THE TALE OF THE MACABRE MUESLI

I'm coming to you live today from my favorite (raw, vegan, gluten-free) cafe in Brooklyn. I had to take respite in an oasis of safety after my terrible fate yesterday: I WAS GLUTENED.

The handsome new cook at my restaurant put MUESLI in my YOGURT. What a disquieting crunch! What terrifying texture! I leaped behind the counter and spit into a paper towel, my heart racing. Of course it was a total accident. I hadn't been specific about my dietary restrictions yet. I don't know how to say "muesli" en Espanol. I was giving him a chance to settle in before I lambasted him with my inner turmoil.

I am super careful about gluten. In five years, my only real screw-ups have been trace elements: rogue soy sauce, accidental crumbs—nothing quite so powerful as a scoop of pure "oat flakes, wheat flakes, whole flour from wheat, rye and barley, sugar, dried raisins, raw cane sugar, dried apples, hazelnuts, almonds, wheat germ, and honey."

Shudder.

So after working a brunch shift with: nausea, a running nose, a sore throat, sparkly stars at the corners of my vision, foggy-brained confusion, joint pain (!) and a GENERAL FEELING OF MALAISE, I took myself to the organic grocery store to see what kind of nurturing tonic I could prepare for myself. I picked up a box of this, which seemed like just the thing:

UNTIL I TURNED IT OVER AND READ:

WE HAVE TO BE VIGILANT, my fellow gluten-frees. Vigilant at ALL TIMES. And it is exhausting. And it is depressing.

But the point is: after having a dinner of ginger ale, pretzels, coconut rice and peach kefir, I went out. I wanted to pass out. I wanted to crawl into bed and cry a little and then fall asleep. But I didn't. It was my friend's birthday and so I put on a loud song and tied up my high-heeled boots and ventured out into the night. At the bar, I had a delicious soda water with lime. I perked up a little in the company of friends, despite my left eye swelling to a near-shut, (is that normal? No.) and had a wonderful time.

Conclusion: I REFUSE to be taken down by a microscopic protein. Wallowing in self-pity is a great activity, but better than that is lipstick and old friends on a Sunday night. I saved all my wallow for today when I could write about it here.

Conclusion 2: the bar we went to had BOTH Redbridge and Bard's gluten-free beers. A little sign from the cosmos, a little wink. I'll be back there (Heathers, in the East Village) when I'm feeling up to a drink.

let me make a mistake for you

OK, so it's easy to be gluten-free in New York City. We have Babycakes for treats and Risotteria for pizza and so many Whole Foods I hardly know what to do with myself. That being said, there is a cardinal rule for food allergies that I forgot yesterday. I will write it in capital letters, to remind myself.

ALWAYS

CALL

AHEAD

Yesterday, in the pouring rain, I made the trek to Cheryl's Global Soul. My friend, who works there, had promised me gluten-free muffins, as per the post below. I can't go today, I said. What about tomorrow? No, he said - but Sunday, yes. So Sunday, umbrella, rain boots, energetic spirit, off I went. Of course it was further than I imagined, from my house. It took me about thirty minutes of splashy, windy walking to arrive at the crowded brunch spot. I shoved my way through the line of people and dropped my umbrella on the ground dramatically. Hi, which of these muffins are gluten free?

Are you serious.

OK. Disappointment is part of the game. Call ahead, friends, even if you've been promised. Call ahead anyway, to let whoever they are know that we are out here! The many, the hungry, the alternate-grain eaters. Until then, I do recommend Peter's Restaurant on the upper east side. It's good for GF and regular alike; I will begrudgingly admit to the public here that I like to go there and order chocolate-chip pancakes for dinner. Last night I had a turkey club, on gluten-free bread, with gluten-free fries, and we started off with gluten-free fried calamari!