An Early Anniversary

The crow of laughter which sounded made my ears go hot. Shifting uncomfortably back and forth within the cramped kitchen of the intern house; I grew defensive. "Well, I haven't had cherries before besides the kind that come in drinks." Nichole laughed again.

"Oh, God. Don't say that. Here. Put this in your mouth."

And that was how it was for the two years of my internship. From Nichole to Orli to Amy. Each lady stepped into my whirlwind life one after another to keep me company as well as giving me cooking lessons (admittedly some more indirectly than others). Even now when I am stealing precious moments in a kitchen that isn't mine to whip up Bing Cherry and Lemon Cupcakes from my Babycakes cookbook I cannot help but think of them as well as a myriad of others. I suppose that's one of the reasons I adore cooking so much. Baking, especially. It's not a task that's lonely even when you are doing it by yourself.

These days I find that despite having to cook differently than in the past, it isn't the utterly foreign task I anticipated nearly a year ago when I started my gluten/soy/corn/dairy/etc-free adventure. It's hard to believe that so much time has passed and that I have been largely successful (aside from my occasional indulgence in corn or dairy or an accidental brush with a wheat-based thickener for some seemingly innocent soup). And where I was once making burnt, soupy brownie imitations and pasty renditions of would-be cookies I'm now actually able to make fluffy cupcakes, crisp cookies that would do any grandmother proud, and an occasional pumpkin pie that tastes like I must be cheating somewhere. It's heartening to say the least.

I've been back in the south for a month now and eating was every bit as difficult as I thought it would be. It is difficult to turn down dishes that were (and are) my favorites because my body absolutely cannot handle them. Family reunions coupled with funerals mean scads of delicious, batter-covered food at every turn with aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents leaning across the table to offer conspiratorial whispers: "Just cheat a little. Who is going to know?" Rather than explain how it is exceedingly difficult to trick my body or the price I pay for cheating, I smooth a friendly smile over my lips and go looking for the green beans. The ones that don't have the battered french onions on the top. Eesh.