The Food Police and Tyrannous Gluten

What’s worse than being born with three heads or the prospect of a nuclear holocaust? The unabashed tyranny of gluten, that’s what- a scourge that is truly hard to fathom in a twenty-first century world!

It’s egregious, this complete disregard for dietary evil personified, a rampant addiction to toast and bialys that has more than a whiff of the sacrilegious about it- do we really wish to live by bread alone? Clearly, we are still in the stone age of nutritional, spiritual and mental health. I mean, how stupid and in denial are we, thinking that those spine chilling glutinous substances only present a danger to the 1 in 133 Americans clinically diagnosed with Celiac disease. Now everyone can act as if they have this unfortunate affliction- why discriminate? We like to pride ourselves on the fact that we are an inclusive society, and what better place to start than where it counts, in the gut?

And speaking of grains, whole or otherwise, these guys are far from innocent, being the very hosts in which the culprit thrives plus having their own set of malfeasances. An entire wannabe pop best seller recently devoted itself to the horrors of genetically engineered grain monsters that purportedly result in the flesh eating, soul mashing condition of something (I shudder to say it) called Wheat Belly. . .  a prospect meant to frighten, warn and disgust. As we know, any belly of prominence is to be scrupulously avoided unless you want to look like a rotund silly whose buttons are too tight and have pants that strangle, but this particular chubby mid section against which the author admonishes apparently presages something far, far worse: instantaneous fatality followed by eternal damnation by the Food Police; I really have to force myself to avert my eyes whenever I see ads for the book and have had trouble saying the word “belly” since I learned of the phenomenon. So between the nightmare of gluten and the slippery slope of Thomas’ Whole Wheat English Muffins, what’s a breakfaster to do? A hearty repast of merely butter and jam? Just a few baked blueberries, no actual muffin? Invisible popovers? The chocolate chips minus the cookie dough? And if you’ve ever had the pleasure of interacting with that yellowish, translucent, strangely tasting rice product that’s meant to stand in for ziti, or those sickeningly sweetish, stale looking masses of crumbs pretending to be pastries, I think you will agree that look-a-like pretenders are out- the only thing worse than being maimed for life by gluten is engaging with anything that touts itself as “gluten-free. . . .”

So many dangers out there, so much treachery at every turn, but it would appear all pales next to gluten, the genuine perpetrator of everything unseemly in the cosmos. Forget international terrorism and the spread of highly contagious bubonic plague-like diseases, worldwide hunger, endless war, pestilence, famine, cyber attacks and the destruction of the ozone layer, to say nothing of the polar ice caps melting away- this is all mere child’s play. The real and present threat we face on a daily basis seems to be that which croissants are made of, and why may I ask is our dysfunctional congress not doing anything about this??? Bid your birthday cakes adieu. Bagels will soon be a thing of the past. Pizza is more destructive to your digestive system than arsenic. Baguettes simply have got to go. And yes, even whole wheat pasta. . . well, in this last case it may not be such a loss.

The media of course has been suppressing the extent of the gluten pandemic, probably on the orders of government officials sworn to secrecy in order to prevent widespread panic and other catastrophes like bread burning orgies and the large scale dumping of bags of pretzels into the oceans thus leading to further environmental damage. In truth, the only way I can even wrap my brain around the horrific possibility of an imminent gluten Armageddon is to think back to one of my favorite sci-fi movies, “The Blob” with the ineffable Steve McQueen. Who could ever forget the scene wherein the gooey rather glutinous as it happens mass of red jelly that has been taking over the world suddenly oozes through a projector room, swallowing the projectionist and sending the story’s theater going audience running  screaming as they flee for the exits. . . .

Ah, those were the days of sheer imagined terror! In truth, I think we miss ‘em in these times of real catastrophes and thus the need for a new bogey man, often disguised as a nicely spherical San Francisco sourdough or a mild mannered raisin challah, with the occasional kaiser roll or chillingly fearsome rosemary ciabatta thrown in for added shock value. They’re saying that if you gaze too long upon a peasant bread your partner will turn to salt. Will this never end? I try not to think about it and have sworn off watching or listening to the news for fear the “g” word may be mentioned. It’s just too darn upsetting.