gluten, booger-fruits, Twinkies, and frying people.

So I went to the doctor. You know it's real when Lisa goes to the doctor.

'Cause I hate going to the doctor.

I love you, pizza crust. 

But I'm getting older. And getting older comes with the need to make sure things are still working the same way they did when you were, like, seventeen. [Spoiler alert: when you're thirty-three, they don't work the same as when you were seventeen. I've heard the best is yet to come.]

So, for a few reasons, we decided that: it might be beneficial for me to abstain from gluten for awhile.

I love you, cheesy crackers.

Yeah, you heard me: I'm going gluten-free. Get your potshots in now. I've earned them. I've flung them around myself, O Thou Abstainers Of The Wheatberry: I know, I know: you're not celiac (neither am I), but you have a sensitivity, or an allergy (I might, too). I'm not making fun of you, seeing as how I'm on a little trip to figure out whether we might have this in common. I'm learning that there are many more legitimate reasons to avoid gluten than just celiac, or IBS, or whatever else, so I really need to be less judgy/mocky than I used to be. Especially as high-horsey as I can be about people judging or mocking my own choices. I've been a little hypocritical, I'll admit. So there's that.

But there's also this: I'm a chef. I manage one kitchen, work my badonk off in another, and personal-chef as much as I can, often for people with health issues who require special accommodations. So I have plenty of opportunities to interact with special dietary needs and diverse culinary preferences. I don't begrudge any person their right to eat whatever the heck they want or need to eat. Twinkies? VASTLY inferior to Butterscotch Krimpets, but have at 'em, if that's your thing. Lentils? With you. Lamb? Marinate with lime, and yay for dinner. Avocado? Avocado is, and always will be, a disgusting booger fruit, so you, I judge (actually, I'm just jealous that you can choke it down).

The Gluten Thing is a thing that I hate, even as I begin this experiment. There is a special place in Hell's Kitchen for people who play gluten-free games. People who play gluten-free games for no reason make my job harder, and they make life harder on people who legitimately suffer, and they make me want to stuff baguettes down their gullets before dredging them in flour (you know, the gluten kind) and flinging them headfirst into the fryer.

I love you, gnocchi, but I hate making you.

Por ejemplo: Customer strolls in, sipping a beer (gluten), munching a mini-bag of pretzels (hello), and I clearly hear her chomping into her iPhone about her study dinner of Bagel Bites and Sam Adams the previous evening (of course). And she asks:

"Do you guys have GF bread/croutons/crackers/babies/oxygen/chairs/restrooms?"

Sigh...... yeeesssss, we dooooo. [In my  head, I've said it like Napoleon Dynamite; in real life, I'm a professional, so I've said it like Napoleon Dynamite with a big friendly smile.]

"Okay, I want that. But I want the gluten-free crackers on top of the gluten-free bread, and the gluten-free  babies on the side, and I want the gluten-free restroom served cold but the rest of it just a little bit warm."

[Still smiling; eyes glazed over.] No problem.

"Yeah. And can you make it on a gluten-free grill that you've just pulled out of an unopened box made from gluten-free cardboard which as never been in the same gluten-free room with any gluten-free fertilizer which may or may not have been used to stink up a gluten-free wheat field?"

...Sure. I have one of those In The Back. [There is no Back, in that it's like Narnia and filled with magical things, like gluten-free grills.] [And I'm still smiling.]

"Great. But I don't want the obviously-GF potato side dish; I want extra flatbread on the side instead, but with gluten-free oxygen for dipping instead of whatever it normally comes with."

[I stop smiling.] The flatbread is made with wheat flour.

"Oh, it is?"

Yep.

"Oh. Well... Eh, that's okay. I love flatbread. It's fine. Just make sure it's grilled on a separate grill from anything that touched gluten."

The insides of my cheeks are bleeding because I'm chewing on them right now.

"What?"

Nothing. ["Idiot." Napoleon nails it again.]

(I know, I know, #notallGFpeople. But #yesallchefs. So.)

_____

For me... After talking with my doctor, I realize that I suffer from a variety of little tics, either mild enough that I don't pay them much attention, or have crept up with enough subtlety that I don't recognize on a daily basis how much they impact my life. But I've always dealt with depression that meds don't always alleviate. But I'm an overweight chef who's on her feet all day long, and I'm getting older; aches and pains are normal, right? But I've figured out so many of my migraine triggers and I manage them pretty well, even though I still get them, so never mind. 

There's also the brain fog that gets so intense sometimes that I truly can't think. There's the fact that, sometimes, I'll bump into a doorframe or catch my skin on the edge of a table, and within minutes, it's spread into a foot-long welt resembling a huge, hot, red bugbite. There's the fact that any prolonged contact on my skin - socks, bra, bobby pins, even a bandaid - results in huge, painful, itchy hives that take weeks to clear. Migraines. Other headaches. Girl Weirdness. Physical weakness.

So, for now; goodbye, pasta. Love you so much, miss you already, mean it like crazy.

like. crazy. 

People who are GF for a legit medical reason - celiac, allergies, IBS, whatever - I'm more than happy to accommodate. I can nearly always tell, anyway, when someone is legitimately Gf, because they make it clear that they're appreciative of the special treatment they wish they didn't need. I'm not looking for anyone to apologize for their needs; I'm just a curmudgeony person when it comes to dumb things. It's real easy to say things like if you're gonna be stupid, just stay HOME and cook for yourself when you're a chef.

Maybe gluten causes my curmudgeonism.

We'll see.

That is all.

adieu.