Bye Bye Brioche

I obsess over minutiae and just deal with the mammoth.

Eventually, and I say eventually because I’ve been talking about this forever, I need to say goodbye to gluten.  Doctor says so.  I don’t want to talk about it.  Well, that’s not true.  All I want to do is talk about it.  And Google it.  And contemplate how horrible my life is going to be once I finally do it.  That’s kind of me in a nutshell.  I talk something to death and when finally, inevitably, push comes to shove it’s a big nothing.  Like, big fucking deal.  This seems to work for me.  So, for the last month I’ve been talking and interneting and researching to prepare for a life without gluten. 

The first thing I did when Doc told me the bad news was Google “gluten free baking”.  I am thankful my priorities are screwed on straight.  Aside from baking with things that sound like they belong in science experiments, I think I’ll be okay here.  I’m actually looking forward to trying some stuff out (delusion is a cure for all evil) – hope you are too?  I really hope I don’t become one of those people who say “it tastes just like steak” when they eat veggie burgers, because, seriously, those people are crazy.  

I’ve been perusing books and cookbooks.  Is gluten free the new black or what, because seriously, it’s too much literature.  Too much information.  Elizabeth Hasselbeck seems to be quite happy living GF (everything has an acronym these days) and I was initially worried my new GF lifestyle would be a gateway to idiocy, or worse Republicanism, but I’ve tempered that view somewhat.  Somewhat.  Grocery shopping, which I love, love, love has turned into a very educational and laborious exercise as I read the ingredient list of everything, discovering I can’t eat most of it anymore.  Sulky sourpuss.  That’s me.

We will, as they say, see how it goes but it has to go.  It must.  I’ll miss many things for sure but the main thing I will miss is the ease at which I used to eat and socialize.  I eat (ate) everything.  I love (loved) to eat everything.  I can’t now because I am a high maintenance food person.  I know that the mere fact that I can’t live without my hair straightener makes me a full stop high maintenance person, but a high maintenance food person is a tad worse because it puts pressure on the people you eat with, socialize with and entertain with.  There will be no casual “let’s order pizza” nights, unless the pizza joint does gluten free crusts.  No more burgers, unless we go to Holy Chuck – thank god for Holy Chuck and their gluten free buns! – can you tell your dinner host that you don’t eat pasta or bread?  99.9% of my ‘hit it out of the park’ cooking arsenal needs to be retired – I’m sorry but I’m selfish and if I can’t eat it I’m not making it. This bothers me.  Saying no to birthday cake and other treats made with love, offered with kindness, will bother me.  It’s like I’m turning my back on gestures of social norm and acceptance, of the opening of heart and home.  Melodramatic moron.  That’s me.

But, so be it.  It must be done.  There is no choice. Just Deal.  I should thank my lucky stars I can still eat ice cream, even if it is without my beloved pie.