Finding Foodister - stupid entry title for a stupid mishap

I can't eat gluten. Anything containing gluten makes me violently ill in that unique manner where my neighbors four houses down on either side can hear me. Thus, I've been forced to experiment with new recipes and cooking methods.

Normally I would find this fun. I used to experiment in the kitchen all the time, much to my father's chagrin. He hates anything odiferous - onions, garlic, puppy messes on the carpet, etc. I used to sneak onions into my recipes - "He likes them; he just doesn't know he likes them." And he'd spend the rest of the evening in the restroom paying for my experimenting. (Amazingly enough, he still speaks to me, and admits to being my father. Most of the time.)

Gluten-free experimenting is an expensive proposition. My grocery bill tripled once I had to eliminate gluten from my diet. I don't miss it much; it's hard to miss something that makes one dread each meal time.

But getting into cooler temperatures is going to prove tricky for my gluten-freeness. I subsist on stews, soups, cassaroles, etc. throughtout the cold winter months. I bake a large dish of macaroni and cream of chicken soup and eat it for the next week. Unfortunately, canned soups, cream of soups, and noodles all have gluten in them.

The noodles are easy to overcome - just buy rice or quinoa noodles (although cooking quinoa makes your kitchen smell like a barnyard for a few hours). But what to do about the soup base?

The many different flours available to the gluten-free person could, conceivably be sprinkled into gravies and soups as thickener, just as regular flour is used. However, potato starch, tapioca starch, and rice flour don't work real well. Either does soy flour. While healthy, soy flour has the texture of that powdered handsoap that used to be in the bathroom dispensers at my elementary school. Not that I ate that all that often. I might have, if it wasn't so...gritty.

Sitting at work the other day, I had a thought - beans! Like hummus! Grind up beans, and add a teensy bit of chicken broth, and that would be a great soup base!

I hurried home to bum a can of beans off of my neighbor.

"What kind of beans do you want?" she asked.
"What kind of beans do you have?"
She sighed. "What are you doing with the beans?"
"I'm mashing them up," I said. "I'm making soup."
"Soup."
"Yeah. I'm using it as a thickener. Flour doesn't work so well."
She nodded. "Good luck, my little inept cooker. Here's a can of garbanzos."

I stopped by my parents' to steal their blender. Which reminds me, I need to return it before they realize it's missing.

I opened the can of beans and drained it into the blender pitcher. The beans plinked to the bottom and settled around the blades. Oh, but you have no idea what you're in for, I told the beans.

I put the lid on (yay for me) and flicked the switch. Nothing.

Figures. My parents never use their blender. It's probably been broken for years. I started to pour out the beans so that I could mash them with a fork. Something dragged on the counter. The plug-in of the electrical cord.

Oh.

I replaced the pitcher into the base and plugged it in. I turned it on again, and it whirred to life.

The beans pureed beautifully.

"Excellent," I murmured. "Excellent."

I scooped the bean mush from the pitcher and put it into a saucepan. I added stewed vegetables and a little bit of broth. I stirred, watching the ingredients come together into happy, gastronomic harmony.

I divided the mixture into equal tupperwares and put them in the fridge for lunch.

The next morning, I pulled out the tupperware and loaded it into my lunchbox, along with a spoon. I refuse to eat off of the cutlery in the cafeteria. That's just asking for gonnorhea.

Come lunch time, I settled in with my masterpiece. I popped the lid from the tupperware.

"Hey, what do you have today?" my friend asked, looking over my shoulder. Before I could answer, she said:

"Oh. my. God. Is that vomit? Are you eating vomit?"

Yes. I spent several hours in the kitchen making vomit.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that healthcare workers look at everything with an eye toward bodily functions. I learned a long time ago to stop drinking apple juice from clear containers with the measurements printed on the side.