First day of September, and already that crisp hint in the air of the 105 degrees to come today. Seriously, this has got to stop.
But I digress. Today's story is about Hubby's journey in GF land. Son and I were diagnosed with celiac disease early in the new year. Out of deference to Hubby and Daughter we attempted a split kitchen... for a week. At the end of that week, Hubby realized the sheer cross-contamination impossibility of such a thing, and since that time our whole house has been GF zone. Daughter eats girl scout cookies in her school lunch, on on the back patio. Hubby dines out to get his "fix."
But Hubby misses sourdough bread too much. And I know it is possible to make GF sourdough, so no need to tell me. But 1) old dog who just spent months learning a heap of new baking tricks and can't yet take on another one, and 2) Hubby likes the "store boughten" kind. 3) It isn't just sourdough. It's canned ravioli, frozen burritoes, and everything else guaranteed to clog the arteries and give you diabetes from carb overload. I finally caved, and purchased a loaf of sourdough, had it sliced in the store, and then bought a survival kit of sliced cheese, deli meats, etc, for him to take to work and make there.
The bread sat in its bag for a couple of days as Hubby wrapped his mind around making his lunch at work. I said if that loaf goes mouldy, I won't repeat the experiment.
Two days ago, he came home, made the sandwich on a plate, in the sink, and was "parched" because he "couldn't touch anything with his gluteny hands and couldn't turn on the faucet without dousing his sandwich." Clearly, that wasn't the solution.
Yesterday, he called me after lunch with a new tale of woe. He went home and decided to make his lunch in the man room. It has a microwave, and a fridge. It is a gluten zone. He has a supply of gluten snacks for game nights out there. It was obviously a perfect choice for Plan B. He used a paper plate, tipped out a can of ravioli, and nuked it. (Doesn't really count as food, I know.) But the paper plate objected to having hot, slightly runny food on it and sloshed molten ravioli onto his right hand as he extracted the plate from the heating device. In pain, he grabbed the plate with his left hand, and repeated the results which, he said, "felt like napalm."
He now has a blister on each hand. Kind of like gluten stigmata. And let that be a lesson to all.
They don’t really talk to me anymore
1 day ago