No regrets un-gluten whole house. Out of house, things more complicated.
O.O.H. Family gluten policy organically has become:
- BUBS: zero.
- BIGFOOT: zero if Bubs present* & usually zero anyway.
- JOE: zero if Bubs present*/Bigfoot remind w. hairy eyeball.
- JACK: carte blanche.
So what if, en route flu shot, happen upon parking spot directly in front of crowded little cafe? What if nab parking spot, confident GF cookie or muffin therein, because modern day times/slightly hip cafe, ask Bubs pre-bolus 2u and find inside, case of sweets—sure, dazzling/modern—zero items marked GF ? What if counter person is vaguely known mom of school friend? What if ask counter person: any GF items? Counter person: Well, we have a wonderful beef and bean chili and also an outstanding butternut squash lentil soup simultaneous Jack states: I think I’d like the red velvet cake. Would that be OK?
What if, re cake, tell Jack sure, because OOH policy = carte blanche. Ask counter person: Do you have any gluten free sweets? Maybe those macaroons? Counter person: Um, yeah, those are gluten free. But what if feel unconvinced by voice tone and also proximity/shared plate with jam tarts & assoc. crumbs? What if Bubs face glaze over, robot voice: It’s okay. I won’t have anything. [Bigfoot, to self: that will require five rolls of Smarties. Do I have five?] And Jack (more embarrassed Bigfoot gluten-questions/presence than usual, because counter person is acquaintance’s mother) murmur: Mom, maybe we should go somewhere else, meanwhile slab red velvet already on plate and Bubs see little Kinder bars and I guess I could have this? Bigfoot: yes.
At table, discrepancy in treat glory level painfully obvious. (Not include poor Bigfoot mere glass tap water.) After few bites, Jack: This isn’t very good. I’m going to throw it away. Bubs: Yeah, can we go? Spontaneous food treat gone horribly wrong. Everyone sad.
Exit cafe; gray day turns into rainy day. While dodge raindrops/unlock car, Jack hand Bigfoot hollow-feeling brown bag. Cake in box in bag. I just felt guilty throwing it away in front of Name’s mom. I didn’t want her to think I was, you know, a cake snob.
Then flu shots. Then home. Bubs trot inside/hello dog. Meanwhile, in driveway, Jack cramming cake into face. Mom, this cake is really good, I just didn’t want to eat it in front of him.
1. Why stop to buy kids cookies on the way to the doctor anyway? Stop trying to be fun with cookies. That was the first misstep.
2. Don’t assume every new cafe has gluten free things and do a stupid pre-bolus. (Second misstep: misstep of doom.)
Questions for obsessive mulling:
1. Should Jack even be allowed to order gluten things when B’s with us?*
2. Bigger question/different issue: shouldn’t Jack be GF anyway, since it might help him avoid T1d for a longer (forever) time? I’m not really ready to consider this, but it keeps cycling to the front of my brain anyway. He relishes breaks from gluten restriction. I’d hate to take them away. What if, for each week of gluten free eating, he could have one of these (<—the 13-year-old’s Lego set equivalent)? And what if gluten’s making him sick? But no one knows. (If Alessio Fasano told you not to jump off of a bridge**, would you jump anyway?)
*Unless it’s someplace completely g/gf-equitable, like Providence Flatbread, where Bubs loves the GF crust and doesn’t care that he can’t have the extremely much more delicious, shatteringly crisp wheat crust.
**I.e. told you not to assume gluten/zonlunin/leaky gut leads to T1d, even though his research seems to be super-suggestive of this.