Gluten-Free Banana Nut Bread Recipe

Warm from the oven gluten-free banana nut bread. Just a fad?

Gluten-Free Banana Nut Bread

As Celiac Awareness Month dawns I thought I might celebrate with a banana bread recipe. This is a banana bread so tasty, tender and fragrant, you won't care it is gluten-free. And you might even tempt the naysayers. And the unbelievers.

You know who I'm talking about.

Out there in the cold cruel world, Darling, some folks apparently (still) view our gluten-free lifestyle through a jaded foodie lens, believing, first of all, that gluten-free anything is never going to taste anything but awful, and second, that this whole gluten-free trend (their word not mine) is a fad not worthy of serious consideration and compassion. Apart from the standard (and always brief) lip service that non-afflicted food writers, non-GF bloggers and journalists pay to celiac disease, adhering to the medical treatment that is a gluten-free diet is degraded- for that sexy topical hook- to a "bandwagon". An eating disorder.

A diet by choice.

They dub it a controversy. 

As my twelfth year of living gluten-free marches on, I find myself reflecting not upon the decade plus years living gluten-free, but upon the ten long years prior to shunning gluten- the decade it took me (no thanks to the medical profession) to determine that gluten was the culprit behind my early onset autoimmune cataracts, mysterious low ferritin levels, skin rashes, migraines, fat malabsorption and impressive marathon stints in the loo- I feel the slow, sad burn of anger those of us who are dismissed experience.

Two bloggers referenced the gluten-free diet on a social networking site recently, bragging about their "iron stomachs" and their ability to chow down on everything (this implies that those of us unable to ingest gluten merely have "sensitive" digestion). I was reminded of a previous post I wrote in response to a blogger's remark that gluten-free is "too precious".

Ignorance is bliss, indeed.

Here's the thing. It's not a sensitive vs iron stomach issue. It's not an I-can-eat-anything-so-bring-on-the-butter-and-bacon-and-haggis issue. It's not about macho appetite. Or virtue. Or squeamishness.

It's not philosophical.

It's not emotional.

It's not about preciousness.

Or garnering attention.

Or skinny jeans.

It's about a cruel quirk in genetics.

If you won the luck of the draw in the genetic lottery and escaped- by no effort of your own- inheriting HLA-DQ2 or HLA-DQ8, the two genetic haplotypes that predispose you to an autoimmune disease that triggers your body's defense system to attack itself, destroying the nutrient-grabbing lining of your small intestine, be humble. Be thankful. Your body works. You do not have to be vigilant about every crumb that goes into your mouth. In your world gluten does not increase your risk for Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. A bagel is not dangerous. You can eat what you crave when you are hungry. You can wing it when you travel, feeling carefree and adventurous. You can sample new cuisine on a whim- without asking about the ingredients. Food for you is fun. Romantic. Perhaps, even a passion.

Thank your small intestine.

And while you're at it, thank your pancreas, too.

Because those with Type 1 diabetes (another genetic autoimmune disease, one that destroys the insulin-producing islet cells in the pancreas) must also be vigilant about their diet. Along with injecting insulin, Type 1 diabetics must also limit (if not shun) certain foods to protect their health, making careful, low glycemic choices day after day.

But maybe that's a fad, too. Maybe their pancreases are just sensitive. Maybe a diabetic child is merely craving attention, just like her celiac cousin. Maybe a mother learning how to cook a meal with low glucose is coddling her child, too. Maybe all autoimmune diseases are just a silly trend. The Fad Du Jour.

I hear celiacs and diabetics are wicked sexy.

Well, that part may be true.


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Crunchy Almond Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies

Crunchy almond butter cookies.

Crunchy Almond Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies

Our latest variation on a theme- crunchy almond butter chocolate chip cookies. Why another gluten-free chocolate chip cookie recipe? There are so many reasons, Darling. In fact, where do I begin? First. The obvious. The duh. One can never have too many cookie recipes. Especially in our polite, don't want to make a fuss, look-don't-taste universe when one has to live gluten and dairy free, shunning wheat flour, cream and butter. Declining pink birthday party cupcakes and adorable custard tartlets and cream cheese on bagels and examining every ingredient label ad infinitum. 

How do we survive in a culture that promotes our poison everywhere we turn? 

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Gluten-Free Focaccia Recipe with Garlic + Tomato

Gluten-free focaccia recipe- with tomato, herbs and garlic.

Italian Flatbread for a Blue Moon

When my husband and I were on our honeymoon we ate focaccia every morning for breakfast. After a few cappuccinos, that is. Six between us. To fortify us for the walk across the piazza to the tiny bakery. After all, we were in Italy. Doing what you do in Italy.

Wake up.

Rub the garlic infused sleep from your eyes.

Pull on your jeans.

Walk to the local espresso bar.

Zip.

Boom.

Buon giorno!

The always smiling owner of the Podere Villuzza would greet us every morning on our way out the door, wishing us, Good day, for your blue moon!

I am thinking about our honeymoon today because our anniversary just passed. March is our month. And this time around marked our eighteenth. [How is that even possible?]

In so many ways we are just getting started. It still feels new. Even through the toughest years- in New Mexico, the most difficult of our marriage. The most isolated. We wonder aloud over root beer and popcorn how we got through it, how we wandered into that commitment, buying that tiny casita in the middle of an empty, windswept desert. On impulse. Investing all we had in curved adobe walls and tile floors tough enough to break a hip on.

We look into each others eyes for answers.

There are none.

We were bewitched, I tell my husband. We were infatuated. With the light. The summer monsoon skies. The smell of roasting chile. It was a seduction. The desert pulled us in and whispered stories in our ear, weaving her magic like a smoke screen, letting us feel as if we belonged there. Soothing our east coast gringo fears that it might be rough giving up our roots, our community, the quick jaunt to fetch the morning newspaper, grab an espresso, or browse in a book store.

We believed in the power of space and sky. We imagined inspiration dripping from our pores in the sandpaper heat. We embraced the notion of alchemy and willingly submitted ourselves to burn, trusting the process.

It worked for Georgia O'Keeffe.

Be careful of your heroes, I've learned. Choose carefully. I identified so strongly with Georgia- her strength, her depression, her stubbornness. Her colors. The way she painted the world. It all felt so intimate and true, so deep down familiar. And so for years I spun a narrative in my associative brain. A dream of the painted desert and her earthy pigments. Images of mud huts and fierce blue sky. A belief these imaginings were destiny, a trust that I was meant to live in New Mexico, that it was here I would find my home.

Because I have never felt at home.

Except in my husband's grasp. The first time I shook his hand I knew. He was my country. And so we sit together and sift through possibilities once more, this time more sober. This time without the flush and dazzle of infatuation. We speak of dreams gingerly now. Step by step. We examine and turn over each impulse looking for the hidden. The unconsidered.

It took almost three years to sell the casita. We lowered our price. And lowered it again. To less than what we paid for it. We swept it clean every time the realtor called for a showing. We baked cookies to fill the kitchen with vanilla and spice. We crossed our fingers.

The truth is we fell out of love- not with each other- but with the desert. Why she clung to us we do not know. They like to say in Santa Fe that the desert pulls you in like a magnet, and if you don't belong she spits you out. The night I fell and broke my hip- the night that changed how I navigate the world- forever- I said to Steve-- She has spit me out.

Today in our Connecticut (rented) barn studio I stack unopened jars of paint next to a bundle of clean brushes and palette knives. I pick through memories. I think about beginnings. Our blue moon in Italy. Biting into tender, fresh baked breads scented with garlic and adorned with fresh tomatoes. I decide it's time to bake a focaccia. Like the ones we ate in San Gimignano. Before we set down roots. Before we ever bought a house.

I turn to my husband and tell him, I'm going to bake a focaccia today.

And from now on?

Let's rent first.


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Maple Sweetened Almond Zucchini Mini-Muffins

Just sweet enough, gluten-free zucchini mini-muffins with espresso.

Maple Sweetened Almond Zucchini What?

Temptation. A to Z. Almond flour and zucchini mini-muffins sweetened only with pure maple syrup. That's right. No cane sugar. Almond flour and bourbon vanilla bring their subtle, natural sweetness to gluten-free muffin recipes, so why cloak it with a heavy dose of sugar? And adding a lip-smacking kiss of ginger wakes up the zucchini (which tends to fall asleep in baking recipes, due to utter lack of commitment and verve).

I've added quinoa flakes for extra protein, and brown rice flour to round out the whole grains. For those of you watching your pie-roll-enhancing white carbs, there is only a small bit of tapioca starch, four tablespoons to be exact, divided between twenty-four mini-muffins. Tapioca starch gives these whole grain based muffins some welcome lift. Now the only hitch is, don't eat all twenty-four at once, Darling.

Tell yourself you're only going to eat one.

Well, maybe two.

Don't think about three.

Or imagine four.

Because that fourth delectable bite of nary a muffin- really, it's only a tease of a muffin- might stir your desire for a fifth.

And the next thing you know, half the mini-muffin pan is empty.

And you are standing, wide-eyed and innocent, brushing baby sized crumbs off your chin, when your husband swings around the corner into the sunlit kitchen and inhales, declaring, Sweet Tapdancing Shiva, it smells good in here! What did you bake?

And thinking lickity-split fast you tell him, I made a dozen almond flour zucchini mini-muffins.

Want to try one?




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Lemon Infused Gluten-Free Pasta Salad with Grilled Asparagus and Herbs

A light, lemony vegan pasta salad. Gluten-free.

Lemon Pasta Salad for Summer

To speak about something as prosaic as pasta salad seems downright ho-hum. I mean. It's just a pasta salad. It's something I tossed together with stuff I had on hand. I hadn't planned on it. I didn't spend days contemplating the ins and outs and quirks of gluten-free brown rice penne. In fact, if I'm being unabashedly honest here I rarely think about food at all.

Until I'm hungry.


Until those familiar, nagging pangs begin gnawing their pesky little way into my consciousness, distracting me from my preferred, visual nomenclature- which rarely includes anything edible.

I daydream about paint, the plight of bees, and Clint Mansell's score for Moon. I notice the temperature of light and the curve of negative space against a jar of old spoons. I think about expectations and illusions and perceptions. I ponder where my soul is taking me, tugging at me to pay attention to my life, inviting me through dreams and the random snippets of music or ideas or theories that skitter and skate and ripple the mental stream I wade in day after day, to consider time itself- if I believe in it- sliding by in a cool constant flow of now.

I rarely eat breakfast. I often forget lunch. And dinner time always surprises me. As if each day takes figuring out all over again how to live (to paraphrase the Deadwood Zen master David Milch).

This doesn't mean I don't appreciate good food. Or that I hate to cook (well, some days I am less than enthusiastic). I loathe junk food and processed food. I can't take credit for this- it's simply the way I'm built, the way my body so pointedly rejects any easy, packaged fix.

Even before I discovered gluten intolerance and FODMAPs I knew on some instinctual level that in order to keep this body of mine healthy and strong for the here and now I have to pay it some attention. I know I have to eat. And eat consciously.

And so I find myself rummaging in the little white painted cupboard that is my pantry.

And I find a box of brown rice penne.

In the fridge I locate a fistful of spring asparagus.

One lemon.

A few sprigs of dill, marjoram, parsley and mint.

The rest is history.

Now in my belly.

Fuel for instigating thoughts of rebirth, fragility, and the particular pink that is ranunculus.


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Karina's Gluten-Free Blueberry Flax Muffins

Gluten-free blueberry flax muffins- totally our new fave.

Seven years ago we left Cape Cod for our gypsy adventure. We sold the sofa, kitchen table, and boxes of cookbooks. We recycled toys and jeans and an old PC. The open road was calling. And we listened.

The western sky hung big and blue above the high desert arroyos of New Mexico. It felt as deep and wide as an ocean. We thought this signaled home. But I missed the sea more than I ever could have guessed. So we moved to Los Angeles and tried on four different neighborhoods in as many years. I grew adept at packing and shedding and shelved my books by color. I luxuriated in each and every hour spent with my two grown sons. A gift, each shared coffee date. Movie night. Christmas dinner.

But Los Angeles was never my home. Its culture felt as walled off to me as the adobe and iron gates in Santa Fe. I felt invisible. And irrelevant. And undernourished. My feminine soul was starving.

And so I turned my gaze East again. It somehow felt right. And I found us a temporary nest, an antique barn studio in a post card worthy Connecticut village where I had lived as a child. Here, I paint. I write. I bake blueberry muffins. I listen to rivers curving through woods. I inhale the fog. It smells like pine. It is quiet here. And the pace is more to my liking. 

But it is not by the sea. I cannot walk the flats at low tide. I have no place to hang sheets in the ocean breeze.

The Cape is calling.

Like the long and winding road that tugged me West, the tidal rhythms of living on the Cape are infusing my dreams with the colors of sea glass and bayside creeks. There is sand in my boots from our trip last week and I cannot bring myself to shake it out.

If you are a fortune teller, adept at reading signs, speak now or forever hold your peace.


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My Top Three Asparagus Recipes - Gluten-Free and Vegan

Spring asparagus at the farmers' market

Asparagus. The Queen. 

Elegant, fresh- and addictive. For many of us, the primavera arrival of asparagus is big news. Huge. Exciting. We simply can't get enough. You see, there is something magical about asparagus. Maybe it's the sexy reputation. Isabelle Allende describes asparagus as phallic in her memoir, Aphrodite, describing gardens lush with it, and stalks thick as trees. She throws in a few maidens with obvious oral fixations and well. You can guess the rest.

To be honest, the whole thick as a tree trunk thing, though, is a bit much.

Big stalks? Not gonna impress me. I tend to gravitate to the slender young asparagus, myself. The slimmer the better, in my gluten-free part of the world. Why? I barely cook them. It's more like a coaxing. A gentle flash in the pan with some fruity olive oil and a kiss of balsamic vinegar. A pinch of sea salt. Nothing fancy. Keeping them tender-crisp is the key to maximum enjoyment-- for me. But I know some folks prefer long, slow roasting. 

And that's what makes the world go 'round, darling. 

We can all love asparagus in our own way. And you don't have to be a vegan or a vegetarian to fall madly in love with this divine little vegetable. I've witnessed many a devoted omnivore fall prey to its tender charms. In fact, asparagus brings people together who might otherwise deride and mock each other. Pork belly munchers and veg-heads alike can set aside their divisive passions  and unite in true asparagus bliss. In fact, unabashed asparagus love could be the key to world peace.

So today, to celebrate this humble vegetable in all its gluten-free vegan glory, I am sharing my three favorite asparagus recipes. Swoon worthy, all.

Asparagus with Maple Tahini Dressing and Sea Salt

This easy vegan recipe is a lovely appetizer or side dish. Serve warm stalks as finger food and use the dressing as dip. How sexy is that?

Asparagus Leek Risotto

Lucky for us, risotto is gluten-free. And you can serve it to company without apologies. It's elegant. It's creamy. Super good. Those Italian goddesses who cooked up the first batch of risotto knew a thing or two.

Sexy Spring Pasta with Roasted Asparagus

One of my favorite spring meals- beautiful quinoa linguine topped with roasted asparagus, mushrooms, and tomatoes. Sometimes I add leeks or red onion. Always garlic- and chopped basil and mint. Heavenly.

More asparagus recipes from food bloggers:

Andrea Meyers: Roasted Asparagus with Orange Ginger Glaze
Kalyn's Kitchen: Pan-Fried Asparagus Tips with Lemon Juice
Simply Recipes: Roasted Asparagus
Perfect Pantry: Risotto with Shrimp and Asparagus 
101 Cookbooks: Asparagus Salad
Go Dairy-Free: Asparagus Soup
Food Blogga: How to Select, Store and Cook with Asparagus
Daily Diatribe: Mediterranean Halibut + Asparagus
Foods for Long Life: Vegan and Gluten-Free Asparagus Shiitaki Mushroom Stir Fry

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Gluten-Free Fudgy Brownie Cupcakes

Fudgy Brownie Cupcake Love

Chocolate brownies were the first gluten-free dessert I attempted after shunning gluten forever and rebooting my life back in 2001. And I admit up front I used a mix. A gluten-free brownie baking mix (one of two available at the time). It was based on rice flour, starches and cocoa powder. And it wasn't terrible. A touch gummy, perhaps. A bit rice-y (you know what I mean- with that rice cooker aroma?). But they were sweet. And they were chocolate.

For that alone, I was grateful.

Yet.

I was (to be honest) unsatisfied. There had to be a way to bake a better tasting gluten-free brownie. A brownie that tasted fudgy and rich, and not like a cheap chocolate pudding mix.

Hence these Dark Chocolate Brownies were born, using real, melted dark chocolate. And the recipe remains a favorite- tweaked and adjusted over the years to accommodate my dairy-free reboot in 2007 (see all of my gluten-free dairy-free recipes here).

Lately we've been experimenting with baking brownies in a cupcake tin. Just for a change-up. We felt like tweaking again. We're using Baker's chocolate now (semi-sweet and unsweetened). And we're favoring hazelnut flour. We boosted the baking soda a tad. When they bake they rise and fall and crack like little flourless chocolate cakes.

We'll be taking these little beauties to Cape Cod this week. My husband is teaching an oil painting workshop. Road trip!

Have brownies will travel.



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