“I think you have Celiac Disease…” my very young doctor said in his lilting Argentine
accent as I sat in the clinic in Buenos Aires on a hot January day. My mind reeled; I had a hard time
understanding what he was telling me. I
had just spent 4 grueling days in the worst pain I had ever experienced without
a break; laying on the floor of our
bathroom crying from exhaustion and pain until I decided to stop eating in
order to feel better. After not eating
for 2 days, I decided I really ought to see a doctor, mostly because not eating
was not conducive to living. I knew that
whatever I was suffering from was food related as I had no other symptoms that matched up with a flu or illness. Luckily
a good friend was able to recommend this clinic and off I went, shaky and pale
but hoping for answers.
“It is an auto immune disease that affects the intestines
and your body treats gluten as a poison.
There is a simple blood test I want to do. Then we can talk about how to introduce food
back into your life.”
When the test came back positive and I started educating
myself on what this disease meant and how my life was about to change, I
thought it was the end. I was mad. Furious actually. I already had food allergies that restricted
my diet – shellfish, bovine protein – so no beef or dairy, mushrooms, and beer. And at the time of my diagnosis I was near
the end of a six month sabbatical living in Buenos Aires, Argentina, the beef
capital of the world, and I was already trekking 35 minutes one way on a bus to
do my food shopping in Barrio Chino, the Chinatown of Buenos Aires, in order to
find fresh herbs and produce, along with fish that was expertly filleted for me by
a Chinese Argentine who did not understand my Spanish. And now I had to eliminate all things
wheat. No pasta, bread, grains, cereal,
oatmeal, or anything that had been a staple of my diet while living there. Not to mention the hidden gluten in soy
sauce, marinades, prepared foods, deli meats, etc. Suddenly my food world felt insanely small
and I felt like I would never enjoy food again.
After yelling a bit, and maybe throwing a few unbreakable
items, I went from angry to determined.
I was determined to eat, and eat well, despite the new restrictions on
my life. And I was going to have
pancakes again! And bread! And muffins!
And pasta! It took me a little while to
realize that those things were not entirely necessary in my life, but were a
lovely treat. I was also in the throes of withdrawal from gluten. Oh yes, your body can go through withdrawal symptoms when you cut out gluten from your diet, I know I was impossible to deal with at the time. I even craved things I did not like... it was a dark two weeks. And the work I would have to put into
developing those treats was daunting, because I did not want to eat something
that was less than amazingly tasty. “Good enough for gluten free” was never in
my vocabulary.
From Buenos Aires we moved to New York City, where I thought
all my woes would be cured. I
practically ran to Whole Foods and stood amazed in the special aisle of gluten
free foods. And then I was amazed at the
prices. $8.00 for a box of 10
cookies? And they ended up tasting like
dry starchy Styrofoam, definitely NOT amazingly tasty. A box of cereal was $9 and it had so much sugar
I could not imagine even trying it. I
went from awestruck to dumbfounded in a manner of minutes. I would find that there were a few good items
that tasted fine among all the ones that tasted hideous, if they had a taste at all. But it was an expensive
endeavor to figure out which ones they were, and even then, they did not thrill
me. Not to mentioned every baked goodie
that I found was filled with butter, cream and sugar, to make up for the lack
of traditional wheat flour. So it did not matter that they were gluten free, I
could not have them anyway. I felt
deprived all over again.
Then I stumbled upon a tiny specialty food shop in the Upper
West Side called G-Free NYC, where the entire store was gluten free and many
items were also dairy free, and the owner had tried every single item she
carried to make sure it met her high standards of taste. My first visit I was not sure, but she
offered me samples of a few dairy free items and made some recommendations. I was supremely happy with what I purchased
my first visit, and was able to buy my GF flours and basics from her, along with a
few treats that I felt confident buying without trying because I knew that
everything in that store had passed her test.
Then I wanted more. I came from a family where things were baked at home, from scratch, and I used to do that. I Wanted to do that. I wanted to bake at home. If I wanted a muffin I did not want to have to wait until I had a day off to go visit my favorite GF store in the Upper West Side. I wanted to be able to bake them at home, in my jammies, at 9am on a Sunday morning.
So in my small NYC kitchen (is there realistically any other type?), I felt better able to make whatever
I wanted having the supplies I needed and the knowledge I had learned, and I started testing out ideas for cooking and baking. Some recipes were immediate successes, most
were not. A few never succeeded, but I
have not given up hope on them. This blog
is where I will share my stories, recipes, ideas and information about living
gluten free. Which I have decided is a
phrase I would like to change, it immediately puts you in the mind of being
denied, restricted, without. And it is
not. Having a gluten free life is simply
something different, something else, an alternative way of viewing food and
flavor. And you can for sure not miss
out on anything.
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