Cruel to Be Kind

It has been a frantic few days here a chez Fractured Amy, what with all the myriad post-Irene tasks and responsibilities that have presented themselves for my attention. I've had two flooded basements with which to deal (I'm currently house-sitting for the 'rents, who decided that - with a hurricane on its way - fleeing the country seemed like a Wise Idea); a yard that looks like, well, like it was hit by a hurricane, actually; and - for some reason - a lab where the electricity is choosing to go off and on at odd moments throughout the day, requiring my constant vigilance.

Why the power should be fluctuating now when it managed to survive the entire weekend without incident, I have no idea. I blame rogue forces in the troposphere.

I list these agenda items not because I'm complaining, you understand, although complaining is undeniably one of my favorite past-times. No, I'm merely explaining that current exigencies are interfering somewhat with my carefully orchestrated existence as a gluten guerrilla par excellence. Not only have I been unable to engage in any exciting culinary experiments recently, but I have also been denied the opportunity for my usual weekly lunch preparations, requiring me to depend on cereal bars and pre-washed salad greens for my noon-time sustenance.

Normally, this would not be too terribly onerous. I dearly love my Kind cranberry and almond bars (all natural! certified gluten free! dairy free! loaded with anti-oxidants! don't taste like packing material!) but my box of fifty, purchased wholesale from one of the internet's less objectionable health-food sites, became water-logged and icky during the recent deluge. In addition, actually reaching the box on its Metro shelf under the front step requires fording through quite a bit of standing water, and you know what they say - water may be deeper than it appears! Fearful that I might trip over something and accidentally submerge - bubbling quietly, never to be seen again - I decided to find an alternative convenience lunch to tide me over.

Tide me over. Get it? The aqueous conditions in our basement are no doubt putting me in a nautical frame of mind.

I presented myself in our supermarket's cereal/nutrition/sports bar aisle, conveniently located near the organic/socialist/bleeding heart department where I do so much of my shopping these days. There were literally hundreds of possibilities from which to make my selection! Wherever to begin?

Well, if there's one quality honed by gluten freedom-fighting, it's clarity of purpose. I was immediately able to discount roughly seven-eighths of the offerings, since they were visibly bulging with the sorts of grains I avoid, rather as a small craft avoids winds greater than Force 6 on the Beaufort scale.

I was subsequently able to eliminate about half the choices remaining, since they were sullied by coconut - my least favorite ingredient of all time and a troublingly common constituent in these sorts of products.

This left roughly four possibilities. Exhausted by my trials of late (see above) and the examination of so much fine print, I seized a couple from the middle of the pack, noting with some satisfaction that in addition to being labelled all natural and gluten free in bold letters right on the front label, they also contained chocolate and peanut butter, two substances with which it is difficult to go wrong. The fact that the manufacturers promised they would help me lose weight (my size 00 jeans are getting a shade tight, these days - I blame adverse atmospheric conditions) was an added bonus.

Tied by wayward electrons to my sputtering tests all day today, I decided to eat one of my new finds for lunch. To protect the guilty, let's call it a Think Again - pronounced as it might be on the Dukes of Hazzard, where again rhymes with belaying pin (should Bo, Daisy May, Jesse et al ever find themselves at sea).

First, I examined the label in the cold light of day. The first thing that came to my attention was the fact that each of these astonishing adipose-shedding miracle bars contained 230 calories, 80 of which were from fat. Now, I'm no expert, but that seemed like a lot considering the thing only weighted sixty grams. A quick trawl of trusted resources confirmed my suspicion: the equivalent serving size of one of my favorite nougat-filled candy bars contains only 11 calories more (easily burned through one minute's leisurely jump-roping, should I feel so inclined) and slightly less fat!

While we're on the subject of comparison, I should point out that neither contains anything significant in the way of vitamins (which my Kind bars possess in abundance), but my candy bar exceeds the Again's stores of calcium and fiber. My sweet treat does admittedly boast less protein, but then so does my Kind bar. No feelings of guilt there.

Finally, since you know what a stickler I am for the Trade Description Act, I am compelled to ask what is 'all natural' about the Again's whey protein isolate, sugar alcohol (huh?), maltitol, soy lecithin, or 'coating'? My candy bar has some suspicious ingredients too, of course (although fewer than you might suppose), but since it is making no claims for itself other than pure deliciousness, I am unmoved.

But all this would be as nothing if I'd found a tasty substitute for my Kind bars. A bit of variety to brighten my routine, a welcome change of pace, something to recommend to other gluten guerrillas suddenly finding themselves with too few leftovers for a tasty brown bag lunch.

And more virtuous-feeling than a candy bar, whatever the facts might be.

So I tasted it.

And guess what?

The Again went straight in the bin.

Next up: starving upon my return home at work-day's end, I unwrap a bar of Lindt milk chocolate and eat several squares spread thick with Banoffee sauce.