Gluten-free Eating on the Cheap

I’ve been working on a project these past couple of weeks that has forced me to pay even more attention to the cost of food during these tight economic times. This article on what a modern depression would look like suggested a possible upswing in eating fast food and starchy, processed food because they are cheaper, and I couldn’t help but think even more about the future of healthy eating.

As a patient with celiac disease, I’ve grown used to the fact that eating gluten-free is expensive. Whether it’s dining out or cooking at home, there’s no way around the fact that many of the cheaper items out there are off-limits.

The trade-off, of course, is that fresh and/or whole foods are healthier, and my meals are higher in fiber, lower in sodium, and much more diverse than they would be were I not gluten- (and dairy) free. While sticking to this lifestyle will never be inexpensive, there are definitely lots of things GF shoppers (or anyone with a limited diet) can do to maintain their diets without breaking the bank. Here are some strategies to keep in mind as budgets shrink and costs increase—none of them are earth-shattering and they certainly aren’t the only ones out there, but they are things I think about and try to practice regularly:

1. Personally, I try to stick to foods that are naturally gluten-free, rather than buying specialty pre-made items (bread, pizza crusts, pasta, etc) that approximate products with gluten and cost more. I’d much rather buy a bulk bag of brown rice or risotto and have that with my stir fry or as a side dish. Same thing with polenta—it’s cheap when you buy it in bulk and is really versatile in terms of spices and mix-ins.
(Note: I’m not much of a bread/baked goods kind of girl, but I know celiac patients get good results with breadmakers, and that it’s cheaper than buying pre-made GF bread).

2. We like to make soups and turkey chili a lot, and buying dried beans and lentils makes a lot of sense if you’re going to use those ingredients often. Certainly store-brand canned beans aren’t too expensive, but they can have more sodium than I’d like and they’re still not cheaper than dried beans. (Just make sure you give them plenty of time to soak. The infamous “crunchy” turkey chili of July 4, 2008 taught me that lesson.)

3. Plan meals around vegetables in season—not only does it make for more creative meals but you’ll spend less. If your recipes call for vegetables not in-season, frozen vegetables are more affordable and have many of the same health benefits as the fresh kind.

4. Make the most of every ingredient you buy and purchase items that can work in several different meals/recipes. For example, we’ll buy a whole chicken when we see it on sale and roast it, using some meat for that night’s meal and setting aside portions to use in soup and on salads later that week. Then we take what’s left and make a huge pot of chicken broth out of it. We use some of it for soups that week, and depending on how much we make, we freeze containers of it to use when we make risotto or polenta and want the depth of flavor broth adds over water. (You can find store-bought broth that is gluten-free but it’s often too salty and I really prefer the taste of homemade broth.)

5. Lastly, it sounds obvious, but pay attention to sales and specials. If you’ve planned out meals with one type of protein and another is one sale, think about substituting. And of course if you see GF specialty items or proteins on sale, stock up on them and keep them in the freezer. Take-out can really add up and is often limited in terms of GF-availability, so give yourself options.

While they are not major changes they can really make a difference for anyone dealing with dietary restrictions. If you’re looking for more ideas, Gluten-free Mommy has a great post on eating gluten-free frugally.

On Interstate Dining, 80s Music, and Caregivers…

This weekend we completed our first road trip of summer 2008—twelve hours to Michigan for a family function, and twelve hours back just in time to pick up the dogs at their kennel and get to work.

Radio stations and rest stops are the only things that break up the monotony of long car rides—well, that and crossing the Canadian border each way. I know all about the tips for eating gluten-free while traveling in the car, and I dutifully pack nuts and trail mix, bottled water, and fruit.

(I’m irrationally militant about consuming greens at every meal, and after doing this route for a few years now, I can vouch for the Lee, Massachusetts service area with a Fresh City and the Pembroke, NY service area with a Fuddrucker’s as A Chronic Dose-approved salad stops.)

While we may have stocked up on gluten-free snacks, we forgot to bring our iPod adapter or CDs so it was all radio, all the time. In a freakish coincidence that defied station, state, or even country, every single different station that came in played 80s tunes—REO Speedwagon, Chicago, and lots more. Seriously. The songs totally brought me back to my childhood, to driving around in my mother’s cream station wagon, my legs sticking to the leather interior in the summer’s heat.

But we heard one song that has a particularly vivid and visceral memory: “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News. Whenever I hear it—and this past weekend was no exception—Bam! I’m five years old, a couple of weeks into my several-week stay in isolation due to a serious staph infection spreading from my ears to my brain. It’s brashly sunny in my white room overlooking the Charles River, and I am bored.

There was a playgirl on my floor named Mimi—I’m sure that wasn’t her official title, but that’s what I called her in my head—and since I couldn’t go to the playroom with the other peds patients, she brought special toys and games to me. One time, she brought a small radio and played that song. I still remember her strawberry blond curls and pale skin, still remember the effort she made to bring a little bit of fun into my life.

(As an aside, it’s no irony that the summer before college I volunteered with the Child Life department at Boston Medical Center, where I learned how to engage in therapeutic play on an in-patient floor…and it’s no coincidence that I loved it.)

Anyway, all of this road trip reminiscing is going somewhere, I swear. Clearly I had hospitals and caregiving on my mind this morning when I read this post on Running a Hospital, a note from a family member of a hospital patient who wanted to highlight the exceptional care certain nurses and physicians gave her relative.

I’ve always said it’s the nurses who make or break a hospital stay, and I firmly believe that. They are the ones who attend to our immediate needs, who spend a lot of time reassuring family members and answering questions, who are our advocates and caregivers, and whose gestures, however big or small, can make such a difference in our quality of life as inpatients.

I’ve had nurses who’ve stayed late to give me chest PT when respiratory therapy couldn’t make it, or who brought decorations and festive platters of baked goods and flowers from their own holiday celebrations to cheer up the floor. I’ve had nurses who’ve made me laugh when I desperately needed to, who’ve made me feel comfortable despite extremely uncomfortable symptoms and circumstances, who’ve treated my friends and family as warmly as I would.

I’ve also turned a sharply trained eye to the nurses in charge of the people I care about. Like the letter-writer in the post I mentioned, I’ve appreciated—and remembered—the nurses who soothed their anxiety, prioritized their worries, and responded to their concerns and fears with dignity. I’ve taught several sections of nursing students, and I am always impressed with their passion and enthusiasm for patient care, passion they bring to their classroom discussions and their research projects.

So while the weeks I spent in isolation as a little girl aren’t the best memories I have, certainly, the memory that classic 80s tune conjures up is a good one—it reminds me that for however overwhelming the hospital can be, there are doctors, nurses, physical therapists, child life specialists, and many others whose actions remind us we are people, not solely patients.

***
Speaking of nursing, interested in basic information on the nursing shortage or chronic illness nursing programs? Check out these links. Just a little bit more summer reading…

Changing the (Chronic) Routine

No matter who you are or what you do, you have some sort of routine. Whether it’s when you exercise, when you take your morning coffee break, or what you read during your commute, there are certain rituals that prevail and structure our chaotic, multi-tasking days.

Personally, I crave routine and really can’t function without it. I get all antsy and agitated, like I’ve had too many Red Bulls and haven’t worked off any of the energy. Given my propensity for medical mishaps and rapid changes in health status, this dislike of disruption is unfortunate, but I roll with it as best I can. As I’ve written before, it’s impossible to parse out how much of this is part of my inherent personality and how much of it is a response to a lifetime of illness, but at this point, the origin doesn’t really matter.

When you have chronic illness, the notion of routine takes on even more significance, and we each have carefully constructed disease management rituals. For example, I start my day with an early morning chest PT session with my physical therapist—while I’m not exactly excited for a vigorous chest pounding at 6:45, if I make coffee it’s tolerable for both of us—followed by taking my pills and using my inhalers, peak flows, and, if I need it, my neb. Then I get to work.

Of course that’s just an example. I know diabetics who have their early morning blood sugar testing routines down to a science, and arthritics or people with other pain conditions who need to do certain stretches and warm-ups before they can tackle the day. In this context, routine is a good thing, it means we don’t forget to take pills or do our exercises or anything else that needs to be as rote as brushing our teeth or taking a shower. (Again, I really believe many of the universal aspects of living with a chronic condition outweigh disease-specific differences.)

Though I’m somewhat loath to admit it, there is definitely such a thing as too much routine, especially when it comes to nutrition and cooking. I’ve discussed how instrumental my husband was in helping me broaden my culinary horizons when I was first adjusting to eating gluten-free, and we often try new places and new foods.

But lately we’ve gotten into a bit of a cooking rut. There’s only so many nights salad, veg, and something grilled can taste great without tasting repetitive. As a gluten-free, dairy-free eater I am all about the fresh produce and whole foods, and I pack a mean punch with spices, but still. I looked at our grocery list and realized we buy a lot of the same vegetables and fruits every week. How much broccoli can one couple reasonable expect to consume and be satisfied?

I think when you have any sort of condition that restricts your diet, from celiac disease to IBS to Crohn’s, once you’ve experimented and found a “safe” group of foods, it makes sense to operate within that safe zone. (If it ain’t broke…) However, there’s something to be said for lateral variety, new iterations of things we already know are safe.

So when I came across this post from Alicia about Boston Organics, a company that delivers fresh (and often, locally-grown) vegetables and fruits to your door, I got excited. As she posts, the service makes a lot of sense for people with chronic illness who may not always have the energy to do big shops—they do all the heavy lifting! For people with sensitive GI systems who have very specific needs, it’s especially useful—you can choose which items you never want to receive and then select acceptable replacements.

(And for us, the smallest basket costs about what we’d pay for our weekly produce anyway, so financially it made sense).

I was excited by the prospect of a different array of produce each week, and that’s been the biggest benefit so far. Already we’ve done lots of things with kale, learned that overcooked leeks get slimy, and made wonderful cucumber salads, fruit salsas, and other side dishes we wouldn’t have tried otherwise. It keeps our menu planning diverse and our palette challenged, and that’s really important when you live with any kind of dietary restriction—you never want to feel restricted.

We even inspired to make sushi on our own last week, armed with cucumber and green onion from our weekly delivery. (And, of course, safe rice vinegar and gluten-free soy sauce!) It required more time, energy, and money than we typically have to spend but it was really fun and something we’ll definitely do again. Here are a couple of pictures:

Like I said, clearly we need routine to manage chronic illnesses. But it doesn’t hurt to change things up a bit, either. It’s a question of figuring out where we can build in flexibility, that’s all.

***

Speaking of changing things up, Loolwa Khazzoom had Sex in the City on the brain the other night (which worked out well for me) and it made her think women with chronic pain deserve their own camera! Check it out here.

On Food, Cost, and Cabbage–A Gluten-Free Solution for What Ails Us

Several things were swirling around in my head as I decided on this post:

1. My recent entry on the incidental expenses of illness
2. Worldwide strife over food prices and shortages
3. Around the world, May is celiac awareness month

Buying and cooking gluten-free food has always required more creativity, effort, and expense (all well worth it, obviously) but when the price of staples like milk, eggs, and flour make headline news, the gluten-free budget isn’t headed anywhere good either.

Two other things should be noted for their particular relevance to this post:

1. In addition to being dairy and gluten-free, I have the singular focus of an old lady when it comes to nutrition. Fiber? Can’t get enough of it. In fact, if my lunch and dinner don’t revolve around something green, I get a bit twitchy. And sodium? I’m as tenacious about cutting out extra salt as I am about incorporating fiber. I’d like to say it’s because I’m that dedicated to good health, but really I also just hate the way my rings get tight when I eat salty food. (My husband survives this regime by keeping a shaker of salt and a container of parmesan cheese at hand, but let me assure what I lack in salt I make up for with garlic and herbs).

2. I’m mildly obsessed with the culinary drama (more drama than culinary, sometimes) called Top Chef. Last week’s challenge involved cooking a healthy, inexpensive, and easy family meal. Now, I was all about Nikki’s one-pan chicken and veg extravaganza, but some of those recipes looked way too persnickety for a truly easy family meal. I mean, I love to cook and I don’t even have children yet and I think on the average Wednesday night when I want something easy (so, you know, I can go watch Top Chef) I’d lose patience.

So, let’s recap—food is expensive, gluten-free meals even more so, and time and convenience are at a premium. I now humbly submit my entry for an easy, inexpensive, gluten-free meal: Lazyman’s cabbage rolls, an homage to my husband’s Midwestern casserole-rich upbringing. His mother gave us her recipe and we added a few twists. It only takes about 10 minutes to prepare and while it does need to bake, it is a great dish to make ahead of time (let it bake while you watch late-night TV shows) and re-heats really well.

The short version: brown some ground turkey in a pan, add some rice and a large can of (no-salt added) diced tomatoes and one cup of water in with it, then dump the mixture in a baking dish and smother it with 4 cups of shredded cabbage. You can split the cabbage in half and layer the tomato mixture in the middle. Leave it alone for an hour and a half at 425 degrees and then you have a meal plus leftovers. You can use beef, of course. We just like turkey. We use 3 tablespoons of risotto, but regular rice works the same. Few ingredients, less cost, and it’s low in sodium and high in fiber. What’s not to love?

Like any good casserole-inspired dish it looks messy but tastes great:

Before I send you off to the grocery store, two quick updates: Grand Rounds is up at Suture for a Living, so definitely check it out.

Last but not least, the kind editors at Publisher’s Weekly gave Life Disrupted a really great review in their May 5 issue. Click here to read it online!!!

Incidental Economics of Illness

In a freakish turn of events, I dined out recently with two friends and I was the healthy one. (Well, okay, the visibly healthy one, if you must).

My two friends are preternaturally athletic, the type who run marathons and triathlons, who scale mountains on other continents, and generally amaze me with their natural ability and iron work ethic. Yet that night, they were wearing identical walking boots, having each suffered metatarsal injuries of some sort. One was even on crutches.

And there I was, not a sprained ankle, torn ligament, or broken bone to be had. Finally, I got to hold doors open and offer to carry bags for someone else.

Weird.

As our little trio limped down the city street, one my friends commented on the hassle it was being somewhat incapacitated.

“It’s really expensive,” she added, commenting on the number of cabs she’d had to take lately when the walk to public transportation would have been too much for her injured foot.

I nodded vigorously.

She’s right. Now, I realize just how far down on the priorities list this topic is. I know how expensive chronic disease is in terms of productivity and lost wages. I’ve seen Sicko; I know people with health insurance lose their homes and livelihoods, and even their lives. I know many other people do not have insurance, so a broken bone or X-ray or MRI can be a catastrophic cost.

I’m certainly not arguing any of that. But that topic is much larger, more unwieldy and complicated and frustrating, than what I am attempting to focus on here. So with that caveat in mind, shall we?

When you add up all the little expenses that come with being sick, those incidental little things that aren’t neatly categorized like co-pays and deductibles are, it really is costly.

Like my friend, I’ve definitely paid for many, many cabs when I’ve been too broken/adrenally-depleted/infection-ridden or otherwise worn out to take public transportation. I’ve paid tons of exorbitant parking garage fees because I couldn’t walk to a place or knew by the end of the event or appointment I wouldn’t be up to commuting.

Don’t even get me started on the number of non-refundable plane, train, theatre, and concert tickets we’ve lost money on when my health status changed quite rapidly and we had to cancel our plans. (Yes, sometimes people are understanding and work something out with us, but that is not the norm.) And of course there are the projects and jobs I’ve turned down because I’ve gotten too sick or landed in the hospital, but that’s another issue.

Despite our insistence on store brands and the fact we only buy enough for the meals we eat in one week, grocery shopping is more expensive because, frankly, most of the inexpensive food I cannot eat. Now, I do love me fresh produce, and all-natural, gluten-free grains, soymilk, and the $2 GF energy bars I grab to keep in my briefcase as a quick non-perishable snack, but they are by no means inexpensive. I’m sure all of you with various GI issues and dietary restrictions can relate.

Even dining out costs more than it might for the average person at the average restaurant because very often, the only “safe” menu choices beyond a small garden salad are the grilled fish entrée or the steak. No cheap middle of the road burger or sandwich or affordable domestic beer.

Anyway, I could keep listing all the ways illness sucks money out of my pocket, but I realize to even notice these incidentals is a luxury. It means the truly costly parts of life with chronic disease are under control.

It could be a lot worse.

(But I know you’re nodding your head and mentally cataloging your own incidentals list, too. It’s okay.)

What Makes a Meal…

“Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”

Clearly I’m not the first one to quote the opening lines of Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food, or to see the logic in his argument that eating food is much different than eating the processed products that line most of the shelves in our grocery stores.

But I probably wouldn’t have been attracted to those lines—I might not have even read the book—if I hadn’t gone through such a major transformation in terms of what I think of as food and how it relates to health.

I thought about all of this when I came across a post from someone on a celiac listserv. The author said he would never go back to eating gluten, celiac disease or no, because his attitude towards food and cooking was so much healthier now.

I couldn’t agree more. I’d always been conscious of eating “healthy”—low-fat versions of everything I could find, heart-smart butter-like spread, even fat-free cheese (which, I admit, is an affront to the institution of cheese and consistently melted into an unappetizing pool of gooey yellow sludge. It was probably a subconscious part of my decision to give up dairy.) I bought pre-packaged, powdered low-calorie soups I added hot water to, convincing myself they made me full.

And then I was diagnosed with celiac disease and processed, pre-packaged foods were the first casualties.

Thank goodness.

I’m a label reader by proclivity as well as necessity, ever on the lookout for hidden sources of gluten in my foods. As such, I can’t help but notice how little time I now spend standing in grocery store aisles, poring over labels—after all, fruit, vegetables, fresh herbs, and meat/fish have pretty short ingredient lists.

Without being conscious of it while it happened, I became one of those people who, with the exception of canned beans and dog food, only shops the perimeter of the grocery store. Buying fresh, whole ingredients isn’t cheap, but since I’m not spending money on fake foods, the bill evens out each week. Now, we cook, rather than re-heat, a distinction I never would have thought about before.

Sure, I miss the sensation of biting into a toasted bagel, and the aroma of pizza baking can get to me. But going gluten-free forced me to look at what I eat, not just how much I eat or how many calories I ingest, and I wouldn’t go back to my outdated notion of “healthy eating” for anything. My life after diagnosis began as an odyssey of food exclusion, but I no longer see it that way.

After all, I take enough medications and put enough foreign chemicals in my body as it is. I certainly don’t need to add anymore into the mix.

Food Allergies and Famous Bedfellows

I haven’t written about celiac disease or related food allergy issues recently. (Remember that three week stint of chicken broth, pureed food, and sparking water with a straw? That made it pretty easy to avoid gluten or dairy.)

Liquid diet aside, I haven’t had too much to say about living with dietary restrictions. I’ve figured out ways to make home recipes tasty and safe, and I’ve learned what–and more importantly, how–to ask when I’m dining out. (Remember that whole selling one place and buying another? That transaction has certainly cut down on our dinners out, anyway).

But for everyone out there who is gluten-free, dairy-free, or suffers from any type of food allergy, I do have something to report. This week, Ming Tsai, nationally known chef and local celebrity and owner of Blue Ginger, was at the Massachusetts State House with his son, who has suffered from multiple food allergies, to urge legislators to pass a bill that would make dining out a lot easier for patrons and employees alike.

I’ve eaten at Blue Ginger, so I can vouch firsthand for its highly acclaimed food. It was one of the more memorable meals we’ve had. But I can also vouch for the fact that when I informed the waiter about my condition, he snapped into action, heading back to the kitchen and returning with a list of appetizers and entrees that were completely gluten-free. He also said that in the future, if I give the restaurant 24 hours notice they can usually prepare something special (and safe).

I was impressed with the service and the thoroughness, not realizing at the time that Ming Tsai is the national spokesperson for the Food Allergy and Anaphylaxis Network (FAAN). I found out later that he keeps a sort of “Bible” of recipes and ingredients in his kitchen, even including the ingredient lists for whatever prepared foods (think soy sauce) his dishes may require.

I think it’s great that such a well-known chef is putting himself out there and advocating for awareness of food allergies and dietary restrictions. The real story, though, the one that affects so many people who don’t live close enough to Blue Ginger to bask in its food-safe abundance, is the bill itself. It would require restaurants to:

–Prominently display a poster about food allergy awareness in a staff area
–Put a notice to customers on the menu that it is their obligation to inform their server of any food allergies
–If the restaurant serves 50 or more, obtain a master list of all ingredients used in each recipe that is available to the customer upon request

For more details, check out the language of the bill here.

As customers, it is our job to advocate for ourselves, ask questions, and disclose relevant information, just as it is the responsibility of servers and kitchen staff to try to answer our questions as thoroughly as possible and accommodate us as much as can be reasonably expected. This bill makes that process a lot easier.

I spent a lot of time in a hospital cafeteria over the past week, and each entrée and side dish had all the ingredients listed, including a bolded section that highlighted any of the major allergens, like dairy, nuts, soy, wheat, etc. It made such a difference, and the fact that I was able to zip through the line without pointing and asking about every item made it a lot more effective for all the non-restricted people in line, too. Win-win situation all around.

The key here is knowledge—people can do so much more when they have the right facts at their disposal. Not every restaurant can be a Blue Ginger, but with the right basic protocols in place, they can certainly be as prepared.

Giving Thanks Recap (Straw included)

Okay, so perhaps this is the obligatory (and late) Thanksgiving post, but maybe there’s a reason it is obligatory—how can you not stop and reflect a little bit when you’ve just celebrated a holiday whose main purpose (besides setting up those Black Friday sales, apparently) is to express gratitude?

Let me start off this discussion by letting you know I am an exceptionally classy girl. I drink my champagne (teeny tiny amount, given the massive antibiotics) out of fine crystal. Sparkling crystal, with a satisfying weight and heft.

With a straw.

Yes, a straw. The straw that accompanied my drinking of water, juice, and other clear fluids and was only replaced by a demitasse spoon when I tried to eat my Thanksgiving chicken broth and pureed potatoes. Somehow, the nasty infections I’ve had the last month or so gravitated to my jaw, which is all swollen and inflamed. It’s been all broth, all the time in my world.

But I didn’t really mind. For one, it was still better than the festive Thanksgiving can of vanilla Ensure I had a few years ago when I was six days into an inpatient admission. For another, since I am both gluten-free and dairy-free and the best of the traditional family recipes depend on copious amounts of both gluten and dairy for their flavor, I have long since abandoned the notion of getting too excited for Thanksgiving dinner.

Which, I suppose, is my point here. It doesn’t matter what foods you can or can’t eat. For one meal, it doesn’t matter whose heart has stents, whose sugar needs to be tested, whose back hurts or whose lungs are congested. It doesn’t matter how many aches and pains are present, who is tired or run down, who is coming down with something or who isn’t yet over something else. It doesn’t matter how many body parts don’t work right.

The food is important, the traditions have meaning. But they only have meaning because of the people who have created them and maintained them, the people who gather around the same table every year, making toasts with heavy crystal and passing plates around. So even if you can’t eat the pie or the stuffing, even if you pass on the dessert because it has too much sugar, even if you need some help passing a big bowl of potatoes because your arms are too weak, you’re still part of something larger than any recipe or any one meal.

So for that something larger, and for all those parts that do work right, and for the gift of presence and participation—I am grateful.

If You Offer It, They Will Come….

I’m no economist, but simple notions of supply and demand seem to dictate that if you offer a service to a captive market and meet with success, an inevitable increase in demand (and then more supply) will follow.

As logical as this sounds, I have to admit that for awhile I didn’t think the restaurant industry would take notice of what I already knew to be a clear demand for gluten-free dining—or at the very least, increased understanding of what gluten is and how it is incorporated in dishes.

Check out this interesting NYT article on GF dining in NYC. Turns out, savvy GF diners are proving that if restaurants cater to their needs, they will come. In droves, apparently. Long-standing mecca of gluten-free goodness Risotteria is mentioned (I am still dreaming of the breadsticks and chocolate frosting-stuffed cookies from last April), along with other restaurants that offer separate GF menus ripe with two things long absent from the GF dining experience: options and variety.

We’re a loyal lot, this band of celiacs who refuse to give up on eating out, and as the article illustrates, I’m not alone when I say that if I know of a restaurant that caters to my dietary needs, I will go out of my way to try it, and I’ll spread the word. Win-win situation, yes?

This has been a good week for me in terms of GF tolerance. I’m still adjusting to a dairy-free existence (I admit, I am a bit frightened to try the dairy-free, soy-free “cheddar flavored rice product” my well-meaning husband brought home from the grocery store today, but I’ll try it at least once), so knowing the GF horizon is a little less bumpy makes that easier. It can get somewhat daunting to plan a meal or peruse a menu when there are so many ingredients to avoid. I’m energized about the decision to go dairy-free—anything that even marginally reduces the mucus that chokes me is well worth it—but like going GF, it is still an adjustment.

The same day a friend forwarded me the NYT article, I had a more local encounter of the celiac-friendly kind. I think I’ve mentioned The Fireplace before for its gracious, accommodating nature and abundant native produce, but they’ve upped their GF game a bit since I was last there. They now offer a menu for celiacs that lists every item on the “regular” menu with a bold YES or NO next to each entry—yes meaning it is totally safe from cross-contamination and has no gluten, and no meaning it is not an acceptable offering.

The food and the menu were fabulous. And I think offering something like this is just as helpful for the servers, too—after all, if you don’t have celiac disease, it’s hard to keep track of all the things that contain gluten, especially if it’s a crowded night and there’s an extensive menu to check. It takes the pressure of both parties—I could make an informed order without needing to flag down our waiter with questions, and he could spend his time extolling the virtues of the great wine list with us instead.

Of course, at the end of the day it is my responsibility as the consumer to be educated and prepared, whether that means calling restaurants ahead of time, looking over the menu online, or being willing to be flexible when it comes to ordering off of smaller menus. Gluten and dairy will always have a large presence in most mainstream establishments, and it’s up to me to make sure I choose a restaurant where I can eat something.

But I’m not going to lie; when I walk into a restaurant and open up an entire menu where every single item is safe, it translates into one thing: a celiac foodie’s heaven.

Playing with Food

While it’s great to point out chains and restaurants that have gluten-free menus (oh the ecstasy of choice!), every now and again I like to pay some attention to those restaurants that are especially accommodating despite not being GF. This weekend, we went to a place that had the perfect balance of romance, “safe” food, and interactivity: The Wine Cellar in Boston.

The wine aficionado in me was overawed by the extensive wine list; even my husband couldn’t resist stating “A guy could get in some serious wine trouble here” several times as the night (and the drink tab) progressed.

But as seductive as the wine list was, it was the fondue that provided the real entertainment of the night. I’m the first to admit that when I think of fondue, images of my parents in their 1970s garb of polyester plaid and gargantuan shaded glasses huddled around a pot of bright yellow cheddar cheese come to mind. Okay, so maybe the only used their fondue set once or twice in their early years, but they are the point of reference I had for fondue at all.

Who knew food on sticks could serve as the perfect date night for a celiac girl and her foodie husband? The appetizer course was cheese (naturally), in our case a queso made of cheddar, cilantro, white wine, roasted red peppers, and onions. In addition to the bread, they served potatoes and, by request, steamed veggies. They made our queso with cornstarch, assuring us the only difference was that this GF version might break apart sooner. Our solution? We basically inhaled the entire pot before it even had time to separate.

“We just ate a bathtub of cheese,” I groaned, holding my stomach. “We’re disgusting.”

“Yeah we did,” countered my husband, clearly proud of our prowess, who lives by the motto that there is no such thing as enough cheese.

To our pleasant surprise, the entrees and their assorted dipping sauces were naturally gluten-free. Well technically, my first surprise was that fondue entrees involved anything other than cheese, but once I figured out that we got to select four meats and that everything they came with I could actually eat, our date night got even sweeter.

I’ve talked recently about how much my attitude towards preparing and consuming food has changed—I like everything fresh and healthy, I don’t take shortcuts or eat anything processed or artificial, I am deliberate about what I eat, when I eat it, and how it will make me feel. Part of this is a direct result of getting diagnosed with celiac disease, but part of it is because I married a man who taught me to savor taking things slow, to enjoy cooking as an activity and not merely as the means to supply and end to hunger.

For people who have been working seven days a week for a few months now and needed night to decompress, fondue was the perfect choice. There is nothing more deliberate or conscious than selecting which piece of meat to skewer and place in the steaming pot or broth and deciding how long to let it simmer. Eating a meal piece by slowly-cooked piece like that is an experience that magnifies this approach towards food, and it was fun. Yes, fun. We experimented with all different meat/sauce combinations, we realized that chocolate covered grapes were as delicious as chocolate covered strawberries, and we also realized that when you’re really paying attention to what you eat and who you’re eating with, three hours can elapse and you’d never know it.

The wine didn’t hurt, either.