No Dromedaries

The New York Times has spoken! America has an influx of picky eaters, arming themselves with Tupperware containers full of bean sprouts.



Insert eats shoots and leaves joke here.

Yes, this makes things SO much easier! Like the time I was with friends at a bar and the bartender complained about a woman who so nastily complained about a lack of gluten free beer, I wanted to grab unknown woman and give her a talking to. Look, I can take the apologies when people reach for bread baskets, the question and answer forums when I'm seemingly subsisting on mashed potatoes and coffee, the comments on how this is how I keep my girlish figure, yada yada. It does seem though that when a step has been taken, the hypocrites who order GF and attack the bread basket (No! That's to be kept as a weapon of last resort if people keep apologizing to you for taking a roll... Jeez!) the rude, like above, and those who insist that it's all a fad. Trust me, if I didn't have a diagnosis, and thank God I do, I would not be able to control my sweet tooth.

Last year, we had a spectacular chef, one very fantastic Damian Cardone (Oddly enough, Damian means "sweet" in Greek. Just throwing that one out there.) who was heard to brag that he loved to add a special little glutenous touch to gf meals. This year, we have the always correct New York Times (An anagram server gives them the name "Monkeys write".)

We shouldn't have to repeat ourselves. But we do. We have to be polite, though. Because there are so many louder, ruder voices. We have to be examples. Mean what we say. Say what we mean.
And one loud idiot cannot silence those who need help. Not when there's been so much pain and so much work put in.

Dearest nephew of mine, I fight for you.
I fight for me.

No Wheat. No Rye. No Barley. No Dromedaries. (I toss that in on lists to catch people nodding off.)