I wasn’t totally honest with you about those chocolate chip cookies a few weeks ago. I didn’t lie about their deliciousness (I’m not a monster). I still believe that everyone you feed them to will love them, and you. But when I said they would solve all your social problems, I was exaggerating. The truth is, sooner or later you’ll run into someone – like a vegan, or a person allergic to soy, gluten, dairy or chocolate – who can’t eat them. And then, your Lutheran cookie powers will be useless.
But when that happens, you mustn’t lose hope! There are other powers you can call upon. I’ll show you. I know I may seem like a simple prairie girl: facing the world with nothing but a church cookbook, a few pounds of butter, and a sweet, I-hope-she-doesn’t-realize-I-have-no-idea-what-‘fleek’-is smile. But I have a more sophisticated set of baking skills than you might think.
Over the years, I’ve trained with great food warriors. They have challenged me, educated me, and opened up whole new worlds of meal preparation. Now, I’m an allergen-eluding ninja.*
Gather round and give me your full attention (Or, like 2/3 of it if you’re killing time on the train. I don’t want you to miss your stop). I will tell you the story of my journey.
*OK, seeing it in print, I understand why “allergen ninja” isn’t a thing. Unless that was what Kill Bill was about? I’ve never actually watched it on account of my twin policies against decapitations and jumpsuits. Let me know if that sword Uma Thurman had in all the posters was actually for harvesting flax seed…
Chapter One: The Garden of Vegan
My training began the year after I graduated from college, when I joined the Lutheran Volunteer Corps. I’ve written about this before, but in case you didn’t read the prequel: LVC is a service organization that places volunteers in urban non-profits, where we work for less than minimum wage for one to two years. I was also assigned housing with four other volunteers. We met at the national orientation in Washington DC. Between seminars and workshops, we discussed how our “intentional community” would run once we moved into our house in Baltimore.
We agreed pretty quickly that dinner would be an important community time for us. I might have asked if anyone was vegetarian, so they’d know I was open-minded. My new housemate Morgan went tense. “Guys,” she said, avoiding eye contact, “I have something to tell you.”
“Are you a vegan?” our Californian housemate interrupted.
No, I thought, that can’t be it. Where I came from, vegans were so rare that I only encountered them on TV – like jet packs, and handsome architects looking for love.
“Yes!” Morgan burst, “I’m a vegan!”
I said: “Oh, that’s interesting” I thought: I guess we can’t be friends. It wasn’t that I didn’t approve of her lifestyle – I admired her commitment to her ideals. But, as previously discussed, my go-to friend-making method requires a half-pound of butter.
The rest of my housemates seemed unfazed. They maintained that we should still pool our food money and eat dinners together. Even though I felt daunted, I agreed. I knew it would make our community stronger if we explored the Garden of Vegan together.
Morgan turned out to be a generous, capable guide. That was good because all had a lot to learn. Allow me to pay homage to her teaching skills (and high tolerance for dumb questions) in the form of a training montage:
-Baltimore house dinner table-
Housemate: Vegans eat shrimp though, right?
Morgan: No, shrimp are animals.
Housemate: Really? They don’t look it.
-Baltimore house kitchen-
Me: (Stirring a pan of sauce on the stove) Morgan, I made you barbecue tofu!
Morgan: (Picking up bottle of Worcestershire sauce on the counter, that I just added to the sauce) This is made of fish.
Me: GOD NO WHY? I’ll never be a vegan ninja!
Morgan: (Comfortingly) It’s OK. That’s…not a thing.
-Dinner table-
Housemate: I forget. Can you eat shrimp?
-East coast retreat –
Dude who is good at ultimate Frisbee: I knew a guy who had this cousin who had a cat who watched a TV program about a guy who drank too much soy milk and grew boobs. Because of the estrogen.
Morgan: Um, what?
-Baltimore house living room-
I skeptically peruse Morgan’s library of cookbooks. The covers are graced by women with social-statement tattoos and asymmetrical haircuts. I agree with about 50% of the claims they make: Blended cashews are creamy like dairy. (Agree!) Dairy milk probably leeches calcium from your bones. (I’m not a scientist but…disagree?) Bananas or flax seed can substitute for eggs. (Agree. This helps me convert a bunch of recipes from home.) Tempeh can substitute for bacon, and vital wheat gluten has a “pleasantly meaty” texture. (Oxymoron. Non-animal foods are only ever “disturbingly meaty.”)
-Dinner table-
Housemate: What about shrimp, though?
-Baltimore house kitchen-
I make more and more successful vegan dishes like Pad Thai, vegetable dumplings and chili-glazed tofu. My crowning achievement is the successful veganization of my Lutheran cookie recipe from home. I make it animal product-free with non-dairy margarine, Trader Joe’s chocolate chips and flax seed.
I feel ready for anything.
Chapter Two: I’m Not Ready for Ryan.
I stayed in LVC for a second year and got a whole new batch of roommates. Once again, we met at the nation-wide orientation. This time I asked right away, “Does anybody have any dietary restrictions? Any vegans?” I explained that it was cool if they were since I already totally knew one, like, personally. Three of them were vegetarians, but no vegans.
I was just starting to daydream about original-recipe Lutheran cookies when Ryan spoke up: “Well, I don’t eat gluten.”
Again, “gluten sensitivity” was a condition I’d only encountered on TV. Like pre-wedding amnesia or the kind of sociopathy that makes you really good at solving mysteries.
So, no flour? I asked. He confirmed: No flour. My visions of chocolate chip dough balls evaporated. I guess we can’t be friends.
But then, I considered everything I’d experienced over the past year: I’d seen co-op bulk bins of whole grains stretched out as far as the eye can see, and glass bakery cases filled with egg-free cupcakes. I’d eaten cheese-less cheeze and not hated it. My food perspective was wider now. I knew I could find deliciousness in unlikely places, if I was willing to look hard enough.
I told Ryan we could figure it out. When he decided to stop eating dairy and soy a little while later, I didn’t change my mind.
I resumed my training.
Gluten-free baking posed new challenges. So much of what I knew about traditional baking – how thick a batter was supposed to be, how a cake should look and feel when done, which ingredients were crucial to measure exactly and which ones could be fudged – wasn’t applicable to gluten-free recipes. And even though I had gotten used to reading product ingredient lists when I was living with Morgan, I didn’t know yet about all of gluten’s favorite lurking-places.
One night I decided to make risotto with Kallie – the only other Minnesotan in the house. I was proud to have found a naturally gluten free recipe, and excited to show off my rice-stirring skills. Kallie and I took turns hovering over the pan on the stove. Ryan came into the kitchen and asked what we were making.
“Oh, just some risotto.” I said. “All it takes is rice, olive oil, bullion, and Kristi Yamagutchi-level technical and artistic proficiency with a ladle. But like, it’s no big deal. You only have to thank me the normal amount.”
Ryan said, “How did you find bullion without MSG?”
Kallie and I blinked at him with big, prairie eyes.
“MSG has gluten in it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ryan said sadly, “Monosodium glutamate.”
I clutched my head in my hands. OH GOD NO WHY?
Like Morgan, Ryan was a patient teacher and a kind eater. He gamely ate all my experiments. If you ask him, he’ll probably still insist that that one sinkhole-shaped birthday cake I baked wasn’t that bad. As with vegan baking, I got better over time. In February, I made wild rice cabbage rolls that Ryan said made him feel like he won a prize.
Sadly, this chapter doesn’t end in total victory. First, things got crazy – For a couple weeks, Ryan went back on gluten for medical testing purposes. I made it rain flour in the kitchen, and we reveled in a pretzel and dumpling-fueled bacchanal. (I think I’ve made it clear by now that I know how to party). Shortly after that though, Ryan decided to make his own meals. It seemed that the residual flour, soy and dairy on our communal cookware was enough to make him sick. I was sad I couldn’t cook for him anymore, but happy when he started feeling better. I was also happy that we continued to be friends, even without cookies between us.
And thanks to Ryan, I was truly ready for what came next.
Chapter Three: The Handsomest of Many Options
When I finished LVC I moved to a suburb of Chicago. For a little while it was thrilling to have sole ownership of a kitchen and grocery list. (Me at Aldi: “Mediterranean olive medley? WHY NOT I’M WORTH IT”). But before long, I missed having people to cook for. So I invited a couple friends – Tracey, my friend from high school and her husband Matthew – over. I enticed them with my deluxe entertainment system (a 20 inch television that I bought brand-new in 2005), white-knuckle live television (Dancing With the Stars), and of course, a homemade meal. It became a weekly event.
Soon, I met Tracey and Matthew’s college friend Sarah. One day, I was talking with the three of them about cooking in Baltimore. I said I lived with a vegan my first year, and a person who didn’t eat soy, dairy or gluten my second year.
“Hey, that’s just like me!” Sarah said. “I don’t eat soy, gluten or dairy either!”
I said: “That’s interesting!”
I thought: This is what I’ve been training for.
Now, Sarah comes to dinner every week with Tracey and Matthew. We all watch Dancing With the Stars (and Downton Abbey in the off season, or whatever other show your mom is super into) and I cook a gluten and dairy free meal. In addition, I have sneakily gathered intelligence on their likes and dislikes over years of casual conversation.* Banned ingredients include but are not limited to: Raw tomatoes, big chunks of onions, sweet potatoes, cherries, mushrooms of any kind, Mint and chocolate together (separately, they’re fine), and peanuts. And finally, during Lent, I don’t eat meat. Because, fine. Part of me likes to make things difficult.
To be clear, my dinner guests don’t impose preference-based restrictions. Like Ryan and Morgan, they are kind eaters who never complain about what I serve them. But I want them to like what I cook. These people aren’t trapped in a house with me, on a budget so tight that boneless chicken is a special-occasions-only treat. They have options.
I must be doing something right so far, because they keep coming back. And I don’t think it’s because of my bitchin’ antenna setup.
*Except for mushrooms. There is nothing casual about their hatred of mushrooms.
I haven’t yet achieved total mastery over allergen-free cooking. I am still startled by the quirks of certain ingredients, but I’m willing to keep experimenting and learning. (Hear that, rice flour? You bested me last time, but I will come for you again.)
Luckily, I don’t need “total mastery” to share good food with everyone I care about. (And everyone I’m lukewarm on, for that matter). I have simple, straightforward recipes in my arsenal for almost every diet. My favorite gluten-free recipe for cornbread is on the next page. It doesn’t require any special skills or knowledge to prepare. I encourage you to try it if you’re looking for a way to say, “I love you and I’m sorry I keep almost poisoning you” to the g-free person in your life.
The food warriors I’ve known have taught me that it’s possible to eat well on any diet. So if anybody out there is allergic to wheat, seafood, eggs, nuts, soy, and dairy all at the same time, come at me!
Sorry, I mean: come over for dinner. I’ll make falafel.
Sprinkle Fix 