Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Giving Up Giving Up Gluten




I gave up gluten. For a month I sat in front of pastry shops forlornly like I used to in a sad infrequently washed grey hoodie in the entryway of my ex-boyfriend's apartment building. But unbeknownst to me, he had moved back to Northampton. So I was actually darkening the doorway of some stranger's place. But enough about that.

I got used to not having a morning croissant, only to be faced with another temptation: a chilled glass of hefeweissbier.

Gluten is everywhere. Not only does it flaunt itself, obvious and hussy-like in apricot pastry, but it lurks hidden in things like ketchup. It's like that ex-boyfriend from the '90s (different from the Northampton-fleeing one) that you want to avoid but you see everywhere. In the video shop, in the produce isle inspecting artichokes, and go, Really? You again?

So I turned around and faced gluten. I don't have celiac, I didn't notice it slowly killing me as some recent literature suggests, I didn't notice myself as less anxious off it, or leaner 'round the middle aged gut as was my goal going without gluten. I did notice that I missed toast.