We’re two for two – twice baking using flour, twice we see evidence that the Mister got “glutened.”
I can’t use wheat flours in my kitchen anymore. Gluten cross-contamination has presented itself as a problem.
This is hard to keep up with.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I just open the flour container and a plume of flour poufs into the air. When I make bread, flour coats every inch of counter space. Then, I wipe it up with the kitchen towels and sponges, and maybe after that they’re not particularly dirty so I’ll use them for the rest of the day to dab other areas of the kitchen. I’ll touch the cabinet knobs and sink handles with dough hands.
We’re learning just how sensitive The Mister’s gluten intolerance really is. And I’m realizing that he can’t handle trace amounts of flour everywhere. Gluten cross-contamination is sneaky. He can’t avoid what he can’t see. It’s an ambush.
As of today, we’re now a flour-free kitchen, which makes me sad. Baking makes memories.
My kids call their great-grandma “cinnamon roll Grandma,” because it’s their thing when she visits. They make a big pan of cinnamon rolls right before she leaves, and they enjoy them all week.
I grew up spending a lot of time with my Italian grandmother. Oh yes, there was homemade bread and lots of it.
Breadmaking is something my kids and I enjoy to do together. They’ll actually cooperate, both wanting to get their hands gooey. We knead, we laugh, we make amazing smells in the kitchen.
And it can’t continue. Not in my house, anyway.
I know, I could learn to bake gluten-free goodies and we can laugh and get our hands doughy just like we did before. But we’re more likely to do without bread and such than have sandy, fake-tasting baked goods. Because that’s what I’ve found the replacement foods to be – a whole lot of yuck.
Maybe I’ll find some recipes out there worth making.