An Open Letter To Gluten-Free Sceptics

Originally post on Medium 24/03/2021

Dear Gluten-Free Sceptics,

I write this on behalf of all of my compatriots who would like to eat without grisly consequences. I’d like to reiterate that we are, for the most part, not trying to be “trendy” or being fussy.

We’re hungry and you won’t like us when we’re hungry.

Imagine the scene, you’re sitting down in a restaurant, and planning to have a romantic dinner with your beloved. The candles are lit, the table linen is immaculate and you’ve managed to stop talking about the kids or the cat. You are divested of responsibilities for a few hours (maybe the whole night if you have pleased the babysitting gods) and can do the fun bits of being an adult. Namely drinking, nice food, and flirting as oppose to working and cleaning.

Who knows what it could lead to if only you can both stay awake that long?

Let’s face it, it’s hard to flutter your eyelashes at your other half to the soundtrack of Dinotrux and demands for Pom Bears. Or Dreamies and mouse murder for that matter.

Anyway, you are (to borrow a phrase from Micky Flannagan) “Out Out.”

Admittedly this has not happened for a very long time as my area of the UK has been either in Tier 3 or full lockdown since September. Yes, I may sob indecorously at the table the next time I’m allowed into a restaurant. I can picture the ugly tears and the theatrical wails of “I’M SO HAPPY TO BE OUT” while blowing my nose noisily, much to the chagrin of my fellow diners.

Because you’re not one of those people who turns up to a tortilla chip restaurant and gets upset because “they are allergic to crunchy” and feels discriminated against, you mentioned when you booked that one of you has to follow a gluten-free diet. All is apparently well.

However, when you mention the aforementioned GF menu, the server attempts to maintain a veneer of professionalism, which fails to disguise the sudden jolt of fear that they are experiencing.

The Food Allergy Bible

In horror, you realise that they aren’t going to hand you a printed piece of paper with your options on. You are about to be presented with “the book”. For reference, this is roughly the size and weight of a medieval cathedral bible and contains about 4,500 tables detailing the allergen content of each dish and every single available combination thereof.

It is placed on your bistro table with a resounding thud and the table's legs groan suspiciously. The server, drenched in sweat from lugging this monstrous tome from its hiding place, visibly wobbles from the effort and staggers off.

(For some reason, no-one can ever find this item at the first attempt, even though it’s roughly the size of a Fiat 500.)

You still end up ordering a weird melange of sides and starters, largely because you are confused, hungry and have probably thrown 3/4 of wine into yourself on an empty stomach (while watching your other half trough a basket of gloriously fresh bread and butter). At the end of the night, you are smashed, skint, and still up for eating one of your own arms. You eat your body weight in ready salted crisps in the next bar.

When you get the “you don’t eat wheat/bread/most oats/rye” raised eyebrow of disbelief, this is enormously triggering to your average non-gluten eater. Because we love it, and it does not love us back.

Firstly, the thing is most of us would love you lucky, lucky people to know is that being gluten-free is torture if you’ve got no choice in the matter. The culinary equivalent of burning bamboo under the toenails.

I’ve been both fortunate to have been in France on holiday and unfortunate enough to have been gluten-free in France on holiday in the last few years. Patisseries rammed with Profiteroles, Tart Tartin, Madeleines, beautiful tartlets, and glossy strawberry confections on a base of perfectly piped choux pastry. Pure hell.

When I see someone with a particularly handsome croissant, I want to wrestle them to the ground and gnaw it from their hand. I weep on bakery steps. Internally we are all weeping. We are not being awkward.

Or possibly I have anger issues and am emotionally unstable. It’s possible. (Growls).

Secondly, Gluten-free bread and products can be quite rubbish as a rule.

GF Bread has two settings when making toast — “Ghostly white” and “Cremated”. Some of it even squeaks when you bite into it like you’re chomping on polystyrene or an unfortunate vole. It either has no structural integrity or has too much, an experience not unlike biting into a Ham Salad discus. Many GF ales taste like lemon-scented floor cleaner and disappointment. It’s not nice, anyone who puts them through this by choice is mad if you ask me. Trendy we are not, but generally hungry and sad and mad is another matter.

Thirdly, if you ever do this to us again, it would wise to advise you that humans are GF and because we can’t buy snacks willy-nilly like you lot, if driven to it there’s a possibility that we’ll eat you out of desperation.

Thanks for listening!

TDD xx