I’m originally from the south. We coat everything in flour
and deep fry it. We bake pies with flaky homemade crusts, thick cobblers
overflowing with berries, fluffy dumplings, and gravy so thick you could cut it
with a fork.
In other words, we revel in gluten; but not anymore, at
least for me. Severe joint pain and a few other issues have left me searching for relief, thus I venture down the path of the gluten free (GF).
It’s been an adjustment, especially when it comes to eating
out. I feel as though I have joined some sort of underground group – The Secret
Society of the Gluten Free.
I call it that, not because we are a silent group. No, we will
vociferously ask for our GF options. I use the term because, when asking for a
gluten-free menu at a local restaurant recently, the waitress glanced around
furtively, leaned over, and said, in a low voice, “I’ll go find you one.”
When she returned to the table, she slid the menu across to
me as if she were passing top secret documents that would soon self-destruct.
I commented on the oddity to my husband, after the waitress
had ventured off to pass along government secrets to the Russians at the next
table. Then I glanced down at the menu. “Oh, look,” I said, “it’s in code.”
Ok, it wasn't really in code, but the laminated 8 ½ x 11
inch piece of plain white paper, with small but simple black type, required a ludicrous
amount of cross-referencing with the regular menu. The GF menu also included
the standard “I hope you know you are going to suffer some cross-contamination,
and probably explosive diarrhea, for having the unmitigated gall to eat out”
warning as well as instructions for the restaurant staff on preparation of the
somewhat dry and boring gluten-free options.
The rice, I might add, was listed as a non-GF food. Rice.
The added seasonings were apparently rife with gluten.
I stuck closely to the menu, and specified more than once to
the waitress that this was a GF meal. Having served as spy-for-a-day, she’d
lost interest in the whole GF affair and jotted the order down as if it were no
big deal.
Four hours later, my feet were swollen, usually the first
sign I've had gluten. Thankfully, I missed out on the explosive diarrhea.
At another restaurant (you’d think I’d learn the dangers of
eating out, wouldn't you?), I was lectured by a friend that restaurants were
taking pains to train their staff in the dangers of cross-contamination for
celiac patrons.
“That’s not been my experience,” I tell her, yet she firmly
stuck to her belief that all servers were wise to gluten.
The waitress arrived to take our orders, and I asked if
there was a gluten-free menu (probably locked in the vault). No luck. So I
inquired as to which menu items were gluten-free.
“Um, that’s yeast, right?” she replied, as I gave my friend
an “I told you so” eyebrow.
I even had to explain that no croutons could touch the
salad. “No, I can’t just pick them out,” I firmly told the disbelieving
waitress.
I am so tired of salad.
In a world where travel is common and eating out is a social
thing, it’s hard to avoid restaurants. Even at my job, a regular team luncheon
is expected. It’s difficult to explain that one can’t simply just order a salad
(Did I mention I’m sick of salad?) and trust that it’s free of gluten. (What
are those crumbly things?? Are those artificial bacon bits?? What’s in that
dressing?)
I’m tired of explaining whether or not I have an “official”
diagnosis, and what happens if I eat gluten. Personally, I don’t want to
explain my intestinal issues, and I’m sure the surrounding diners don’t want to
hear about it while they are enjoying their warm yeast rolls, pies, cakes, and
other gluten vehicles.
As for second-hand gluten, or cross-contamination, it’s
frustrating. Try insisting that your friend or co-worker not pass that plate of
rolls across your plate, or eat that sandwich while standing close enough for
crumbs to fall into your very plain salad. (Lettuce is evil and if I eat any
more I will find myself delivering Easter eggs.) Of course everyone thinks you
are overreacting and just being cranky because you don’t have enough carbs in
your diet. Never mind trying to explain
the issue of needing a separate toaster.
I was told by one person that they gave up gluten for a
while and felt amazing, but explained that was most likely due to the fact they
gave up drinking and sugar, as well.
“Whoa, now, let’s not get crazy,” I replied. “I’m not trying
to deprive myself. There are plenty of gluten-free alcohol options. And sugar?
That stuff’s gluten-free. I will eat it right out of the bag.”
I’m not some kind of nut case, you know. Pass the wine.
Posts
