Two items of note caught my eye this morning as I spooned up my chia seeds, organic yogurt, and home-made banana and strawberry compote.
The first, which filled my heart with unutterable joy, was the notification from Amazon - sent to me personally! - that Neal Stephenson's next novel is due out on September 20. Those who know me - and are familiar with my slavish devotion to Stephenson's oeuvre - will immediately understand the significance of this news. I have been waiting ages and ages for him to produce his next herniating tome and getting quite impatient, frankly. I'd already re-read his previous four books, like, six zillion times (I find novels to be uncomplaining companions at the stove, particularly when one is stirring for the long periods required by custard, cheese curds, and risotto) and was beginning to despair there would ever be another one to brighten my life. The notification this morning was as manna from heaven and I hastily pre-ordered a copy.
Such was my delight that it took some effort and concentration to get annoyed and provoked by the second item of note, but I managed it nonetheless. Never let it be said that I allow a good mood to get in the way of self-righteous indignation!
The source of my consternation was, of course, the September issue of Bon Appetit, delivered to my door yesterday by Glenda, our otherwise valuable and doughty mail ma'am. What did I see as I perused the contents of the so-called Restaurant Issue? My spine was chilled by an item appearing on page 62 under the heading Good Health:
Gluten-Free for All: We get to the bottom
of the diet du jour
Ye gods.
I have observed before that everybody is going gluten-free these days - often for dubious reasons, in my opinion. I'm afraid I am not one of the faithful who believes that the eschewal of cereal proteins will cure autism, left-handedness, debt in the Euro-zone; or atmospheric perturbations such as the hurricane currently bearing down on all of us (the less said about earthquakes, these days, the better).
I'm not even sure a gluten-free diet will help one overcome 'fatigue and brain fog (in just three days!)' as the medical experts quoted in the article assert. Quite apart from my previous ignorance that 'brain fog' was a scientific term and the laughable claim that 'now it's easier than ever to find decent baked goods,' I found the piece objectionable in many, many different ways.
My views on the gluten-free bandwagon are firm and well-documented elsewhere. I would, however, like to add to my not-inconsiderable list of grievances the fact that I'm pretty sure the last time I went into a restaurant and made mention of my dietary restriction (the staff did ask, after all) there followed a certain amount of discreet eye-rolling in response. I can only suppose this is because every third person is presenting herself with a 'gluten intolerance' these days and chef is getting fairly fed up with diners turning up their noses at his glorious home-made bread, delicate spaetzle, and perfect tart crust.
The last thing we bona fide gluten guerillas need is a bunch of newly-converted enthusiasts creating extra work and bad mojo in our favorite kitchens - especially since said campaigners will soon have moved on to some other fear, leaving us to deal with the fallout. I speak as an old gluten freedom-fighter of almost an entire year's standing (I mark my twelve-month anniversary on September 12), with no end in sight - and none of my quacks' promised health improvements, either.
Resentful? Maybe.
Sceptical? Definitely.
I think I need to stop reading Bon Appetit.
But that's OK.
I'll have Neal Stephenson for consolation.
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