I just celebrated my sixth Mother’s Day — holy crap! And my first as a gluten-denier. It turns out, that whole celiac diagnosis changed everything about my special day. Everything! First of all, here’s my Mother’s Day present from my husband, and I guess my kids. Although the two-year-old isn’t much of a shopper, so I’m suspicious about his involvement —
If it isn’t readily apparent by the red eyes, I’m thrilled with this convection bread maker. After all, it’s the only way I’ll ever eat fresh-baked bread again. A tear slipped down my cheek when I wrote that. But no more! I have my own bread maker, and I’m going to make the hell out of some gluten-free bread.
Also, my very special lunch made by the family (again, I’m doubtful the two-year-old did jack squat) would have been vastly improved had I received this bread maker before my big day. Let’s just say the gluten-free hamburger “buns” really shouldn’t have been called “buns” or even, “edible.” (By the way, Udi’s, when are your freaking burger buns coming to my Whole Foods??? It’s already summer here in Los Angeles. Hop to it. Thank you.)
So while Mother’s Day pasts have included spa treatments, shoes, shopping trips, this one was all about keeping mama in the kitchen. Shockingly, I did not feel one single urge to slug my husband. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s going to get a nice, hot, reward. Called gluten-free popovers. Yes, I know. He’s a lucky, lucky, man.
Seriously, anyone know where I can get a decent gf hamburger bun?