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.