Let there be no misunderstanding about the facts of the case. I did not volunteer for the war on wheat.
I was drafted.
Naturally, the unfortunate circumstances under which I became a freedom fighter have colored my outlook on the melee.
There are legions of gluten guerrillas who willingly - nay, fervently - embrace the conflict, claiming that cereal-free diets have changed their lives for the better, cured their manifold mysterious ailments, and brought about undeniable improvements to the Middle East Situation and Eurozone Debt Crisis besides.
Such enthusiastic recruits give me a pain.
Before September 2010 I was quite content with my peaceful gluten-filled subsistence: for years I had happily scarfed up patisserie and pasta, spaetzle and pancakes, waffles and bowls of ramen, wholly ignorant of the devastating toll these delights were taking on my hemoglobin levels and bone density. It was only after a variety of quacks told me I needed to join the wheat-free warrior class or else Face the Dire Consequences And On My Own Head Be It that I reluctantly took up the banner of gluten-freedom.
I was drafted.
Naturally, the unfortunate circumstances under which I became a freedom fighter have colored my outlook on the melee.
There are legions of gluten guerrillas who willingly - nay, fervently - embrace the conflict, claiming that cereal-free diets have changed their lives for the better, cured their manifold mysterious ailments, and brought about undeniable improvements to the Middle East Situation and Eurozone Debt Crisis besides.
Such enthusiastic recruits give me a pain.
Before September 2010 I was quite content with my peaceful gluten-filled subsistence: for years I had happily scarfed up patisserie and pasta, spaetzle and pancakes, waffles and bowls of ramen, wholly ignorant of the devastating toll these delights were taking on my hemoglobin levels and bone density. It was only after a variety of quacks told me I needed to join the wheat-free warrior class or else Face the Dire Consequences And On My Own Head Be It that I reluctantly took up the banner of gluten-freedom.
As a result, these days I spend a lot of my time in a Bad Mood - which is not necessarily a Bad Thing. As many of my friends and relations are well aware, I quite enjoy whimpering and whining and do not fear to indulge myself in these pastimes whenever possible. Ironically enough, there is this one silver lining in the whole cereal-related catastrophe that is my esculentary existence: the gluten freedom-fight has given me more opportunities for refining the art of bitching and moaning than I could have ever anticipated.
Acquiring an acceptable brand of gluten-free pasta to replace my beloved Barilla? Impossible. Finding prepared baked goods that are worth the calories? Nothing but heartbreak. Figuring out the USDA's arcane labelling guidelines? Headache-inducing. Trying to parse the advice so earnestly offered up by well-meaning healthcare professionals, the internet, and the Liberal Media (as represented by Bon Appetit magazine)? I get nosebleeds just thinking about it.
And I have not yet touched upon all the other tribulations in my universe that, though not necessarily gluten-related, nonetheless contribute to my culinary misfortunes.
And I have not yet touched upon all the other tribulations in my universe that, though not necessarily gluten-related, nonetheless contribute to my culinary misfortunes.
Sometimes I think it's a good thing I have so much complaining to look forward to. Without that motivation, I might be tempted to give up the fight.
- Afflictions of a new recruit: teething pains, sorting fact from fiction, the pasta problem
- Looking for answers: medical advice and Tales of the Nutritionist
- Gluten-free at the supermarket: shopping woes, products not worth the shelf space
- General gluten girning: eating out, the gluten-free bandwagon, hidden danger, troublesome recipes, troubling news
- Various vexations: adverse atmospheric conditions, Bon Appetit magazine, coffee machines, colds and flu, lactose, suburban angst