How many potlucks with piles of freshly baked flour-filled goodies must a person like me endure? Pure torture for the gluten-free, I say. The host of the last one boasted a brownie taste-test among the spread of chocolate-y confections. So what does one who can’t eat them do? Force-feed all the homemade treats to your pal Angi…before dinner, that’s what. Who will then loyally report how terrible they all are because that’s what good friends do. And then leave just when the party’s getting started (ie. when Officer McGruff shows up to the block party potluck) to go home and bake gluten-free brownies with you. These are serious cravings. Desperate measures.
I accidentally ate mac and cheese this weekend. It was not a moment of weakness where I thought, “oh, screw it, I’m eating this.” It was an honest-to-goodness mistake. We had some friends over for some BBQ this weekend and one of them brought over some bacon-filled deli mac n’ cheese. My response? ”Ooo – good call. This goes great with my potato salad!” (You know, because you can never have too many carbs at a BBQ). And I promptly took two bites before realizing what I’d done. It was as if for a moment I’d completely forgotten I’d given up gluten. I can’t say for certain if the stomach ache and massive headache I endured the next day was in direct response to those two bites, but I’m sure it didn’t help. I’ve suffered from a headache for about a week and a half now, but Sunday’s was even more intense…and coupled with an upset tummy. Now on to flushing it out of my system in preparation for our upcoming trip to Boston for Tina’s wedding!
When the doorbell rings and you find a 2-foot tall little girl standing there holding an armful of fresh zucchini, you can’t help but smile. She’s shyly grinning while barely hanging on to the three large squash that are about the size of her arms. She hardly says a word, but you can tell how proud she is that these came out of her garden. Her dad grew these – mighty impressive in the eyes of a toddler. Turns out our neighbor’s garden was overflowing with summer squash that nearly doubled in size overnight. I can relate to her awe – it’s the same marvel I felt when I saw the gargantuan zucchini popping up out of the compost pile as a child. And watermelon. Those things can grow anywhere, I tell ya.
Now that we’ve moved into our new digs, there are nights when we just have to drive 25 minutes and have to wait another 25 minutes in line @ our favorite ice cream joint just to get a scoop of whoknowswhat. The menu changes each time we go, but it always, ALWAYS hits the spot. One reason my husband and I are together is because he also finds it totally normal that when the sign says, “please limit yourself to 2-3 tastings each,” we both pick our favorite three and share. Why would you want a full taste of three unique flavors when you could have SIX half-tastes? The same principle applies whenever we eat out. Beyond the brilliant why-didn’t-I-think-of-that menu options, the reason Ici has become our go-to spot is because somehow someway they figured out how to make ice cream melt in your mouth with each smooth bite, without being way too heavy on the cream that you then leave feeling bloated. That time Lucas accidentally ordered two gigantic scoops didn’t leave us with an uggghhh-dairy-hates-me stomach ache. I never regret a scoop.