Dear Gluten,
You are the starch beneath my sesame bagel. You are the cling to my linguine. You are the glue (ten) that will hold this nation together. And you are essentially a fugitive in this God-fearing, diet-loving nation. I understand your rocky relationship with Celiacs and I respect their decision to stay away from you. We can forget about those times you tried to destroy the intestinal bacteria that keeps them alive. It’s whatever. You were having a weird year. I’m not going to lie, I’ve tried to stay away from you. I fell in with the wrong group of people and I believed that you were no good for me. I believed them when they said you would leave me feeling unsatisfied, hungry, and emotionally exhausted. However, after four long weeks of forcing kale and quinoa down my throat, I had the romantic epiphany of a lifetime. I love you and always will.
I remember when I first became aware of your holy presence. It was at my local bakery, Time for a Bagel. You were warm, toasty, and most importantly, glutinous. I ate you and you were good. Did you know that the Japanese regularly eat pure you in the form of mochi? They don’t fear you, vilify you, or replace you with weird flours and nut milks in a futile attempt to forget you. Because the truth is, you are irreplaceable. And when people say that you can’t be my favorite food because you are nothing but a deadly protein composite, I will make baked ziti for dinner and rejoice. If you feel the same, meet me at Nice Slice at 9pm. I will be waiting.
With love,
Emma
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