Just Desserts, Episode 7: Ye Olde Gluten Shoppe

According to The Shoes and The Pompadour, Restaurant Wars is the Top Chef episode most anticipated by fans. If they say so, it must be true! Moleskin and I settled ourselves comfortably with a cup of Earl Grey and the usual prurient sense of anticipation, eager to see how the highly-strung and, let’s be honest, mentally-unhinged pastry cheftestants would rise to the challenge, usually so rich with recriminations and under-the-busings. They did pretty well, all things considered, with less bickering and back-stabbing than is customary. The most exciting part, it transpired, was when The Shoes referred to Team Rainbow’s empty display case as a vitrine, cocking her eyebrow ironically as she did so. Moleskine and I always cheer when Gail exhibits her whimsical side.

Maybe drama was lacking because the gang didn’t actually have to open restaurants, but bakery-cafes where the vast majority of the fare was produced beforehand. Having only one cook in the kitchen definitely seems to have its advantages! With so few theatrics to entertain us, and bored with the usual layer cakes, doughnuts  and fried pies (what is it with Morgan and his freaking fried pies?) Moleskine and I were left to consider the ultimate futility of such establishments for gluten-freedom fighters such as ourselves.

The fact is, I have not been out to eat since the dictated-by-the-powers-that-be-anti-gluten-regime was instituted last month. Upon reflection, that’s not strictly true – at various power lunches and breakfasts demanded by my rather unusual employment, I have sipped coffee whilst watching (with some discomfort, it must be said) others gobble pancakes, eggs Benedict, cheesesteak sandwiches, and burgers-with-everything. I have not yet visited an eatery where the term ‘gluten-free’ is likely to be understood, much less catered for: this is a challenge still to come.

Nonetheless, I like to torture myself occasionally by visiting Wegmans' bakery counter to see what I’m missing. I’m continually put out by the casual disregard of us poor g/freers as would-be-customers. Even a well-known local vegan patisserie, famous up and down the East Coast for the amazing deliciousness of its offerings and recommended to me by my pal The Crusading Young Lawyer from the Big City, typically has only one gluten-free offering in its display case (sorry, vitrine). The last time I visited, the single wheatless gateau was obscured by a snowy avalanche of coconut, possibly my least favorite ingredient in the culinary universe. It was one of the more dispiriting experiences of the last several weeks, and devoted readers know there have been many of those.

Is it too much to ask bakeries and cafes to offer up one or two g/f treats as sops to the punters who would like to sit there imbibing something more than coffee? 'I have a dream,' Steve Martin once said, 'Not a big dream, a little dream.' I would like to stop having to carry my own food out to lunch.