So I was in Mrs. Greens the other day and had this awesome idea to make gluten-free everything for the weekend. Well, I wasn’t going totally crazy– this plan basically included pancakes and bread. I bought the necessary ingredients, feeling all cool, like, here I go– just being all gluten free and what not…

So the following morning I decided to make awesome gluten-free pancakes with strawberries and or choco chips. I mixed up the batter, which was a little bit thicker than normal … I could barely get the scoop in there to make the darn things. As they cooked they looked beautiful. They were golden brown with little pieces of chocolate and berries peaking through and I couldn’t wait to serve them and have quite a few myself. Excitedly, I brought them over to the table on a huge platter and insisted that Jordan and brother of Jordan, Ryan, who was staying for the weekend, try the first ones. They lifted them off the platter and plopped them down on their plates. Smiling, they attempted to cut through the gluten-free goodness with their forks and immediately realized they were going to need a knife. As soon as Jordan broke the first piece off and began chewing, a look of horror overcame his face. He quickly spit it out, still trying to be nice, and remarked that it should be cooked a little longer. oops… so we threw the flap jacks back on the griddle and let them sizzle a little longer.

Once we determined that they were cooked through we tried again. It jut wasn’t happening. Personally being used to the fakin’ bacon sorts of things in life since I was a kid, I didn’t so much mind the texture and unconventional taste, but Jordan and Ryan, who grew up with soft, fluffy, buttery, perfect pancakes could barely get these things down. First of all, they required at least a minute of chewing per bite, and a glass of water per swallow. I felt bad. They were awful.

I figured my next step, the gluten-free bread would be better. Even more excited, I mixed up the ingredients, mostly from scratch, and imagined pulling a huge, beautiful, crispy loaf out of the oven. yeah, not so much. So here I am, mixing it all up and like the pancakes, the batter suddenly gets super thick and really difficult to mix.

I whip out the electric mixer that had been in my family forever… my mom had handed it down to me when we moved into our house, while fondly remembering the baking of cookies and cakes, whilst snowed in as a young kid, I begin using the mixer and then noticed that it was going really, really slow… slower… slowest.. and suddenly smoke starts coming out of the top! It took me a good 10 seconds to realize what the hell was happening and as soon as I did I screamed at Jordan to unplug the cooking heirloom and ran outside with it waving it in the air.

I didn’t know whether I was more upset to have burnt out a childhood memory, or that my bread dough was sitting there, practically laughing at me, “watcha gunna do now”. Obviously, I got things under control, duh, and then it was time to stuff the little loaf pan. I felt really cool again, because here I was, salvaging almost un-mixable dough, and like.. making bread! gluten-free bread! hello! This is me feeling really cool and special. little did I know…

So, I stuff the dough in the loaf pan and let it rise for about 40 minutes. As directed, I brushed egg along the top of the loaf and sprinkled on a variety of herbs just to make it extra special. Time passed and the dough rose in front of our eyes … we knew it was time to pop it in the oven. I may have checked on the loaf a minimum of 10 or 12 times just to admire its golden beauty. When the alarm went off I couldn’t pull it out fast enough. I let it sit on the counter and cool while I imagined all of the wonderful things I could do with it… french toast, bruschetta, grilled cheese… oh the list continued until it was finally cool enough for me to begin slicing it.

I tapped it out of the pan and began slicing… or attempting to slice. The bread that I had poured my heart and soul into, began to crumble, and piece by piece my heart broke. Only about a third of the loaf sliced properly and I put it aside for whatever one of its purposes would require a respectable presentation. Then, my dear readers, came the moment of truth. It was time to taste a crumble. I reached down and generously fed myself what I had just baked up. I seriously thought I was going to puke. I have never tasted something so wrong and bad. To this moment, when I think about the bread I made, I begin to feel sick and nauseous. I am not saying that gluten-free products are bad, because they are not, I love them… I just happen not to be a good baker of them. ’nuff said.

I have not much more to say after this unnecessarily long post about bread and gluten free cooking… I suppose what I might ask of you all is to take a moment, dear friends and readers, to appreciate those who cook and provide delicious gluten free meals… AND also very important– when you find some delicious gluten free bread and or recipes— pass those my way.