This is going to be a simple post. This is all about my struggle with going gluten-free. Due to health/breathing issues I pulled gluten out of my diet in mid-March of this year. I’ve slowly tried to re-introduce small things and was NOT successful at all. I’m almost as bad as I was in March.
After reading this LiveStrong article about testing oneself for gluten sensitivity/allergy, I realized that I was ingesting copious amounts of gluten without realizing it. French fries are coated with a gluten solution! Who knew?? Pam baking spray has gluten in it! Twizzlers = gluten. Cold cuts, processed meats and frozen meats all have gluten (in one form or another) in them! This is not fun.
I feel like all I can eat is gluten-free crackers and cheese from Murray’s! Or, I have to make everything from scratch for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was a vegan for 12 1/2 years and this gluten-free diet feels just as restrictive.
Tracy Joy’s LiveStrong article makes it very clear:
You can consume nothing made with wheat, rye, barley, bulgur, couscous, dinkle or spelt, durham, semolina, einkorn, emmer, farina, kamut, gluten, malt, matzo, mir, oats (may be added back in later), seitan and triticale. Anything made with these products must be avoided, which means you must get in the habit of reading labels if you eat processed foods. You will need to eliminate most pastas unless they’re made with corn or rice four, breads, cereals, gravies, soups, processed sandwich meats and baked goods. Most processed or frozen meats also have been injected with a solution that contains wheat. While potatoes are gluten free, french fries are often coated with a wheat solution. The point is you must read labels. To be safe, stick with fresh produce and meat while you are testing for a gluten allergy, and avoid all processed foods.
Disgusted with my lot in food, for dinner today, I made myself some sauteed salt fish with boiled sweet plantains and boiled green bananas. I tried my hand at gluten-free dumplings with some cornmeal in them. The dumplings didn’t turn out too badly! I cannot tell you the recipe as I was just upset and threw various flours in: cornmeal, white rice flour, chickpea flour, xantham gum and I think some potato flour along with salt, garlic and onion powder. I kneaded as usual and plopped some spindles in with the boiling ground food.
However, this type of cooking takes time! I want quick, tasty and fast. Okay, okay. I’m whining and complaining.
Any healthy, good tasting, relatively quick gluten-free recipes, tips and tricks would be most helpful! Please leave your comments, tips and workarounds below!! PLEAAASSSEE!!! I’m in my 3rd trimester now and am generally too tired to make 3 meals (plus snacks!) each day. So, any help would be greatly appreciated!
P.S. – Found this great video by The Celia Diva and it made me feel so much better. Thanks Lauren!
Ta-ta for now,
My childhood home was crushed last year.
About this Guest Poster:
Vivienne Mathews is a nerdy ice queen who talks with her hands and owns far too many hats. A beekeeper with a bee allergy, no one would ever accuse her of being sensible. She spends most of her days in Hermitville, just past Nowhere, with her loving husband, two dogs, and a child who won’t stop growing, no matter how desperately she tries to keep him young. More than anything, she hopes you enjoy these books as much as she enjoys writing them.
Hi Folks! Happy Monday!! I hope you all have a fabo Father’s Day weekend here in the States and enjoyed the balmy weather we experienced here on the East Coast. We have a bonus inspiration week post from a wonderful authoress – Raynetta Stocks.
Some of you may recall almost exactly one year ago, this blog reviewed Raynetta’s book The Grim and gave it 4 1/2 Blogairy Notebooks. Raynetta is now gracing our blog again with this colorfully beautiful post on how food and writing go hand-in-hand.
Sit back and enjoy the last post of NoteBook Blogairy’s first ever Writerly Inspiraton Week posts!
~ NoteBook Blogairy
I’m on a mission. For the last two years, I’ve been drilled on the importance of food as it pertains to good, healthy habits (due primarily to my congestive heart falure and having to lose weight). The only pastime I love more than reading and writing is eating. A beautiful plate sitting in front of me brings forth the most magnificent prose I’ve ever heard in my life, especially if the food tastes amazing! I have what I call my happy food dance, and only flavorful, yummy goodness gets that honor.
My love affair with food has had to be altered dramatically since my diagnosis (no red meat and pork, low sodium, low fat, high fiber, whole grains, etc.). And, while those stipulations sound limiting and relatively daunting, I have to admit, the challenge has done nothing but make me love food more. Cooking, particularly cooking healthy, has forced me to be more creative. I have to be inventive and spontaneous. If a recipe calls for sour cream or butter, I have to find tasty alternatives. I don’t believe food — healthy food especially — should be lacking in flavor. And neither, by any means, should one’s writing.
By learning to cook to suit my dietary needs, I’ve been inspired to better my craft as a writer because everything I love about food, I love in good storytelling as well. I like flavor changes and variety (I mean really, who wants the same old chicken??); bright colors make a plate more enticing, and a little spice never hurt nobody! The same is true for a well-written story. I don’t limit myself to one genre because I like many different genres and want the opportunity to tell the story that moves me. Adding bright color to my storytelling can be as simple as inserting an intriguing back story of the character the reader hates most, fanciful plot twists, or anything else that is surprising and completely unexpected. And spice, well…a saucy romance, or fiendish villain can add heat in any story. I want my readers to feed on my words the way a starving vagrant feeds on kitchen leftovers, and if what I have to say isn’t well-presented, or well-written, then my work will fall flat. A flat story is as limp and unappealing as rotten veggies.
Just as cooking takes practice for perfection, so too does the art of writing. I am so proud when I place my son’s plate in front of him, and on the first bite, I get the happy food dance. It means I’ve done my job! I’ve served him something appealing and nourishing. I have the same job as a writer — I want the happy food dance from my readers on everything I write. The spontaneity I’ve learned at my stove has carried over to my creativity in front of a keyboard, and both are more appetizing than ever!
About this guest poster:
Raynetta Stocks is the author of “The Grim”, a spychological suspense thriller released in May 2012. Writing since early childhood, Raynetta has composed a countless number of prose and short stories which she plans to make available on her new subscription page. Raynetta’s early love of books inspired her latest series “The Lava Chronicles”, the first installment which is due in the Fall of 2013. She resides in northern Maryland with her son.
In this passage, I have just endured a hideous and dangerous delivery for both me and my baby. She was born at 9:24 am and I didn’t see her again until almost 7:00 pm that same day.
Excerpt from Chapter 33…Fruit of the Womb
Nine long, tormenting and tearful hours later, I was introduced to the love of my life. It was the single most reverent and holy experience of my existence. The endless hours of pain and suffering seemed to melt away. I couldn’t keep from touching her – everywhere. I counted fingers and toes, traced her eyebrows and ears, marveled at her perfect heart-shaped lips, melted when her tiny hands grasped my fingers, connecting me to her as she held on for dear life; this totally helpless, vulnerable gift from God, was mine to cherish.
As my eyes skated over this beautiful helpless creation, I realized I was looking at God. Not that my child was God, but that she was a small piece of him that he had given to me to love, raise, and protect. It was truly an overwhelming and daunting responsibility. An array of emotions as well as hormones, flooded through me like a tsunami. This was my baby, my flesh and blood, my number one priority in life. Nothing short of death would prevent me from protecting this precious little miracle.
As tears welled in my eyes, I bowed my head over my daughter’s body and made a silent, solemn vow before God. To the best of my ability during her life with me, she would come first. She would never know loneliness and solitude. She would never fear physical violence or mental and emotional abuse. She would never doubt my love or question my devotion to her. She would never question or value or her worth. She would never know guilt or shame, or be made to feel like a burden to me. She would be allowed to thrive and grow to be her own person and not be made to feel guilty for doing so. She would be allowed to flourish, to think for herself, and be praised for her efforts.
Most of all, I vowed she would never have to fear her father, or any other man – ever. If he or any man ever touched her inappropriately or abusively, I swore before God, I would cut his testicles off with a dull knife and force feed them to him while watching him bleed out. I promised her then and there as my tears fell lightly on her forehead and cheeks, as she blinked at me, “There will never be a monster in your closet, or under your bed, my love. I swear it, on my life.”
Here, I have had three days of breast engorgement, unable to breastfeed my child. Suddenly, my milk let’s down and we are finally joined for life…
Excerpt from Chapter 34…I Knew
My mother placed her in my arms then stepped away, tentatively. I had donned a nursing bra so I could pad and staunch my actively flowing breasts. I nestled her in the crook of my arm, exposed my left breast and nuzzled her cheek with my nipple. Instinct and biology took over. With minimal help, her little mouth latched on to my breast and she began to suckle as I cried.
If you have never had a child at your breast, it is hard to describe the phenomenon. Words are grossly inadequate and fail to describe the miracle of God, nature, and survival. It is a holiness that is visceral. It is a melding of flesh and bone, blood and Manna; a heart and soul converging during such a small, yet immensely intimate act. I was bound by the ferocious need to protect– like a lioness protecting her cubs. At the same time I was awash in a fusion of innate softness and a boundless, tender love so intense that I was sure my body was aglow. I was so full of love for this tiny creature, my body couldn’t help but leak with it…mother’s milk and tears.
To feel the pull and tug of your breast as your helpless, vulnerable, and utterly dependent child suckles the life-giving, life-sustaining, substance unique to your body alone, is an overwhelming and heady thing to wrap your mind around. It not only validated, but strengthened my belief and faith in God; my belief and faith in our future as a family; my belief and faith in myself as a mother. It also awakened disturbing questions in my mind about my own mother.
Even though my novel is a tragic story all too familiar to many, and similar experiences (sometimes worse than mine, and sometimes not as bad) are shared by a growing group I affectionately call “The sister/brotherhood of my soul,” I also share the light and hope I so desperately clawed my way out of hell to find. If there is one bit of inspiration I can impart, it would be this…I’m no longer a victim. I’m no longer a survivor. I’M A WARRIOR! For good or ill, I bared by soul to the world on behalf of all the children who have no voice, no one to listen, and no one to protect them. I bared myself naked to the world on behalf of the little girl inside my book…inside of me. The “Telling” of my story has set me free. I no longer live in shame and darkness, afraid someone will find out about my dark and dirty secret, then tell. I’ve already done that. The little girl inside my book…inside of me is fine. I protect her now.
Children are the living footprints in a world we leave behind. So bask in the beauty and joy of Motherhood. Hug yourself and say “Job well done.” There truly is no greater love, than the love from a mother…
My Prison Without Bars: The Journey of a Damaged Woman to Someplace Normal
About this Guest Poster:
Taylor Evan Fulks is a practicing Registered Nurse First Assistant, specializing in open heart surgery to pay the bills. She’s also a wife, a mother of two very challenging (in a good way) teenage daughters, and an ardent “nocturnal gardener” due to her fight with skin cancer. She resides in a quaint and picturesque town in Southern Ohio along the banks of the Ohio River.