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Warm from the oven. My gluten-free peach cobbler recipe.

Is Mercury in retrograde? And if so, Darling, do I believe it can wreak havoc with recipes? I started out with a different approach to this peach cobbler recipe, you see. I thought I'd try out the new Betty Crocker Gluten-Free Bisquick mix I bought this week. I imagined a golden topped biscuity crust you could sink your teeth into, a melt-in-your-mouth forkful of shortcake, dripping with warm and sticky-sweet juice.

But what I got was a bone white mound of anemic dough (scarily reminiscent of Play Dough) baked into what can only be described as yesterday's mashed potatoes. It didn't even try to turn golden. And it didn't melt in your mouth like a biscuit. It just sat there on your tongue. Flavorless. Bored. Expecting to be admired without effort. Like those fame junkies who are famous for simply being famous. They haven't actually accomplished anything to garner their celebrity status. They just nurture a deeper narcissistic ambition than your average high school beauty queen. They expect adulation because they exist.

Like an awful lot of the gluten-free foods churned out by corporate entities.

They expect we'll fall to our knees with gratitude just because it sports two little words on its label. As if the virtue of being gluten-free is enough. Enough to get us to shell out almost seven hard earned dollars for two and a half cups of cheap refined starch and the privilege of convenience.

And don't get me wrong. I get the allure. I do.

I mean, you're standing there in the supermarket. It's late. You're hungry. And it's right there in front of you. Right next to the 40 acres of shiny wheat laden stuff you can't have. Ever. And those magic words: Gluten-Free! They sparkle. Someone up there in the land of corporate giants has heard of us! They validate you and your odd little disease.

We exist!

And hence, we may consume.

They are recognizing us now, Sweetpea, because we constitute a billion dollar windfall. The food industry has awakened to the perky reality TV version of celiac disease. And sure, I know. The argument is, It's all good. Any awareness is positive (even though the gluten-free diet may be in danger of losing street cred because of its faddish status with actresses who subscribe to its hyped promise of weight loss).

Can the drive for GF profit lead to better eating, though?

I'm not so sure. If the tepid taste of Betty Crocker's Bisquick is any indication, we have not come a long way, baby. Big companies use the cheapest ingredients they can to conjure stuff for the growing gluten-free demand. That means there's an awful lot of "old school gluten-free" going on (based on Bette Hagman's twenty-year old white rice flour and starch blend, perhaps?). G-free mixes and packaged foods use predominately refined white rice flour and inexpensive starches. A glut of empty calories.

Like @AutumnMakes tweeted yesterday, "...funny how it seems the big corps are years behind the everyday gluten-free bakers..."

Indeed. We humble home cooks have discovered the soft, lovely crumb of sorghum and almond flour. Gluten-free cornmeal and buckwheat. Our baking isn't dull or crumbly, dry, or without pizazz. Our flour choices reflect a preference for taste, texture and higher nutrition. And I think we're smarter than the average consumer.

So for now I'm going to continue to eschew the walk down the center food aisles (as Michael Pollan advises). I'll focus on my own gluten-free flour blends and eating whole foods daily.

And in a pinch, when some wild craving hits and I'm too tired to deal with three separate flour bags, I'll use a GF pancake mix (both small family companies who have been in our celiac corner from the beginning).

And I'll create my own cobbler topping, thank you.



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Decadent dairy-free hot fudge sauce. Vegan and gluten-free.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup coconut cream
2 tablespoons raw organic agave
5 ounces dark chocolate, in pieces
1/4 cup Kahlua (omit for alcohol-free)
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon bourbon vanilla extract

A rich, devil's food style chocolate layer cake for the holidays.

Angel Food, Devil's Style

Sharing food in winter is one of life’s quiet joys. As poet Edith Sitwell noted, “Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”

I contemplate her words and feel an ache that is dangerously flirting with longing. As we invest more and more of our (fleeting, precious!) time into our virtual lives, connecting not by touch or even by voice, but via endless shallow streams of social media- texting, downloading, uploading, scrolling through visual tidbits of other people’s lives (often strangers), privy to their breakfast, their political opinions, and goofy pictures of Fido and Kitty- I yearn to throw a party. To embrace the old fashioned ritual of baking from scratch, lighting candles, and inviting some human beings over for an evening of conversation and real time companionship.

Laughter and chocolate cake are good medicine, feeding not only our sweet tooth, but our sun deprived spirit as well. The spirit of connectivity, friendship and inclusion.

Yet for those of us living gluten-free (and dairy-free), the deep mid-winter season- with its twinkling celebrations centered around sharing food- too often feels the opposite of convivial. It feels gated. Off limits.

Look. Don't touch. Or taste. Smile graciously.

When you need not be hyper-vigilant about each and every forkful, the food centric holidays are, as the saying goes, a piece of cake. But to those of us with celiac disease and dairy allergies, a table heaped with food (glorious food) is a big steaming reminder of how different we are, a symbol of separation. Of not belonging.

This is when a gluten-free dairy-free chocolate layer cake is more than just dessert. It is a marvelous, beautiful thing. Bordering on luxurious.

Because to indulge (and share food) without worry is a true gift.

So pick a date. Text family and friends an invite. Or pick up the phone and call. Fire up your oven. Gather plates and candles.

Conviviality, connection, and cake await.


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Blueberry Cake Cupcakes Recipe

Ingredients:

Whisk together in a mixing bowl:

3/4 cup sorghum flour
3/4 cup rice flour
1/4 cup GF buckwheat flour or GF millet flour
1/2 cup tapioca or potato starch
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons xanthan gum
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon very fine lemon zest- save the lemon for glaze, if you desire

In a separate mixing bowl beat together:

2 large free-range eggs, beaten- or Ener-G egg replacer
1 cup organic light brown sugar
1/2 cup Spectrum Organic Shortening
1/2 cup warm non-dairy milk, more as needed
2 teaspoons bourbon vanilla extract


If youd like to do a lemon glaze, combine:

Juice of 1 large lemon
1/2 cup confectioners (icing) sugar, more as needed

Drizzle glaze over still warm cupcakes.

Makes 12 cupcakes.

Notes:

The best gluten-free pizza crust to date.

Gluten-Free Pizza Crust, Goddess Style

For years I've missed pizza. Not because there isn't gluten-free pizza available. It's out there. You can find it if you look hard enough. Take a gander in the frozen food aisle of your favorite natural market. Snoop around in the dairy case, next to the gluten-free bagels. You might even hit pay dirt at your local pizza joint (if they understand the ins and outs of cross contamination). So yeah. There are some choices out there.

Problem is, most gluten-free pizza sucks.

It's usually heavy on the chewy aspect. Or dry as dirt. With zero flavor. Yawningly bland. Certainly nothing to brag about. I mean, you wouldn't eat it if you didn't have to. You know what I'm sayin'? It's okay in a pinch. If you're famished on a Friday night. But it's not exactly inspiring.

And it's not from lack of trying, this pizza deprivation.

I've been rustling up g-free versions our nation's most cherished Italian import since week one of going gluten-free twelve years ago. I've made pizza crust from cookbooks (bready and yeasty). I've tried gluten-free mixes (and tortured my loyal little body with bean flour bloat). I've rolled out yeast-free biscuit dough (not bad, actually, but not real pizza). I've topped Italian style flatbread with roasted vegetables. I tried the whole Chebe thing (gum city). While some attempts proved passable, they never hit that elusive sweet spot. They failed to quell the longing. I used to make my own pizza dough, you see, before I discovered I harbored a faulty gene predisposing me to celiac disease. I was never a frozen pizza kind of gal.

I used to knead pillows of dough on my antique bread board, humming along to Crowded House. Ignorance was bliss. For awhile. And Friday night was always homemade Pizza Night.

So I've been a tad bereft on pizza-deprived Fridays.

But last week I started experimenting with a gluten-free dinner roll recipe. And as I tore a warm roll in half, golden and crusty and tender in the middle, it hit me.

This would make a fabulous pizza crust! I murmured to my husband through a mouthful of fresh baked loveliness. I tore him off a piece. He munched. And nodded.

So I tweaked and baked.

And lo and behold. A new gluten-free pizza crust was born.

And this one doesn't suck.


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