Pain Doré on a Sunday.....

This past Sunday marked the end of my summer. I think it also marked the beginning of Dan's quest for freedom, hippiedom, and other literal and figurative forms of following a new path in life.

Last Sunday morning (upon arriving late into Montreal from le bapteme Floralie
in Quèbec City), at approximately 2:45a.m., Dan left for Burning Man. I arose five hours later to a quiet, empty apartment and the sinking realization that I had to return to work Monday morning after a glorious eight week vacation.

I was rather tired from a boyfriend keeping me awake into the wee hours of the night packing his allotted weight in preparation for 8 days in the Black Rock Desert, so I groggily ground myself enough Café Mariani beans for a triple shot latté and got to work. I'm one of those lucky people that can get up on a Sunday and clean the entire house (or 600 square foot apartment...) while working up an appetite for a Sunday brunch. After the new place (pictures on Facebook) was looking prim and proper, I looked in my fridge to see what could be whipped up.

There was no bacon, and I really wanted bacon - especially since "flexatarian" Dan was gone (the concept of flexatarianism requires its own post - TBA, I promise), there was nobody kickin' around St. Henri to chastise me for my porky desires. Meg and my brother would approve through and through, and I was expecting at least one of them to show up for brunch. But alas, there was no bacon, and I was still feeling tired and lazy - too lethargic to walk the ten minutes it takes to get to the Atwater Market and purchase a half pound.

I scrounged through the fridge to see what I could put together, and realized I had all the ingredients to make a killer peach-goat cheese french toast. De-lish. The best part about this breakfast delicacy is that you can dip the gluten-free bread in first, make your French toast, put it in the oven to keep it warm, and THEN.... are you ready for this? Then you can dip in regular bread (for gluten eating peoples) and use the same frying pan. Obviously it won't get contaminated. Isn't that just incredible?

Well now. I think it is.

My brother was the one that ended up coming, and he was astonished at how much pain doré I could consume. I ate four pieces right along with him. He surprised me by requesting goat's cheese on his as well. We drizzled honey, maple syrup and my homemade raspberry jam over all of it. Talk about lush.

Here's the recipe that makes about 8 slices.....

3 eggs
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla - I made the vanilla you see in the picture by distilling three Madagascar vanilla beans in a 200 mL bottle of Absolute Vodka. This ensures it is gluten-free.
1/2 cup of 2% milk
pinch of cinnamon
pinch of nutmeg
8 slices of bread
butter - for the pan and the french toas
2 thinly sliced peaches
crumbled goat cheese
honey, maple syrup, jam varieties....

Mix your eggs and milk together in a bowl with a large surface area. Add your vanilla and spices to the mix. Soak your bread in this mix, ensuring each slice absorbs a generous amount of mixture. If you have leftover mixture, you can pour it directly into the pan whilst the french toast is cooking.

As soon as you remove your french toast from the pan, sprinkle your desired amount of goat's cheese on top of each slice. Serve with peaches and toppings.

PS - People keep asking me how I'm doing well Dan's away. Well, I cook meals like this, there's less dishes, and I have more leftovers. Boo-ya. :)

I often don't know what I'm getting myself into. I wouldn't say I'm overly naive, or careless when it comes to decision making. I just like to please others, and please myself, so I'll say "yes" to just about anything. This certitude doesn't always take me quite as far as the air of confidence appears - trust me, I got really good at saying "oui" in French before I understood French, choosing the le positif over le negatif and getting really quite convincing. Next time, don't let me fool you.

So when my friend Charles from Vancouver asked me if I wanted to bike the Sunshine Coast with him during my month stay out in British Columbia, I responded with a whole-hearted, unambiguous, I-bike-around-Montreal-everyday-so-clearly-I-can-handle-this "yes". Charles proceeded, in his excitable manner, to plan our trip, sending me contour maps and ferry schedules and camp grounds and whatever else. I looked at these documents, his routes and charts, and I really didn't understand any of it. Actually - I didn't even know where this coast of sunshine was. So I kept saying to him, "yes - any changes you want to make is fine", "yes - this detour will work out just great", "yes - if it rains, we'll just deal with it".

When I arrived in Vancouver, we spent our second day lounging out on Bowan Island, his childhood haven. As he excitedly went over all the points of discovery, his mom kindly interrupted him to note that I hadn't cycled Europe last summer. I was at a bit of a loss for words. "Well..... no. But I'm pretty fit. And - I went to the gym three times in Alaska for bike cardio.

In fact, I hadn't cycled more than 55km in one day..... ever. That was in flat Toronto, two years ago.

There are people who envision exactly what they're going to do with their vacation, with their weekends, with their food. They follow through with something - they take all the steps in a recipe, they shoot a picture from the designated area.... they conquer, then they leave satisfied.

I didn't even envision the panniers on the back of the bicycle. I never thought about how we'd carry food, how we would sleep, how we'd change clothes. I didn't think of the weight, the shape of the bike, the gear system, the fact that British Columbia=mountains=hilly bike riding.

I just said yes.

If you want to know how the first couple of days went, maybe Charles can leave a comment at the bottom of this post.

By the fourth day, I was no longer (at least, for the duration of this voyage), a "yes, yes, yes" girl. So when Charles asked me if we could fillet a salmon for our last night's camp dinner, I responded with an unequivocal "no". Something I would normally be game for, something that would be my forte even with my crappy knives back in Montreal was an absolute and incontestable "no". I used the knife excuse - "we really just can't expect the knife to make steaks out of a full fish, Charles. That knife sucks". In my tired mind, I reasoned. The knife can't. My legs can't.

Charles rebutted. "We can totally cut up a fish." In his head, "the knife can. Her legs can..... or must, because there's really no alternative".

I went into the Food Basic's in Parksville, and return with a clean-cut Atlantic salmon, farm-raised, deboned, lovely and prudent (vocabulary and philosophy employed by Charles). Charles took the receipt out of the bag, walked back in the store with his vitamin water in tow (a scam, I'm sure), and returned with a fresh, Pacific salmon.

It was huge. At least it was gutted.... and.... beheaded. I was too tired to come up with any logical argument.

Amongst the wasps, whom we let feast on the bony carcass, Charles went to work for about 45 minutes and extracted a pan full of deliciousness. He was like a kid in a candy store - "we can save some for breakfast! Eggs and salmon! Butter and garlic!" Something happened that has never happened before - we switched places. I was waiting patiently for my meal, hungry and mildly curious about what flavours and aromas would appear, and Charles was hoppin' around. It was like looking at myself in the glory of my own St. Henri kitchen.

We devoured the salmon with a yogurt curry sauce, quinoa, lentils and artichokes. We had the best damn dinner in the Parksville provincial campsite. We cleaned up, watched the sunset, spent some unknown amount of time watching the stars from inside the tent, and went to sleep. "Yes" returned to my vocabulary, and I put forth my best effort on the two last legs of our journey.

Living Lush

In the past two weeks, I've wrapped up my contract at school, moved one bizarre Canadian-Brazilian from Québec to Montréal, and turned on my oven twice a day during the midst of a 5-day heatwave sweeping over southern Ontario and Montréal. As I write this entry, a spectacular sound-and-light show is eliminating temperatures that have reached 44 degrees with the humidex. Steaming and sautéing will no longer make me seem like a crazy person.

Monday was the first day we really settled into our new St. Henri nest. I'll post pictures of our spectacular, large yellow kitchen in a couple of weeks (and maybe some of the rest of the place as well). We're so delighted. The old tenants left us with a window A/C, which means we've been living as if we're a couple in a bachelor apartment - eating, sleeping and playing scrabble in le salon..... and irritating one another. But with an empty schedule, I can't completely separate myself from the kitchen with all this free time! So I've been oscillating between the public pool (2 blocks over, three times a day, packed with St. Henri kids and a lot of tattooed hipsters), reading (Rohinton Minstry's A Fine Balance) and......... COOKING! No baking though - I haven't completely lost my mind. Although maybe Meg did - she turned on her oven long enough to make me gluten free chocolate chip banana muffins that I've been eating for brekkies topped with the sensational Liberté whipped fromage à la crème. Wowza Fowza.

But back to Monday. After wining and dining at various restaurants and friends' houses during our week "living in limbo", it was quite appropriate to have Meg and her brother Kevin over for dinner for something proper. House salad, chicken quarters topped with homemade pesto, smashed tomato garlic rosé sauce over gluten free pasta and fresh Québec green beans from the Atwater Market.

The best part about this dinner is Meg's aptitude to take beautiful photos on her brother's swanky camera. I WANT ONE!!!! They are the most beautiful portraits of my creations I've ever seen, and I must admit that I'm chuffed with myself! I love how the focus is the food, but the detail in the background is just as important. For example, check out the little bottle of maple syrup beside one of the salad closeups. That smoky sweetness came from the father of our friend Fannie in Québec City. Fannie wed Dan's best friend Jean-François last summer in a gypsy-themed outdoor wedding at her father's small cabane à sucre (sugar shack). After managing to explain to him in French how much I loved to cook (especially with maple syrup), he gave Dan and I each a bottle. The bottle in the picture is clearly Dan's; mine only lasted about two months. The syrup found its way into the simple balsamic, olive oil and garlic dressing to give a bit of sweetness against the pickled goods I'd tossed on top.

I'm trying to develop my own house salad masterpiece. The Naked Chef says everyone should have their own special creation. This one was good, but not...... ambrosial. I'll keep working on it.

The pasta, I must say, was lovely. Here's the sauce recipe:

Smashed Tomato and Roasted Garlic Rosé Sauce:

• One pint of cherry tomatoes from your local farmer's market

• Half a clove of garlic, with each bulb halved

• One bunch of thick-stemmed asparagus

• One half of a Spanish onion, cut into thicker pieces

• One cup of cooking cream (15%)

• One cup of white wine

• Juice from one quarter of a lemon (I also zested the lemon beforehand to sprinkle fresh zest lightly on the pesto chicken)

• Olive Oil, Butter, Salt 'n Peppa

• Place your tomatoes and garlic on a tray and toss them in olive oil, salt and pepper. Put them in a preheated oven to 400 degrees for about 20 minutes. Take them out, toss them around, and put them back in the oven for another 20.

• All the while..... sauté a tablespoon of both olive oil and butter together with a clove of crushed garlic and the lemon juice. Add your onion to the mix, keeping the temperature on medium. Once you see the onion beginning to caramelize (about 5 or 6 minutes), toss in generous chunks of asparagus and sauté for another 5-7 minutes.

• Add your cup of cream, and then little by little, the white wine. You can taste your sauce for flavour once you've brought it to a boil to see if you fancy some more wine or cream. Bring the sauce to a low temperature and let all the flavours "do their thang" until your tomatoes have popped and your garlic is roasted. Add these goods, and let the sauce simmer for at least another ten minutes.

Mom's reading this and thinking, "damn! This requires time!" Yes, yes it does. But time is of the essence.........

KOS

Make Room for Mushrooms

Mushrooms. Mush....roooooms. In a food lover's world, the mentioning of such a word can leave much to be desired. For starters - what a funny little word indeed. For ESL learners, the mushroom must be one of those laugh-out-loud kind of words, like the way we as young school children giggled uncontrollably at the mentioning of pamplemousse.

The reason for this post is to confess that I've been eating the same thing three nights in a row for dinner. To all my friends and family who love and value food, and especially the differentiation of meals, yes, I have sinned. A block of goat's cheese, a good hunk of feta, a generous handful of romano, one beautiful orange bell pepper, a few stocks of green onion, and a dash of paprika, salt, and pepper have disappeared from my fridge and pantry. Oh - and yes, two packages of simple button mushrooms.

Don't worry - I'm not turning into a mushroom top (although I might start to resemble the urban dictionary's definition of the word if I keep eating the creamy, cheesy center of these succulent delights for another three nights). Nothing will happen to me if I overdose on this type of shroom, I just might turn down dinner plans out on the town Saturday night, because I know I can cook better chez nous.

It started off with Janet's recipe of stuffed mushroom caps being a great side dish to my soya-ginger tuna steak and spinach leaf salad for dinner two nights ago. I had filling left over Wednesday evening, so in-the-oven went the remainder of the mushrooms to compliment a tandoori chicken breast I bought down the street at La Maison Du Roti. But tonight, I won't lie to you - I just plum ate them for dinner. With a glass of red.

Although there is some prep work involved, these mini delights will truly leave you smacking your lips together for more. I used goat cheese as one of my main cheeses, which was a little tart, but I'll give you the original Jan recipe(credit given where credit is due) for your next dinner party.

1 package of creme cheese (you might get away with low-fat, but the very idea of low-fat cheese in my mind is an oxymoron)
1 cup of sharp cheddar cheese (the age doesn't matter, but it becomes increasingly harder to grate the older it gets, and increasingly tastier as the years go on. Be it as you will)
1/2 cup of fresh parmesan
1/2 cup of green onion
1 brightly coloured bell pepper, chopped finely
paprika, fresh ground pepper and salt, to taste.

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Prepare mushrooms by washing them thoroughly and gently twisting out each stem. You can keep the leftover stems for the next time you make a vegetarian stock. Mix cheeses together in a bowl, then add all other ingredients. Arrange mushrooms on a cookie sheet or suitable pan. Stuff each mushroom until it is overflowing with mixture. Place in oven for approximately 20 minutes, or until liquid from mushrooms has oozed out into the bottom of the pan. Cool for 5 minutes and serve.

After completing a business degree, traveling around Asia for a brief stint, and taking some time to familiarize himself with the French language, a young British Columbian by the name of Sean Aiken decided to not decide. On a career, that is. Rather, taking his obvious love for travel and meeting new people, he set out across Canada and the United States on a treasure hunt to find a job he could engage in passionately.

After working one job a week for 52 weeks, and being picked up by major broadcasting giants such as CBC, Rachel Ray, Good Morning America, Sean scored a book deal with Random House, has a documentary in the making on his experiences, and has achieved what practically every Generation "Y-er" has to come to terms with - the capability to deal with constant and rapid change.

My boyfriend is a friend of Sean's, from fall 2007, when they both spent their time romping around Quebec City, singing Bob Marley in the Francais Langue Seconde chorus, and making a concerted effort to learn Quebecois French.

At some point last May 2009, while I was interning with a diversity expert in Toronto, and Dan in a music classroom back in Quebec City, Sean gave Dan a ring to see if he would proofread all the bits and pieces he had tied together from his yearlong experience. Of course Dan agreed and took great pleasure in editing and making commentary on the new author's work. For his labour, Sean told Dan to take his lady friend (that being me) out for a meal the next time I came up to Quebec City for a visit.

Seven months after the Mediterranean burger (gluten-free with no bun), fries (with no flour coating, and no contaminants in the oil), pesto mayonnaise and garden salad at Chez Victor, complimented with a half-litre of red and a conversation about self-discovery and fulfillment, Dan showed me the cover of One Week Job - 1 man. 1 year. 52 jobs, which is due to be released this spring, 2010. Of course, this got me thinking about creativity, challenges, and optimism in a world where most youngsters in our generation have between 7 and 12 jobs over the course of their lifetime.

The aforementioned adjectives are crucial to remember when cooking gluten-free cuisine.

Creativity, the ability to be clever and imaginative, unique and inspirational, bold, keen and passionate while pursuing the task at hand is what motivates me most when it comes to food. Trial and tribulation has taught me that when you're confused as to what to make for dinner because nothing in your fridge and cupboards seem to match up that well, you survey your options, think about flavour combination, and dive off the deep end. Sure, 9 times out of 10, your creation is kinda gross (place the leftover thai tofu soup, bitter because you accidentally added too much lime rind in the freezer, along with the dry banana buckwheat muffins and send away with long-distance boyfriend when he visits. Make sure to add some good homemade pesto so he doesn't think you're dumping all the reject recipes on his pallet) - but the 10th time, you've succeeded and it's AWESOME! Note to generation X-ers - apply this formula to school and employment. If we switch programs a few times, don't blame us. If we can't figure out what we want to do work-wise, it's not our fault. If we emerge in our mid-thirties a little weary, with some debt and no children, but our tummies are happy and full, we're still looking brightly forward.

Kristen's "I don't have any tomato sauce, but I just bought a pepper grinder" Pasta:

2 cups of gluten free pasta (spirals work nicely)
1 box worth of mushrooms (the fresh ones, people. Don't think I mean from a can)
1 red bell pepper
1 orange bell pepper
1 red onion
three cloves of garlic
4 cups fresh baby spinach
Feta Cheese
A handful of chopped green olives
5 diced sundried tomatoes
1/2 cup olive oil
Juice of one lemon
LOTS of coarsely cracked pepper

Saute all the veggies together, on a medium heat, starting with the onion and the garlic. Add fresh pepper as you go along, as well as a little olive oil and a quarter of the lemon.

Cook your pasta, insuring that you add a bit of vegetable oil so it doesn't stick together. Gluten free pasta is sneaky, appearing uncooked, uncooked, uncooked and then suddenly overcooking when you're not looking. After about 6 minutes of letting it boil, be sure to check it every minute.

Toss pasta in with cooked vegetables, remaining olive oil and lemon juice. Add generous (copious, even) amounts of feta cheese. Add olives and sundried tomatoes. Crack desired amount of black pepper over the pasta, and serve.

This dish is really excellent if you make it 24 hours in advance, and let it sit before heating it up and serving it. All the flavours make love to one another, and pick your tongue as an alter for their marriage.

From Vieux Port to Le Petit Patrie
up Atwater to NDG
Along Jean-Talon, down Le Plateau,
Feet and feet and feet of snow!

Come young, come old, come big, come small
Winter is here in Montreal!
Grab your down-filled, fur-trimmed jacket
Go outside and make a racket!

Take a look down Cartier
See those creaking branches sway?
Winter's here, she's long, she's cold
Extremely bitter and mighty bold

And for this boundless, drawn-out season
We can create a million reasons
To come together, preheat our ovens
Absorb ourselves in home-baked lovin!

Prepare our friends, arrange our kitchens
Brace ourselves for this wild mission
Millet, quinoa, teff and corn
A gluten-free creation's born!

Amaranth, sorghum, brown rice flour
Cookies and cakes with patience and power
Be sure to use a binding force
Xanthan gum, ground fine, not coarse!

Be adventurous, 'tis the season
Adapt the tradition with rhyme and reason!
From matzo balls to naan with ghee
We can do it, gluten-free!

Ah yes, it's true. The winter season arrived last week in Montreal in full force. After a mild and rainy November, we awoke last Sunday to flurries and temperatures of minus twenty with the windchill. We danced around the house, made chili with cornbread and gingerbread houses (ahem... shanty towns... it was the first time), and rejoiced while watching the snow fall gently, dressing tree branches and covering the remains of the De Lorimier/Gilford communal garden.

What a beautiful time of year. With that being said, winter can be somewhat of a polarizing quarterly interval. Quebecers, generally speaking, love outdoor winter activities, warm drinks and woolly Alpaca sweaters. But we also detest shoveling our steep, winding staircases and having to pay obscene amounts of money to Hydro Quebec for heat every two months.

However, I find one major motivator in storing energy and maintaining a positive attitude during the days where only 10 hours of sunshine reach us is creating, smelling, slicing, buttering and savouring scrumptious and delectable homemade baked goods. But baking is no easy feat when you lose the ability to use wheat flour. In fact, baking gluten free is like watching a little kid make their first snowman - no matter how meticulous they are in the prodding, the molding, the shaping and the placing, it might topple right over fifteen minutes after the creation is complete.

Never assume that substitutes are duplicates. Powder snow is not the same as packing snow. Aldo summer sandals are not the same as Birkenstocks. Coffee from Tim Horton's is not a Second Cup brew. Wheat flour is NOT the same as rice flour. If you see a gluten-free baking mixture with only rice flour and potato starch, DO NOT BUY. Save your $6.50 for the Birkenstocks next summer.

Save your sanity too, and try this amazing shortbread recipe we've been making to compliment tea in the mornings. If you have a gluten tolerant person in the house, you can also simply substitute wheat flour for gluten-free flour. But don't be surprised when they can't tell the difference!!

Cream one pound unsalted butter with one cup packed brown sugar

Blend in 4 cups of gluten free flour mixture (El Peto all-purpose works in a pinch), 1 cup of gluten-free corn starch (most brands are gluten free, but you can always check on the Internet, or call the company), and 1/4 teaspoon salt

Chill for a short while (half an hour), and then divide the dough in half

Pat to one-inch circle with hands

Cut with cookie cutters, sprinkle with desired decorative sugars

Bake at 350 for about 12 minutes - do not brown.

In the heart of Mont Royal's plateau neighbourhood, situated on the corner of rue Boyer and rue Rachel, is a tiny, charismatic café called Café Rico. Each Saturday morning, at around 10a.m., I make my way down Avenue du Mont Royal, along Parc Lafontaine, and into this warm, open space. While sipping on a delicious fair trade latte, and listening to the musical flavours of Mahler, Ariane Moffat and others, I am most comfortable preparing my high school classes. The café buzz is a mosaic of languages, French, English, Spanish, Portuguese, and others. Paintings from Costa Rica hang on the brick walls, complimenting individual tabletops made by a local Montréal artist. Pamphlets and and posters for a variety of social justice events are displayed boldly on the walls. in many ways, Café Rico is a reflection of Montréal's multicultural society, one which embraces differences and demands change for the good of its people.

And for my own good, Café Rico consistently supplies me with three essentials that keep me smiling even on the rainiest of Saturdays. First of all, their Internet is free, and faster than my high speed at home. Secondly, they roast their own beans daily, and provide me with a massive bowl of steaming, smooth coffee complimented with organic cane sugar, and a tiny silver spoon for an astonishing $2.50. However the third reason, a seemingly odd one to those sans dietary restrictions, is that the wonderful "Franish" employees at Café Rico never rain on my parade when I bring in my own gluten free treat to compliment my java beverage.

In a world where Montréal bagels, danishes and croissants line the table of every staff meeting, and pizza is a the number one choice amongst colleagues for late nights in the office, the idea of settling down on a Saturday morning at Café Rico in a worn-in wicker chair with a freshly pulled shot, steamed 2%, and a gluten free chocolate-pecan-cranberry cookie with an almond base center is a heavenly one.

I bet Starbucks wouldn't let me do that.

On a more serious note, and a sadder one also, it is true to say that not everyone in my celiactuation enjoys the same quality of life that I do. I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about Celiac Disease in others shoes besides my own. A couple weeks ago, while randomly searching the net for new recipe ideas, I stumbled across a sixteen year old girl's trial with Celiac Disease. She said, "I absolutely hate living like this, and I often think about cheating on my diet. Whenever I go out with my friends, to the movies, or to a birthday party, I cannot eat one single thing that is served. Ever."

This poor teen is not alone. I imagine all the fathers and mothers of Celiac and gluten intolerant children, who are forced to either up their grocery bill astronomically every month, or make two different meals for their families. Both are time consuming, annoying, and expensive. I think also of senior citizens who get diagnosed with Celiac, after growing up in the 1940's, '50's, '60's and onwards, where Wonder Bread reigned over the bakery section, and even milk formula for babies used flour to "add to substance". Imagine, that after 80 years of developing a particular eating pattern, as we all do, you are told to go home and throw out everything in your cupboards and most of the food in your fridge.

This may sound crazy, over-exaggerated, and dramatic. But for those of you that know me personally (probably everyone reading this entry, but here's to hoping!), it's not.

Underneath all the dietary restrictions, the cost, and the time consumption of the gluten free regime lies an important factor that impedes the lives of gluten free people, that being the intense social restrictions we often feel in a variety of social settings.

A recent article I read in the Toronto Star asserted that sufferers of Celiac Disease often become "socially alienated" due to the inability to partake in normal social outings, by ordering a beer, or a meal that actually comes out safe (not contaminated) and tasty. As sad as this sounds, social alienation amongst Celiac sufferers is a reality when one lacks a close social network of friends and family who truly understand the severity of cross-contamination, and are honestly committed to a safe, holistic, organic, gluten-free approach.

If I had been diagnosed with this disease in my teenage years, I would have been that girl I mentioned a few paragraphs earlier - frustrated, angry, upset, alone, and very likely hungry, as all her friends enjoy an extra-large pepperoni pizza and chocolate cake at a sweet sixteen.

These stories and their characters are true ones, living right here on the island of Montréal. With recent breakthroughs in genetic testing and endoscopic procedures, more and more Canadians are getting diagnosed every day. And unlike peanut allergies, fish allergies, bee stings, and all others that elicit an immediate anaphylactic shock reaction, I have found in the past six months that in some situations our allergy is not treated with the same caution as it needs to be.

The gluten-free community in Montréal needs help! I've been seriously brainstorming, adapting recipes, trying out new desserts, and thinking about ways I can make a difference. Especially in a city such as Montréal, where we are so immersed in French culture, I recognize the fact that people in my city need support, a community, and most importantly, accessible and reasonably priced gluten free cuisine. I see some small progress - there are a couple restaurants who have heard of the allergy, and are willing to make accommodations. There are cafés, like my wonderful Café Rico, who always let me bring in my own goodies. But it's not enough! I imagine all the Montréalers out there who are lost, confused, and burdened by their new and difficult lifestyle.

On a much happier and positive note, we threw the best potluck of all times three weeks ago to celebrate my 24th birthday. About twenty of my closest friends and family gathered with myself and mes nouvelles colocs, all bearing gifts of gluten free side dishes. My little brother made gluten-free cake and icing from scratch. Other dishes included caramelized onion, black bean and cocoa dip, seasoned root vegetables, lentil chili, quinoa with butternut squash, peas and carrots, and crème brulée amongst others. We had two raclettes going simultaneously - A Québécoise grilling tradition that was borrowed from the Swiss. We had Fp2 playing live in the nook space. We had wine, Frenglish conversation, laughter, and a lot of food.

The next day, two of my friends commented that on their walk home, their stomachs felt remarkably fine despite the large amounts of food and drink consumed over the course of the night. We concluded that it was likely because all of our tummies weren't stuffed with white, starchy bread, a staple consumed in mass amounts at most communal suppers.

When feeling low about eating gluten free, organize a dinner where all of your friends bring a small side dish that doesn't contain gluten. Trust me - if your friends love you, no one will be reluctant, and it will actually add a fun and interesting challenge to the whole dinner. Plus, everyone will get to eat great, natural food.

If you're lucky enough to have a raclette, try this pork tenderloin marinade. Make sure to visit your local fromagerie for real raclette cheese! If you don't own a raclette, you can keep the pork rolled, and roast it in your oven.

Ginger-Soy Pork Tenderloin

1 kilogram of fresh (preferably organic) pork tenderloin
1 1/2 cups of gluten free soya sauce
1/2 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons of freshly grated ginger
3 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar

Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl, or a large tupperware container. Cut up pork into small, bite size pieces (if you are roasting the pork in the oven, you can leave it whole). Marinade for at least two hours, and up to twenty-four hours in the fridge.

Grill on raclette with complimentary vegetables, including bell peppers, mushrooms and asparagus. Melt raclette cheese over a mixture of pork and vegetables, as indicated under the raclette grill. Serve with gluten free toast, or simply as is.