It's a Mystery

Over the course of my gluten freedom-fighting career, I have engaged in a number of pantry-cleansing episodes that have left me shaken and demoralized: the removal of pasta, baking products, and fondue pots from my shelves have each been episodes of note in my catastrophic saga so far.

One lair of the Evil Ingredient still remained to be purged, however, and this weekend - needing to make some space for the Cake for a Very Special Occasion - I addressed my new extirpation with a zeal that soon turned to confusion and despair.

The refrigerator. What a mess.

We are great collectors of jars chez Fractured Amy. Compotes, sauces, dressings, jams, and condiments of all kinds are generally to be found on the upper shelves and in various secret compartments hidden away in the cold chest. I wish I could report that all these culinary accoutrements were the products of hours spent laboring over canning equipment and vacuum sterilizers, but the truth is that manufactured labor-savers are a boon to the busy home cook.

Or at least, that's my excuse for allowing four different varieties of fudge sauce (all essentially the same) and three opened jars of pickled beets to lurk in the fridge's depths. Before my Smartyphone app came along and changed my life forever, duplication was the rule rather than the exception. Additionally, the uppermost shelf of the fridge is at a height that makes small jars at the back very difficult to see without the assistance of a step stool. 

Resultingly, things have tended to collect over time.

I removed something like thirty-seven jars, bottles, and plastic containers from their appointed places and dumped them in the sink with a ceremonial clatter that caused the cat to flee to the basement. The first bottle I addressed was HP Brown Sauce, the Kid Squid's condiment of choice for bacon, sausages, and other breakfast fare. I checked the sell-by date and was reassured that it presented no immediate threat to life or limb. Then I checked the ingredients label (purely as an academic exercise, since I myself do not partake). No allergens listed. I examined the ingredients label: there, clear as day, I saw rye flour and fructose syrup [from wheat] quite near the top. 'Well, gosh,' I thought to myself, 'What's up with that?'

The next jar to which I turned my attention was filled with Wegmans' own zesty seafood sauce, redolent with horseradish and eye-watering spices. It was clearly labelled as being lactose-free and vegan but not gluten-free, although none of the ingredients was obviously evil. Why not say gluten-free, then? What were they trying to hide? Consternation began to rear its ugly head as I pawed through the remaining jars.

Wegmans smooth Dijon mustard was declared GLUTEN FREE in bold caps on its label.

Wegmans wholegrain Dijon mustard listed only soy under its allergens, and included maltodextrin under its constituents. Maltodextrin can be derived from wheat or corn. Which was it? Wheat wasn't listed as a potentially harmful ingredient, but neither was the jar labelled GLUTEN FREE like its creamy counterpart. Consternation developed into full-blown concern.

A jar of red raspberry jelly had a big orange circle with a G in it, declaring itself gluten free for all the world to see, even if the world didn't happen to have its reading glasses on.

Hellmann's jar of tartar sauce declared itself proudly GLUTEN FREE at the end of its ingredients list but did not sport the big orange circle.

A jar of hoisin sauce did not list any allergens, but wheat appeared about 100 different ways on the label.

A Caesar salad dressing label listed no allergens of any kind, but the product contained loads of vinegar, if its prominent positioning on the roster of shame was to be believed. Since there was clearly dairy in the product (not listed under allergens) then who's to say the vinegar didn't contain malt and the dressing, therefore, gluten?

Having scrutinized just eight jars, I had in as many minutes discovered eight different lexical protocols.

I removed some apples from their brown paper bag and breathed into it for a while before making myself a soothing cup of organic Earl Grey with lavender and addressing myself to some research on allergen labeling regulations.

Concern evolved to hysteria.

From what I can gather, there are hardly any compulsory labeling regulations in this country. FALCPA (the FDA's Food Allergen Labeling and Consumer Protection Act, 2004 or 2006, take your pick) requires the disclosure of eight food allergens to consumers. Wheat is, in fact, among the eight, but gluten is not - so that's not terribly helpful, is it? In addition, it seems that manufacturers are pretty much allowed to determine how and to what degree they will comply. This caused so much confusion among consumers (and FDA inspectors, too, one presumes, if there are any left at this point) that in September 2008 the administration held a public hearing 'to help determine how manufacturers use advisory labelling for food allergens ... as a first step in closing the existing knowledge gap in developing our long-term strategy.'

The FDA's ever-so-up-to-date website says no more on the subject - or at least, nothing I was able to find in the time it took me to drink a twelve-ounce cup of tea. At any rate, when I read the words 'manufacturer,' 'voluntarily,' and 'knowledge gap' in the same sentence I tend to start twitching, after which rational thought becomes a challenge, if not an outright impossibility.

Reason returned as I contemplated possible solutions to this problem, since I find list-making such a soothing exercise:

1. Write to every maker of condiments in one's pantry to find out its position regarding gluten alerts (a number of gluten-free commandos have been doing just this, with the unfortunate outcome that contradictory and unreliable information is currently flying about the internet like so many labels torn in frustration from jars of stir-fry sauce).
2. Petition the FDA to Do the Right Thing (a worthwhile goal, to be sure, but when I proposed this idea to the Kid Squid, he ironically quipped that I must be an evil communist plotting the introduction to our food supply of Stalinesque state control, which will surely lead to our being obliged, in the near future, to eat nothing but straw and coffee made from acorns and gardening compost).
3. Take one's life in one's hands and hope for the best, being as careful as possible to avoid such problematic substances as modified food starch, hydrolyzed protein, and edible film. This sounds like a good idea no matter what one's personal view of gluten and other toxic substances.
4. Eschew bottled preparations and make one's own.

I think I will choose the last two options: at the very least, I will be able to free up a lot of room in the fridge.