to 400 deg F and brush a little of the melted butter into your molds (again, see note, above). Sift together the dry ingredients. Whisk in the egg whites and add the rest of the melted butter (make sure the egg whites and butter are at room temperature or you will have a mess on your hands).  Finally, add the vanilla. Transfer the batter to some sort of pouring receptacle with a lip on it, and let it sit and marinate for about five minutes. When the time is up, whisk it all together one last time and fill your molds almost to the top (I usually get 24 or so). Bake for about 15 minutes, turning the pan once mid-way through.

The resulting cakes are pretty damn fine. We like them plain and slightly warm, but they can be dusted with powdered sugar and served as an accompaniment to ice cream or fruit or anything else you like.

Silicon financier mold (Fabrique en France!):
no reasonable offer refused

Xanthan Xperiment: Financiers (Part 1)

Yesterday afternoon I found myself unexpectedly in possession of three hours of free time and (thanks to Wegmans and Bob's Red Mill) a crinkly new bag of all-purpose gluten-free flour: a tailor-made opportunity to embark on my inaugural gluten-free baking adventure! I chose to tackle financiers because, as attentive readers are well-aware, they are one of my favorite treats in the world. Also, as luck would have it, I had all the required ingredients to hand.

I had previously done a little research into the matter of gluten-free baking, and been sternly warned by a variety of internet authorities that g/f goodies cannot be produced satisfactorily without the addition of Xanthan gum to the dry ingredients. The logic goes like this: the gluten in wheat flour provides doughs and batters with elasticity, structural stability, and leavening potential while at the same time contributing to the chewiness and texture of the final product. Take away the gluten and all you are left with is a pile of crumbs or (worse) an oozy unset mixture bubbling all over the bottom of your beautiful Wolf oven. Xanthan gum, a miracle ingredient by all accounts, adds the viscosity and volume required to forestall these catastrophes. I quickly acquired some from the gluten-free aisle at Wegmans and added it to my arsenal.

There is no hard and fast rule for the use of Xanthan gum, as proportions vary according to the type of product desired and variety of flour used. How much was I supposed to add to my financier recipe? As George Carlin used to say, 'Folks, this is where a background in science comes in handy.' Two batches of cakes were obviously required: one (the control) with no added Xanthan and one with just a pinch (I reasoned that if the Xanthaned batch was more successful, I could hone quantities during future experiments). I rapidly assembled two sets of baking utensils in order to avoid cross-contamination; carefully labelled one end of my baking tin with a Sharpie  ('X' for Xanthan); and set to work.

First I assembled two identical bowls of dry ingredients: sugar, ground almonds, and the aforementioned g/f flour (a blend of chickpea flour, potato starch, tapioca flour, white sorghum flour, and fava bean flour). The flour proved to be slightly darker than the lily-white enriched stuff I was accustomed to using, with a familiar texture and not unpleasant nutty aroma. To one bowl, I added a pinch of Xanthan gum, a very fine white powder that seemed innocuous enough until I tried to wash it off my index finger and thumb - only to be instantly repulsed by the resulting slimy gunk. I added the wet ingredients to my two bowls and could detect no appreciable difference between them, although both seemed a little grainier than usual.

After the ingredients had rested for the required five minutes, the Xanthaned mixture showed a marked increase in viscosity. I poured the batters into their duly designated pan-ends and noted that they produced an equal number of cakes. Into the oven they went, where they peacefully baked for the customary fifteen minutes.

Upon removing the pan from the oven, I was immediately struck by the difference in appearance between the two batches. The non-Xanthaned cakes were evenly-risen and browned, with a lovely little dome on top. The Xanthaned cakes had flat edges, more browned than the rest, and an odd (though very French) little lump in the middle:

Two financier specimens: the state-house dome and even browning
of the non-Xanthaned cake are clearly visible on the right

A four-person tasting panel was hastily convened, consisting of myself, Sir, the Kid Squid, and the Kid Squid's Gaming Partner for the afternoon, lured away from Halo Reach destruction by the promise of baked goods straight from the oven. Comments concerning appearance, taste, and texture were solicited and duly recorded in my trusty Moleskine notebook.

Appearance: the young tasters found the non-Xanthaned cakes more aesthetically pleasing, although the adults appreciated the rather more authentic appearance of the Xanthaned variety, finding the dark edges enticingly redolent of crispiness and caramelization.

Taste: before tasting them, the Kid Squid and the KSGP reported a strange aroma emanating from the Xanthaned cakes, an assertion dismissed by the adults as youthful grandstanding. None of the panel reported a significant difference in taste between the two batches, which were both nutty, buttery and delicious. An extremely satisfactory and somewhat counterintuitive result!

Texture: this is where opinions were strong and unified. All four tasters vastly preferred the texture and consistency of the non-Xanthaned financiers, describing the Xanthaned cakes variously as 'spongy', 'dense', 'gummy', and 'gross'.

Verdict: a unanimous preference for the non-Xanthaned cakes and a happy confirmation that gluten-free baking need not be overly earnest or complicated. The boys returned to Halo Reach while Sir and I washed a mountain of dishes (the kitchen looked like a chemistry lab at the conclusion of an experiment gone horribly wrong), content in the knowledge that we still had financiers in our lives.

Next up - the full g/f recipe and a defence of metal baking pans.

Just Desserts, Episode 1: Gluten Gluttony!

I am a keen appreciator of cakes and pastries of all kinds and have been known to skip the entree to leave room for dessert. I will drive for miles to find cake shops and bakeries rumoured to elevate the art (in my part of the world, this can be a very long drive indeed). Paris is my dream destination, where patisseries replete with chaussons, Gateaux Opera, Jesuites, and jalousies can be found on every boulevard. It would therefore be difficult to over-emphasize the degree to which I had anticipated Bravo's new cooking competition, Just Desserts. What could be more fabulous than pastry chefs creating nothing but sweet courses, each more ambitious and glorious than the last? This show was made for me and I impatiently awaited its debut.

Then (cue ominous music), less than two weeks before JD-Day, came the order from On High: no more gluten. None. Outlawed.

Disaster.

So it was with great fear and trepidation that I sat down with my new square-paged Moleskine notebook (creativity and inspiration guaranteed!) to record details of the pastry-cheftestants' opening salvos. I still had reason for optimism. 'There's lots they can do,' I thought naively. 'Souffles. Mousses. Nougatines. I mean, they don't need to use flour all the time, right?'

Of course, I was not taking into account the sadistic streaks in our judges, the luscious Gail (what on earth was she wearing on her feet?) and Johnny 'Pompadour' Iuzzini (I have his cookbook right here: it's called Fourplay - what a naughty, naughty boy!). The quickfire twist? Take a signature dessert and turn it into a freaking cupcake! I think cupcakes are silly at the best of times, but this was just salt in my wounds. Perfectly blameless dishes ruined by the gluten imperative: Tania's mesquite-scented cupcake (smoked gluten); Seth's basil cupcake (herbaceous gluten); Morgan's weird puffy chocolate thing (souffleed gluten). It was all too much to bear: my pen ran out of ink as I logged the roster of disappointments. Only Tim (dear, brave Tim) stuck to his guns and produced a gluten-free cupcake-shaped pistachio semi-freddo - and for his insolence was resoundingly bitch-slapped by the Pompadour. I sighed sadly and watched the devastation unfold.

The elimination challenge was no better. Beautiful mousses and flourless genoises unceremoniously dumped on top of useless pastry bases. Flans and cremeaux needlessly accompanied by fried pies (huh?) and sponges. And what was with all the unapologetic brownies and whoopie pies? It was enough to make a gluten-free dessertophile weep, and I did - the tears staining my lovely new Moleskine notebook.

Will I continue to watch Just Desserts? As a moth is drawn to the flame. There are too many delights in store to deny myself. When will the GE Monogram appliances go phoom? At whom will Zac (mistress of the bon mots) direct his venom - and will he continue to blow fairy dust all over his confections? Who will be the first to use the anti-griddle? How, in future episodes, will Danielle choose to mark her territory? (not like my Siamese cat, I hope). My early prediction for the final three: Seth (who will certainly win the bleepometer award, even if he doesn't walk away with the main prize); Heather H. (who seems pretty bad-ass, actually); and Yigit (because he worked for Daniel Boulud and I think his name is groovy). And who knows - maybe there is a gluten-free challenge still to come. My notebook and I await future developments with delicious anticipation. 

Dried Fruit Fandango

Loyal readers are no doubt waiting expectantly for the awesome fruit compote recipe promised in Oat Cuisine. I would happily credit the original author if that information were not obscured by the mists of time. The recipe is on yellowing curly paper and looks like it was produced on a dot matrix printer, putting its origin at around, oh, 1988. Edinburgh, probably. For some reason, the author is quite insistent that the one pound of dried fruit should include exactly twelve prunes: no more, no less. I have no idea why. Just one more mystery lost to the ages, I guess. As for the tea you should use, that depends on the occasion. I like jasmine if the compote is going to be eaten with yogurt and breakfast oats, or Earl Grey if I'm going to serve it for dessert with ginger ice cream. Same applies to the final flavouring. Go wild.

Without further ado, here is how to make Tea and Fruit Compote. You will require:

• 1 lb. dried fruit (including the aforementioned 12 prunes)
• two and a half pints of weak-ish, very hot tea (maybe 2 teabags or a heaping tbsp of loose tea)
• 1 tbsp lemon juice
• 2 tbsp of soft brown sugar, if you like things sweet (I do)
• 1 tbsp (or so) of optional flavour like orange flower water, rosewater, Cointreau, or Amaretto

Plop the fruit in a large bowl and pour the tea over it. Let it soak for 24 hours. Pour the whole lot into a big saucepan and add the lemon juice (and the sugar, if you are using it). Cover the pan and simmer for about 20 minutes. The environs will be filled with delectable aromas. During the last few minutes, add any flavouring that strikes your fancy. Serve it at room temperature over ice cream (if the compote is really warm, the fruit is too mushy to be texturally delightful) or chilled for breakfast. Feeds 6 to 8.

The dried fruit before plumpification. This is a fantastic organic mix
from my favorite New Jersey nut shop:

it includes prunes, two kinds of apricots, pears, apples,
peaches, and nectarines. I added dried Rainier cherries
because they are my favorite thing on the planet.

The finished fruit compote. It has a rich dark flavor that is perfect for Fall.
Did I mention it is gluten-free? Huzzah!

Oat Cuisine

I have decided to tackle the gluten-free catastrophe one meal at a time. First up, breakfast – the most important meal of the day! My favorite week-day breakfast of Berry Burst Cheerios is now tragically verboten. Searching for a suitable substitute, I encounter what I’m sure is only one of the many debates currently raging in the gluten-free world: ‘Oats: are they or aren’t they?’

It would seem a simple matter to ascertain whether oats contain gluten. Surely, some brilliant food scientist somewhere has applied fairly basic chemistry to the problem. I find it is not that simple and come to the irritating conclusion that such controversies will enliven my life repeatedly in the weeks to come. After exhaustive internet research (well, at least as long as it takes for my kettle to boil), I have decided to concur with the great minds who say oats are gluten-free in and of themselves, but often contain gluten because they are processed with other evil cereals such as wheat and barley. Find some oats without undesirable grainy residue and Bob’s my uncle!

It takes a couple of days, but having secured two pounds of rolled oats (certified! gluten-free!) from my favorite New Jersey nut shop, I am left holding the bag, so to speak. What to do? It’s too early in the Fall for oatmeal, but my mind turns to Karen, the most excellent Namibian landlady in all of South Africa, who for breakfast fed us something she called German oatmeal, but which reminded me of the Swiss muesli Anton Mosimann used to advocate in the UK back in the 1980s. Are we clear so far?

Here's how you make Namibian German Swiss South African First-Eaten-in-Scotland Breakfast Oats. Take equal parts rolled oats and liquid of some kind (milk, water, apple juice, whatever – an unassuming Riesling would probably work), mix 'em up, and soak the resulting slurry in the fridge overnight. Notice that no heat is involved! In the morning, the oats have become miraculously soft, fluffy, and delicious. Mix with a bit of yoghurt and seeds/nuts of your choice, top with fresh fruit or fruit compote (my favorite recipe to follow) and you have the breakfast of gluten-free champions. First catastrophe averted!

The Beginning

This is going to be rough. It's Day One of my quack-decreed gluten-free diet and already temptation is pressing in from all sides. Until this morning, I was the Lehigh Valley's most accomplished baker and consumer of authentic French financiers. Now denied them, all I hear is the siren song of the little cakes' crisp buttery exteriors and delectable marzipany insides (sadly achieved through the lavish use of now-forbidden wheat flour). In addition, the cruel fates have decreed that in a few short days, Just Desserts will debut on Bravo, my go-to source of guilty TV pleasure. JDs is guaranteed to be a veritable paean to gluten gluttony, fairly aburst with gateaux and tortes, crepes and cobblers.

Concerned that I may lose the will to live, I've decided to blog about my upcoming trials and tribulations, musing on recipe discoveries and cereal substitutes along the way. Note to self: must come up with an alternative financier recipe ASAP.