It’s day 5 of our intentional abstinence from gluten. It should be day 6, but it turns out my boyfriend didn’t realize Tamari sauce and Worcestershire also have the stuff, and he marinated our skirt steak in it on Sunday, which we both had again on Monday for lunch. But since that snafu we’ve been doing well in avoiding all gluten-laden products, whether overt or hidden.
Besides that, I have been hitting on all cylinders in the kitchen. Most of what we eat I make from scratch, and we’ve been enjoying the spoils of my labor. I’ve even managed to make a rhubarb apple pie. Which leads me to the conclusion that eating GF doesn’t necessarily mean suffering. You just have to be willing to cook. And research. And spend too much on a really small bag of almond meal. Luckily the interwebs are filled with people much more experienced than I in using alternative flours. They shield me from wasting those expensive little bags of grain.
As for how we feel, well, there hasn’t been any difference. Granted it’s only been a few days, but one would assume that if a gluten issue existed, that going off the stuff would make some sort of dent. Of course, there’s always the possibility that going back to gluten in a week or so will be painful. Which will be the answer we need. We’re hoping that the return to gluten is delicious and uneventful.
Mostly, I miss making actual bread. The kind that takes 5 hours to make. But I’m sure our respective gluten sensitive relatives will appreciate the experiences we are gaining. Right now, the boyfriend is making corn tortillas on his new press. I have a GF parmesan crust waiting to go from the fridge to the oven for the lasagna tart. Last night we used a mix to make pizza dough, and were thrilled to eat our black olive and mushroom pizza while drinking St. Peter’s Sorghum Beer (it’s a Pilsner style lager and gives no indication of its GF status flavor-wise, something the man friend appreciated). Tomorrow night it’s shredded chicken enchiladas. I’m starting to wonder if all this deliciousness will affect our waistlines in the negative sense.
I’d like to think not, since each dish requires planning and some sort of effort. Perhaps having to spend more time in the kitchen preparing the food instead of simply running out to grab something, coupled with the fact that we can’t eat more than we planned – since next day’s lunch depends on it – keeps our activity high and our portions in proportion. It sort of makes me wish that I’d weighed myself at the beginning of all this. Except, of course, that I don’t own a scale. And that I think weighing yourself daily is the surest way to be unhappy with your weight. (read: my Wii Fit, for that exact reason, is tucked snugly underneath my TV console. I don’t care how much heavier I am since yesterday. Or two weeks ago. I really, really, just don’t care. But thanks for telling me, Mii, and ruining my day.)
Now that I’m done with the snark, it’s back to the kitchen.