The Trials and Tribulations of Gluten Free cooking. Believe me when I say this, it is a pain in the butt. My daughter does not suffer from Celiac disease but she does have an intolerance to wheat. At first, it was fun trying to come up with recipes that she would eat. Reading label after label to find the gluten free stuff I decided all home cooking is the way to go. You can control just what goes in and what you keep out. Fresh veggies and fruits, dairy and meats none of that package stuff. hmmmm
None of that package stuff?! Are you kidding me?
No more Little Debbie cakes in the house, no more cookies, no more gravy or Ramen noodles and the worst of all no more Kraft Mac and Cheese..the cheesiest. People, we lived on this stuff. Oh and don’t even get me started on the breads, of which there are no more of. Well in reality, there are bread and noodle substitutes on the market. Some are very tasty like Glutino Gluten Free Pretzels (Y-U-M-M-Y). BUT the breads are way heavy. No, really, like a frigin’ brick but it is better than no bread at all. I mean, who ever heard of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the sandwich part? And pizza? Oh my goodness, the withdrawals of pizza is almost more than a person can stand. I thought about calling an intervention on myself. I could beg a group of my well meaning friend to come over and confront me about the need for household wheat free sobriety. But wait, I had and idea.
Last night I found a box of gluten free bread mix in the pantry. It said it could be used as a pizza dough too. I posed the question to the family if pizza would be okay for dinner. They were like, are you crazy? I was like, nope! I show them the box and all eyes lit up like a neon sign down at the local pub. You could see their mouths salivating. Hubs even had a trickle of drool on his chin. Daughter had a look of suspicion on her face but the thought of real live pizza was just too much of a temptation for her, no, for us all. Well alrighty then, pizza it is.
I asked Hubs to mix the pizza dough. He is usually the bread maker in the family. Well, he has a bread machine that does everything but grab the scissors and open the mix up; that is his part. He was not all that enthused with the idea of getting off his
butt ah computer and working for his dinner. However, the call of the pizza was far to strong a pull. I started the veggies and seasoned the meat. The house smelled wonderful. Hubs then announced the dough needed to rise and it would be 40 minutes. We sat back down to our computers and waited.
Forty minutes later the timer goes off. Everyone heads to the kitchen with their smiles on, even the dogs race in with their tails a waggin’. Hubs lifts off the cover from the dough. We all look at it. I look up to see their eyes filled with dismay and disappointment. It was gooey and yucky looking. Hubs touched it and drew back a finger smothered in sticky dough. All eyes turn to me (even the dogs) waiting on an answer. “How much milk did you add?” I asked Hubs. He totally took offense to this question. How dare I doubt the bread masters ability to follow instructions!
It was now over an hour past our normal dinner time and we were starting to take on that evil tempered starving look. “No worries!” I announced, “We can use it anyway.” A look of astonishment washed over their faces. You could tell they felt a bit queasy at the thought of eating this mess but the call of the pizza out weighted their common sense and so we began. Hubs picked up the squashy blob and dripped it on the pizza pan. ( insert daughter’s sound effects here ) I tell him to mash it down. He asked with what. I tell him his hand is already covered with it. (insert daughter’s next comment, OMGosssshhhhh that’s so gag!) I tell her not to look. Finally, the pizza slurry is on the pan. I decided to bake it for 15 minutes just to give it a little.. humph. Bell rings I pull it out. It looks the same. I can hear arguing in the back ground. The natives are getting restless so I decided to add the pizza toppings. It looked so gross going back in the oven. I wanted to cook it a bit longer in hopes that the dough would at least firm up a bit. 60 minutes later the timer rings. As we head to the kitchen, we all smell the unmistakable aroma of PIZZA. I grabbed the pot rag to pull it out. One last look at the eyes that were upon me, I opened it and pulled it out with, my, eyes closed. I just could not bear to see another blob. When I opened my eyes I was so surprised. Apparently the family was surprised too; their eyes and lips were smiling. Everyone scrambled for the plates and forks. I cut it with the pizza cutter. I announced first piece was Hubs for without his efforts none of this would have been possible. I grabbed the spatula and tried to lift the first piece. It was baked on to the pan so hard I could not even hammer it off! We look at each other in disbelief. How could this be? It is so pretty and smells so wonderful. I tell them to grab their forks we are going to eat what ever we can right off the pan. So we stood around the cook island with our forks and paper towels in hand. The words ‘dig in’ never escaped my mouth they were already in it.
Believe it or not, it was really good or maybe we were just starving.