Liberty, Liberte

I've come to the realization that it might be a long time before I have a deep, meaningful, sensual, intimate relationship with a man.

In the meantime, I've compiled a weekly grocery list of food and drink so I can keep my palete alive during my dry spell.

I've convinced myself that each week it is, in my situation, reasonable to purchase:

1 bottle of J. Lohr wine
1 container of Liberte lemon yogurt
1 bar of Lindt Madagascar vanilla chocolate
1 block of Emmanuel cheese
1 ethically raised, fresh out of the smoker chorizo sausage
1 box of Mary's gluten free crackers.....

Ok, ok, the list continues. My mind started running tonight, as I was curled up on the couch in my granny's woollen blanket, indulging in Liberte lemon yogurt, Mediterranean style, 7%. It is orgasmic - so thick that you simply need to skip your spoon along the top of the container. The yogurt will gather in soft waves, and will cling to the spoon while twirled.

If you do try it, make sure to twirl the spoon. It adds to the effect, and therefore the taste.

Liberte yogurt is so... succulent. The raw yogurt is perfect for recipes - it makes an excellent addition to curry, and provides a fine base for tzitziki. But what's unique about Liberte is their ability to pair particular fruits with their original yogurt. This is precisely where the lemon Liberte stole my heart.

The lemon Liberte is made up of the original plain yogurt, with a lemon zest rippled fruit bottom. The tartness of the lemon, with a dash of sugar and the original milk+cream combination of the plain yogurt marry in your mouth. It feels good. It feels fine. I'm just about to lose my mind.

Open House

Growing up, the concept of an open house meant one thing, and one thing only - the house had a big old "for sale" sign on the front lawn, and strangers were welcomed in by the real estate agent to take a look at a perspective home. Sometimes my parents and I would wander into these open houses on a Sunday afternoon, if such house happened to be in the neighbourhood. I never really questioned the antics of my folks; I suppose it was to get decorating ideas and keep an eye on the market. I loved seeing the inside of houses, especially living rooms and kitchens. But there was always something eerie about an open house that as a child, I couldn't quite put my finger on.

The houses were open, but the people were closed.

I don't remember one single open house where the inhabitants were actually there, telling prospective home owners about the history of the home, or what the house meant to them and their families, or why they were moving. The most important part of the house was simply.... absent.

Tonight I went to my first, grown-up open house where the family wasn't leaving. In fact, upon asking them if they'd entertain the idea of moving (since their daughter, a close colleague of mine, has moved out), they told me with fervent attestation that they would never move. They live in a beautiful 6.5, a gorgeous brownstone walk-up on Jeanne Mance, right in the golden square mile of Montreal. My friend has lived in this home, a co-op, ever since she was adopted at two months old.

Each year, her and her family make about 20 different dishes from scratch, and several dessert trays as well. There were many options for me as a gluten-free guest, and even one special tray of carmel marshmallow squares. But what touched me most about the evening was spending a few hours in the apartment, envisioning what it will be like to raise children one day in an urban environment.

When I was growing up, I didn't have any close friends from Toronto. We were all suburbia kids. In order to get from place to place, we hopped in each other's minivans, went to MacDonalds and hit up the mall. We went back to our homes for dinner, and didn't walk alone after dark. We were sheltered.

Life in the city isn't as clean or quiet. You'll find a million unique characters living in a million different spaces. But if you open your mind and your heart, you're sure to find a supportive and caring community to depend upon.

An open house is the home of lovely people.

In with the new....

My goal for August upon my arrival home from India: to gain back the eight pounds I lost while backpacking for the month, and to do so with a gluttonous appetite. The "India" diet left me feeling weak and waif-ish. I got started right away at the Healthrow airport, spending fifty quid on British chocolate at the duty free shop, and then a charming airplane dinner date with an investment banker from Dubai. British Airways philosophizes like Porter - the food's not bad and the wine is free.

Ten days in Oshawa were spent with my amazing mom, enjoying red wine in wicker porch chairs, driving into Toronto to buy live lobster, whipping up chunky guacamole, makin' ribs in the slow cooker with bbq sauce and a can of coke, thrown on the hot grill right before consumption for a touch of crisp.

The three hour dinner became a routine part of our day, and needless to say, my hips reappeared. I was actually feeling a little bummed out about returning to Montreal, going back to work and having less time for indulgence. But the party has only just begun. Montreal hosts the best street festivals towards the end of summer. The city is alive and on fire and so is my attitude.

I made a trip up to Jean Talon with Chesley to get some ingredients for canning week. The bounty of the market is exceptional at this time of year. Peaches. Tomatoes. Basil.

There are three salsas and three marmalade variations on the list: salsa verte, peach salsa and salsa taquera... and for the marmies..... seville orange, grapefruit and lemon, strawberry and lime.

Hell yeah.

We christened the house with a fabulous birthday party for Steve. My chocolate cake got rave reviews, and glistened with des petits fruits and Bailey's creme fouette. 

I got my groove back.

Apathy

I conclude, after six months of emptiness, that cooking is no fun alone.

I throw things together in a frying pan and hope they come out alright. This one did - mushrooms, green onions and Stilton.

I tried to get Mike to eat Stilton on Saturday night. He hated it - he told me the after taste resembled poop. This kind of turned me off the Stilton for the evening, which I was eating with baked Lays. The grocery store below my new apartment doesn't carry rice crackers.  Some things are going to have to change....

Mike made me a rack of New Zealand free range lamb and I made garlic mashed. Mike doesn't buy real butter.

Mike, if you read this, you need to buy real butter.

My pictures of Montreal are probably better then the food pics. I wandered aimlessly around in the rain and shot with my Canon rebel. I arrived two minutes past six to the Cafe Rico and they shut. I pushed my nose up against the screen but they wouldn't let me in. My nose was wet and cold, and so was I, and I wanted to buy rice crackers but people in the Plateau only like artisan breads woven in different shapes and only to be cut and served at home.



Bastards.

Voila! Some photos from an amazing sushi night this past July, as Dan and I were traveling through British Columbia. Kelowna, B.C. was our first stop, where we stayed for five days lakeside at our friend's wonderful apartment. Although we wined and dined downtown at Kelowna's finest (The Rotten Grape had a fabulous gluten-free pizza crust), I asked if at some point during the visit we could make sushi and we did, as a celebration of sorts, on our final night.

Gluten-free tempura - sea scallops,
sweet potato and asperagus

Balsamic Shitake Mushrooms

Sashimi from The Codfather 

The fresh pacific salmon found out in BC is a darker colour, richer and tastier. We bought our salmon and tuna sushi grade at The Codfather, the best fresh fish store in the city according to our hosts. During my last trip out west, a road trip up the coast of California, I toured, wined and dined at Francis Ford Coppola's vineyards. A pattern seems to be emerging here.

Although I'm primarily a red wine drinker, usually ignoring proper pairings, we had a couple of bottles of The Summerhill Vineyard's Ehrenfelser, with notes of honeysuckle, orange blossom, cantelope and peach.

We bought rice flour from the local grocery story and were able to whip up gluten-free tempura. Tempura is one of the main reasons why I now enjoy making sushi at home with friends instead of eating out. When those crunchy shrimp arrive at a restaurant, sizzling straight from the deep fryer and enveloped in glutenous batter, well, it's a little hard to handle. So we do it - fait maison.

Here's the recipe for gluten-free tempura. Don't be fooled - a deep fryer is unnecessary!

1/2 cup rice flour
1/2 cup corn starch
1 teaspoon of baking soda and baking powder

The final product, with Okanagan wine

pinch of salt
1 egg
2/3 cup of ice water (the water must be ice cold - it functions as the binding agent in both gluten-free and glutenous tempura recipes)
Vegetable oil - enough for two inches at the bottom of the pan

You also need patience. Deep frying without a deep fryer can yield delicious treats, but be careful.

Mix all dry ingredients together in a bowl suitable for dipping your vegetables or seafood in. Add the egg and ice water. Heat your oil in a wok or deep frying pan until the oil is hot but not spurting all over the place! Using tongs, dip each piece of veg or seafood in the batter, coating generously, and fry on each side for about 1 minute.

I like to keep all my tempura hot on a low temperature in the oven until all the sushi has been made. This works well when you have guests over for dinner so you don't have to be standing at the stove all night long.

*The shitake mushrooms featured in this blog entry are also fantastic, but I have to make them again (this weekend) before I post the recipe! They were AMAZING in sushi rolls.... TBA....











A friend from university once told me that the ability to humour one's self is priceless. I think she put it as simply as this: "you know so-and-so? They're hilarious! They can really crack themselves up". That was the expression she used, to crack yourself up.

At this time, I didn't really understand what she meant. I suppose that the concept of humour for me came always as an interpretation of outside forces, exterior situations to be reckoned with. But over time I began to understand what she really meant. People who can find amusement in the comicality of their present moment whilst recognizing that their contribution is clever or absurd or just entertaining to them even if it entertains no other party... well, these people have a pretty special gift.

Side note - I have a grade 8 student who cracks herself up all the time. It's fantastic, even when the rest of us just don't understand.

Leading a gluten free lifestyle has allowed me to somehow develop my own capacity to find lightness in the most frustrating of situations. This took awhile though, because for the first year, at restaurants and grocery stores and friend's houses, I was much more focused on getting myself through a menu, the weekly list or a meal without getting fed up or being rude. But now that most of the cravings are gone, and my friends and family understand the basics, I can wander out and find myself in the most unlikely places - I'm becoming braver.

For example, I recently ate at McDonald's. This wasn't my intention, trust me, but I found myself ravenous at the Alexis Nihon Plaza about a month ago. I know the McDonald's Angus Burger is 100% beef, and the fries are gluten free, so instead of dropping 15 or 20 bucks on sushi, I paid a visit to the golden arches. I asked for my burger to be served sans pain, and found myself face to face with a stupefied sixteen-year-old. I quickly offered my explanation - I just have an allergy. I only want the burger, all the toppings please, no bun. It took four McDonald's employees (including the manager) and ten minutes for them to figure out they could serve it to me in an empty salad container.

I'm not trying to make a point here that McDonald's employees are sub par in terms of intelligence - I have a friend who is currently pursuing his Ph.D. at McGill in pure mathematics. When he was in high school, he worked for McDonald's. After many hours of tedious flipping, he noticed that the beef patties were not efficiently placed on the grill. He took it upon himself to reorganize the patty placement to maximize space. His boss was so impressed that he wrote to Mickie D's national headquarters with the new formula, which was accepted and adapted all over America. Quite evidently, "one billion served" is directly contributed to my friend Mark.

On Friday night, the eve of my 25th birthday, I took the bus to Costco in Verdun to pick up a prime rib roast for my 2nd annual gluten free birthday potluck. There was nobody else on the bus, and the bus driver appeared surprised when I asked to be dropped at the door of the king of bulk foods. "Tu vas..... à Costco?". "Oui, comme là là". I motioned across the street. He shrugged and drove off.

Note - I'm the first person in the history of Costco to ever take the bus.

I walked up towards the entrance. As I was awaiting my brother to arrive by bike (he's the one with the golden ticket - the Costco membership), I watched SUV after SUV swankily pull into the enormous parking lot. I tried reading my book but my mind was too focused on three main things - the prime rib roast, the 750 grams of Balderson sharp Canadian cheddar and the last bus home from Costco that I had to be on in 45 minutes.

Mike finally arrived and we got down to business. We were both starving, him stuck without $1.00 for a jumbo hot dog at the cash-only restaurant inside and me, well, stuck with all the gluten options the restaurant had to offer.

Despite his mild embarrassment, I opened a jar of mixed nuts for us to dig into.

Upon paying, the kind lady at the cash asked me how many boxes I'd like. I replied none, thank you, and pointed towards the 60-litre traveling pack my brother had brought for me. And at this very moment, again came the blank stare that I saw a couple weeks at McDonalds. I can only imagine what was running through the cashier's mind - "the girl is leaving tonight to tour South America with a prime rib roast, chicken breasts, three pounds of cheese, one pound of nuts, and one box of Cliff Bars".

Side note - Cliff Bars, with all their substantial forms of protein and deliciousness (I remember) are not gluten free due to...... malt extract. That's ALL! Damn it.

I paid, took out cash-back so Mike could get a jumbo wiener, and was hurrying to pack my bag and catch that last bus. By this point, my brother (who looked like he'd been without food for a couple of days and was drifting towards the food line) remembered his lonely bag of limes, his sole Costco purchase of the evening.

"Kristen! You can't go! We have to go out together! They'll ask for my receipt, and I don't have one for the limes!"

I told him to shove those limes in this backpack. I had to hit the road.

"They'll check my bag! They'll go in it!"

He was acting the way my students do when I ask them for their locker combinations at the beginning of the school year. Luckily, he's 23 and not 13, and at the absurdity of the situation we both burst out laughing. Still hungry but in high spirits, I caught my bus, arrived home around 7:30 and made myself a quick fish and quinoa salad dinner.

The next evening, we all had a blast. Check out what my friends and brother now know about Celiac Disease a year and a half after my diagnosis.

xxoo

Kristen

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.

Le choix de la crepe....

Have you ever made a spontaneous decision that would drastically affect your life, at the drop of a hat?

Did you notice a trigger to that decision? Some sort of revelation? Wedding proposal?
School acceptance? Job transfer? Gluten-free crepes at Jean Talon market?

Sometimes things in life just click into place. Three weeks ago, I was visiting Montréal and playing tour guide with friends from a French program in Sherbrooke, Québec. We were frolicking around the city, hitting all my favourite sites – parc lafontaine, fair trade coffee at café rico, hot cocoa at juliette et chocolat, and before we hit the infamous Tam Tam jams, a stop at Jean Talon market to grab some grub for a picnic.

This market in particular is a utopia – the middle of the market is comprised of dozens of fruit and vegetable stands, most of the produce grown locally and organically right here in the province of Québec. Surrounding the market are shops and stands, for n’importe quoi – there are poissonaries (fresh fish), fromagaries (cheese stores and stands), la viande organique (organic meat places), boulangeries (bakeries), and much more.

After a lovely latté with the ladies at Premièr Moisson (the best bakery in Montréal), we waited in line to grab some baguettes for them to take with us on out picnic adventure. I’d just finished explaining to my friends that it was fine they got bread – I don’t want to be one of those "because I can’t, you can’t" types of people. Truthfully, I have outgrown my cravings for baked goods… but of course, I have to admit I’d still be eating it if I could. Baguettes, avocados, pineapple, tomatoes, gluten-free saucisse (sausage) and Québec goat cheese were the continents of our backpacks. We were almost ready to head back to our bikes when my friend Nathalie noticed rather darkish looking crepes being tossed on the griddles right in front of our faces.

Darkish looking crepes = buckwheat flour

Buckwheat flour = gluten free

I rushed up to the girl working at the stand, and asked what the crepes were made of.
With a smile she said,

"On les a fait avec la farine sarrasin seulement. Vous avez une allergie au gluten? Pas de problème"

Translation – These crepes are made with buckwheat flour only. If you have a gluten
allergy, you can eat these ones..

It hit me all at once – I wanted to be in the city, with all its gluten free goodness waiting to be discovered. And this, my friends, is how I came to my decision of moving back to Montréal, pretty much instantaneously.

Gluten free crepes are amazing to eat out, but if you can master them at home, they are
much cheaper! I plan on doing so as soon as I find an apartment, and a job that pays for good cheese. You can make them with a variety of different flours, including rice flour, quinoa flour and buckwheat flour. Here is a great starter recipe, with lots of wonderful ideas to put inside…..

BUCKWHEAT CREPES

1 cup of pure buckwheat flour
1 2/3 cups milk
3 eggs
teaspoon of raw sugar, or maple syrup
2 tablespoons of melted butter
pinch of salt

Blend the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. I find it is easiest to simply use a fork, and work out all the lumps. When making any kind of crepe, it is important to get the right consistency, and depending on the recipe (or how many times you double or triple it), the consistency can change. Have extra milk and buckwheat flour ready. Your final product should be much thinner than a pancake mixture, and should spread nice and evenly in the pan.

Heat up a frying pan or crepe pan with a little bit of butter (the temperature really
depends on your oven – it could be number 4, 6, or 8 depending on how hot your
elements are!). Use a ladle to pour crepe batter into your pan. Again, the size of your pan determines the amount of batter you will use. You want those babies to be thin!!!! They should be a complement to the crepe fillings, which we’ll talk about in a bit.

When cooking the crepes, use a silicone spatula. You will find it is much easier to work your way around the crepe, and flip it over gently. Once you have flipped the crepe over, you can add your fillings, and then close the crepe by carefully turning it on its side.

Let your delicious and unique fillings sit inside the crepe while the pan is still on the element for about 45 seconds to 1 minute. Finally, gently slide the crepe, with the aid of the silicone spatula, onto the pan!

IDEAS FOR SWEET CREPES…..
Fillings:
any type of berry that is in season!
Bananas
Peaches, plums, pears
Goat Cheese

Toppings:
Maple syrup or maple butter
Chocolate
Honey


IDEAS FOR SAVORY CREPES:
cheese – swiss, strong cheddar, mozzarella, goat
legumes – asparagus, spinach, arugula, mushrooms,
meats – honey maple ham, bacon, pepperoni

Toppings:
- PURE maple syrup! It is a Quebec tradition to put pure maple syrup on savory crepes,
and what a tradition it is. Give ‘er a go.

Let Them Eat Cake!!!!!

“I want to have my cake, eat it, and have everyone tell me I lost weight”

This hilariously extended expression, alluding to the impossible, may not be that far out of the ballpark for people with gluten intolerance and Celiac disease. Affecting approximately one in one hundred North Americans, it is estimated that only 3% of gluten intolerant people are actually diagnosed with the allergy. That means that thousands of North Americans are still living with the odd and seemingly unconnected symptoms – bowel and indigestion problems, fatigue, nausea, canker sores, skin rashes and depression, to name a few.

Although it is my full-fledged intention to create a food blog for people with gluten intolerance and Celiac disease, it is of course necessary to introduce myself, elaborate upon the condition, and convince all new followers that gluten free food is not only unbelievably delicious, but it may have the power to change your whole perspective on life.

My name is Kristen O’Sullivan, and I love food. As a young child, I used to sit at our kitchen table during mealtimes, and hum my way through each bite. Yes, I know faces of young children often light up when given fast food, cakes and candies, or maybe if you’re lucky, their favourite meal at home that just happens to be somewhat healthy. My face (and my vocal chords) would brighten immediately before any meal – I’d sing my way through spaghetti, tap my fork and knife to the tune of beef goulash, and perform a descant when it came to the savouries, such as lemon rosemary chicken on the BBQ, complemented with garlic mashed potatoes.

As I was munching away, my mother was suffering with symptoms of Celiac disease. She has recently shared with me that stomach/intestinal/bowel malfunctions, canker sores, and chronic fatigue kept her in the bathroom for hours, convinced she had some unknown cancer that no one could diagnose. This was the mid-1990’s, and gluten intolerance was considered an extremely rare and under researched condition. When she did finally get diagnosed, her own research and meetings with nutritionists left her eating scrambled eggs for three months straight. Now, I love my eggs with goat cheese, mushrooms, bacon and asparagus, but even that concoction for three months in a row will send your sanity and your cholesterol through the roof!!!

With small gains being made in the medical realm of gluten intolerance during the last few decades, we learned as a family that Celiac is a genetic condition and can be passed from parent to child. My mother (Sue, as we can affectionately refer to her from this point forward), frantically rushed my perfectly healthy brother and me to our respective family doctors to have the proper antibody testing (blood work). I was twenty years old at the time. My younger brother and I secretly celebrated when both of our tests came back negative – and headed back to Montreal where we were studying at university and eating olive bread sandwiches from Première Moisson.

Last summer (2008), I was living the life of a francophile in Quebec City – teaching English, serving ice cream in Vieux Quebec, and frolicking on the plains of Abraham with friends. Oh yeah – and I was sick as hell. Every morning I would wake up feeling nauseous, unable to even look at a bowl of cereal. Testing negative for Celiac three years earlier, I immediately crossed it off my list of maladies. Having moved in with the boyfriend for the first time, I began to worry I might be pregnant (probably worsening my actual health and mental condition). We were eating healthy, and I was averaging twenty kilometers on my bike every day. An atheist, I began to pray – not to some God, but just to anyone. This became a ritual before I went to sleep, but every morning I was disappointed. I eventually started ignoring the way my body felt, and focused on my summer, and my upcoming move to Toronto.

Things only got worse. In Toronto, my condition seemed to get slightly better, but every week or so there would be a sudden attack. I would wake up exhausted, and nauseated, with grey looking skin and baggy eyes. My boyfriend began examining the various shade of purpley-blue under my eyes every night, and commenting on the spectrum of colour. Sometimes my professors would tell me how tired I looked, and I would get pretty offended. Between the months of November and January, I had to go on antibiotics four times for sinus infections. On top of that, I had a cold or the flu every three weeks, like clockwork. Then in January, I started to feel sad, everyday. I would wake up, and immediately feel like I wanted to cry. I knew I didn’t want to be upset but I couldn’t help it – nothing in particular was triggering these emotions. Eventually, my doctor (after I asked) booked me an endoscopy – photographs and scrapings of the stomach liner, and a referral to a gastroenterologist.

I walked into my procedure, decidedly without anesthetic, and feeling naked in an open-back robe. As the nurse was preparing the equipment and reiterating how brave I was for staying awake, in walked who I now refer to as hot, hot Dr. Green. He began with the standard questions: age, family history, etc. He then moved on to why I was being scoped. I meekly suggested that for the past eight months, I’d been feeling sick and tired, and my family doctor couldn’t figure out why. I mentioned that my mother and maternal grandfather have Celiac disease, although my blood work had returned negative a few years back. He stopped looking at his clipboard, immediately made eye contact and stated with confidence, “oh, don’t worry. If your blood work was negative, there is no way you have Celiac disease”. He then proceeded to convince me that camping in Quebec may have caused bacterial infections that can last for months. I can’t lie. His beauty and doctoral aura left me feeling assured. I probably had pasta for dinner.

Three weeks later, I had just returned to my apartment with four friends, two large pizzas, apricot beer and Edward Burtynsky’s Manufactured Landscapes. The phone rang just as we were getting settled. It was Sue, and she sounded funny. You know the type of phone call – either a family member has died, they’ve lost their job, or in the case of my family, it could just mean you’ve screwed up big time. I called her out on her funny tone, bracing myself for finding out I hadn’t paid my visa bill, or something of the like.

“Well, as I thought, you have Celiac”

I was dumbfounded. And pissed. The two together – pissed and dumbfounded. I don’t really remember the rest of the conversation, or the movie, or how good those last slices of pizza with goat cheese, green olives and sun dried tomatoes tasted.

But the next morning, I woke up feeling a little relieved. This diagnosis meant a couple of things. One, I wasn’t a hypochondriac. Two, there was a reason for all of my symptoms, and I had the power to make them go away. Three, I already had a support team – my mom, my close friends who are amazing chefs, and a boyfriend who by now has learned as much as I have about Celiac – and who came up with a creative title for those who promote awareness about the condition: “celiactivist”.

Except for one more massive sinus infection a week after I got diagnosed, my symptoms have diminished drastically. There are still days I feel sick, and tired. However I haven’t had a cold, the flu, or a sinus infection for three months. My itchy patches of skin disappeared. My attitude towards my life has changed immensely.

But being Celiac is no piece of cake - literally. You probably can’t eat half of the things you see in your grocery store (skip the cereal section, the bakery, the pre-made frozen foods, the cracker isle, and most of the sauces). But what you can do is discover the world of foods, including alternative grains and flours, that is at your disposal. Spending the time to make meals from scratch takes effort, but it’s also wildly rewarding, economical and environmentally friendly.

The second weekend of my diagnosis I packed up my bags and headed up to Kingston for some TLC. I visited a good friend of mine, Ms. Debbie Lobbazoo, a brilliant sociologist and mad cook on the side. Together, we made a variety of gluten free and lactose free foods (most Celiacs are also lactose intolerant, at least for a few months after diagnosis. This is due to the damage in the intestines). We caught up over soy lattes, simmered spicy sausage paella while sipping red wine, and ate our “famous Canadian breakfast” – peanut butter and jelly French toast made with cinnamon rice bread and Deb’s grandfather’s pure smoky maple syrup. With a special flour mix created by my Nana, we came up with this fine delight:

Gluten Free Lemon Cake – “Let them eat cake!!!”


1 cup unsalted butter (room temperature)
*You can substitute one cup of canola oil if you are following a lactose free diet

1 cup granulated white sugar

4 large eggs

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract (make sure the vanilla in your cupboard is safe by calling the company)

One package of lemon pudding mix

2 cups of Nana’s Flour Mix (see below for recipe)

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

Zest of 1 large lemon

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice (grate the lemon for the rind, then squeeze out the juice)

1 cup confectioners’ sugar, sifted

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Oil a 9-inch spring form pan. Like all other cake mixtures, you can turn this cake into a bunt loaf, or cupcakes, if you so desire.

Cream together butter and sugar in a mixing bowl, or an electric mixer if you have one. Add in one egg at a time, until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add in your vanilla extract and lemon zest.

Sift together your dry ingredients – the flour mixture, baking powder and salt. Slowly add this to your wet ingredients, along with the lemon juice, Mix just until both parts have incorporated into one another.

Using a flat spatula, pour your mixture into your pan and smoothen it out. Place it in the oven, and bake for approximately 45 minutes, or until a knife comes out clean

Icing

Sift your confectioners’ sugar with two tablespoons of fresh lemon juice. Your consistency should look like a glaze, and should run over the side of the cake when poured on).

Pour over your fresh cake. Allow enough time to harden before serving

*If you make this cake right before serving, put it in the fridge for 10-15 minutes to allow the icing to harden. You can make the cake in advance, and store it in a sealed container. The cake will last for several days in the fridge.

Nana’s Flour Mixture

I whip up this mixture in mass, so I always have it on hand when baking. You can find all of its components in the gluten free section of Canadian Bulk Barn stores.

6 cups white rice flour
3 cups potato starch
1 cup tabioca flour
10 teaspoons of guar gum

Suggestions:

Not all recipes call for guar gum. You can wait and put it in when you’ve found a baked good you’d like to try out, however I always just put it in my flour mixture at the beginning. Guar gum is a great source of fiber, and fiber is often lacking in gluten free diets due to our dietary restrictions such as bran.

Speaking of fiber, you can substitute brown rice flour, or use half and half. I find this works best for baked goods that are savory (cheese biscuits for example, but not chocolate chip cookies)