- Meatless Monday: Turkish Eggplant Casserole with Tomatoes (Imam Bayildi)
- Cauliflower Sweet Potato Burgers with Avocado and Sriracha Aioli (Vegetarian Paleo)
- The 6 Best Gluten-Free Liquor & Hard Alcohol Brands
- Feeding Friends: Oven Roasted Teriyaki Pork Tenderloin with Maple-Ginger Glaze
- Meatless Monday: Greek Baked Stuffed Tomatoes with Rice (Yemista)
Health, Hedonism & All the Delicious Things In Between
Category Archives: Gluten-Free Is Me
Last Wednesday, I gathered with 2,000 meditators in Central Park for ir collective evening of silence. After weeks of feeling like the world was on fire—a feeling that seemed unlikely to dissipate then, and has indeed in the last 24 hours, only gotten worse—it was a welcome reminder that the best way to fight fear is through unity and love, a sentiment that The Big Quiet calls “radical inclusiveness.” I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what this means around my table. In times of radical pain and ugliness it’s easy to retreat. To feel helpless, and then eventually, desensitized. It’s easy to feel that what you do in the world is trite. And as someone who feels barely qualified to solve the complex issues of gluten-free donuts, let alone world peace, I’ll admit to grappling with all of the above.
Allow me to briefly throw my significant other under the bus. Charlie and I eat a lot of gluten-free pasta as a quick (semi-lazy) weeknight meal. But when he cooks it, the end result never tastes as good as when I do. This is not simply a matter of my day job versus his. Steak and pork chops? No problem. But something as simple as pasta foils him Monday after Monday. I can see this frustrates him. And secretly, it frustrates me. Because even from the other room—where I try to sequester myself during my other half’s cooking ventures, so as to not become a backseat chef—I can see where Charlie goes wrong.
Friends, do you ever have those moments when you’re convinced you’ve F-ed up big time? As someone who’s building a freelance life that involves a lot of “firsts,” and someone who is particularly prone to imposter’s syndrome, this is a sensation I experience on a daily basis. But I’ll leave my self-analysis of self-deprecation for another time (I know you can’t wait!). No, today I’m talking about the feeling of failure that involves burnt vegetables, curdled egg nog, or, in the case of this blueberry galette recipe, a gluten-free crust that crumbles into nothingness.
When I first quit my corporate job to become a full-time food babe, I took on pretty much any gig that involved buttercream and not my naked body. I worked long hours in front of my computer bouncing between tabs of various recipe projects. I spent my days teaching 9-year olds how to bake homemade granola bars, and my nights lugging hundreds of mini meatballs to upscale Fashion Week parties, where no one wanted to eat them. And being a desperate freelancer trying to build word of mouth and make a name for myself, at the beginning, I often cooked a lot of these meals for free. That all changed with the great Tortilla Espanola fiasco of 2011.
Ever since ExpoWest, when you couldn’t turn a corner without running into a new turmeric product, I’ve been dying to try my hand at a golden milk recipe. This vibrant, frothy concoction is deeply rooted in Ayurvedic medicine for its anti-inflammatory healing power. My general rule of thumb for any type of anti-inflammatory eating is to eat the rainbow—a little trick that my acupuncturist, Heidi, taught me. And turmeric is pretty much as colorful, and as versatile to cook with, as it gets.
I’ve been recently shedding my self-perpetuated reputation as a non-baker. In fact, there were a few gluten-free experiments in the last few weeks that deserved some serious air fist-pumps of accomplishment—one of the best being these healthy oatmeal bars. Since my mixing bowls need a little direction when it comes to the sweet stuff, I always have my eyes peeled for great recipes that can serve as my gluten-free GPS. And these pumpkin peanut butter oatmeal bars from my friend Erin have been on my mind since the holidays. So when a bunch of sad, browned bananas made the move to Brooklyn, I decided to give her recipe a try, swapping in some mashed ‘nanas for the pumpkin puree.
The last few weeks have been marked by the impending excitement and doom of my inter-borough move. On the one hand, I wanted to cook my way through my whole pantry so I would have one less box to pack. But on the other—that is, the lazy, exhausted hand that walked the entire length of Brooklyn looking for an apartment with a dishwasher—all I wanted to do was sit on the couch and have Charlie spoon feed me meals. The compromise was this easy breakfast pizza recipe. It kept my hanger at bay during long afternoons of walking up and down unpromising walkups. And it disposed of some of the usual pantry suspects without my having to exert much effort in the kitchen.
As I mentioned in my newsletter, a case of the stomach flu left me in a very unromantic state this weekend. Which meant poor Charlie was left no choice but to stay indoors eating this leftover healthy mac and cheese while I sipped bone broth and whimpered from the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. But despite this blip that left me off solid foods for a few days, what I’ve been craving lately is cheese. Warm. Gooey. Glorious cheese. Healthy? No. But necessary in frost-bitten February? In the words of the fictional Fargo-natives that Charlie and I binged on this weekend: you betcha.