All you can do

My electronic information consumer habits have brought many messages my way these past few days. Most of it is the usual recalls, corporate America getting it wrong (think oil spill) and government not doing much better. The FDA has been pouring recall notices into my inbox, the usual e Coli-tainted beef (two companies this wee, 39,000 pounds so far) and spinach, as well as an interesting one where 61,000 pounds of Brazilian recalled beef contains the animal drug Ivermectin (an anti-parasitic, used for de-worming, in case you were wondering). The sheer volume and negativity is overwhelming; I find myself paralyzed in terms of what actions I can take to make a difference. One glimmer of hope comes all the way from Australia, where supermarkets are beginning to post the kilometers the food has travelled to give consumers a tad more information (however incomplete) to help them make better decisions.

But Australia is pretty far from here, and I don't see that I can make my personal choices make much more impact than they already do. To the blog I turn, wondering if there is anything I can say, any way to beat the drum that the message will reach one more soul.

And then word comes from a friend of a friend: fed up with the increasing amounts of steroids her doctor is prescribing for her daughter, and at her wits end from seeing her suffer from eczema, she announces that she is ready to plunge into the land of the elimination diet: no eggs, dairy, wheat and soy. Her resolve lasts until she tries to fix her first--vegetarian--meal. She's completely overwhelmed and paralyzed, unable to act. She doesn't know where to begin. I know how she feels.

But upbeat news bekons to me from my inbox: the chatty newsletter from the Redmond Saturday Market, which reads like the church bulletins of my youth, including cute plays on words ("Market Thymes") and pithy quotations. And there it is, at the bottom of the page, from none other than Henry David Thoreau: "One is not born into the world to do everything but to do something."

Ok, so I can't do everything. So, something it is. I grab my electronic pen and sketch out a week's worth of kid-enticing vegetarian meals for her, along with some hints on where to find key ingredients. You see, it's overwhelming to start, but I've had enough practice that it's second nature to me. And it turns out that helping one person past paralysis helps me, too.

Yellow bowl

For many years, we have used a rotation diet in our household to help us balance between foods that act as allergens and eating what most people call "normally." A rotation gives us the chance to have lasagna and ice cream cones--but not every day. And the knowledge gained from learning to think and cook a different way makes it possible to adjust our diet to the stresses and illness that ebb and flow through our days.

Over the years, the rotation was honed to the rhythm of our lives: a lighter breakfast for those early dismissal days, wheat and diary allowed on Sundays when we were all home for tea and cake. Loads of spaghetti (spelt pasta with sheep's milk romano) on Wednesday, golden waffles on Sunday morning. When we were sick, we could use dairy substitutes even on "dairy" days; when traveling, we can choose the days to "blow the diet." The goal is to maintain our health in the long-term, and the method was not to deprive ourselves of things we loved to eat every single day of every week, of every month, for years or forever.

We bought the waffle iron six years ago, at a school auction. It was a whim, and we have used it almost every Sunday since then. There are exceptions: muffins when there were fresh blueberries; buttery hot cross buns for Easter morning, pancakes when camping. Over the years, we found a waffle mix we liked a lot, and it was sheer luck that it was based on a rice flour.

During our first weeks on the Emerald Isle, I acquired a few items that I knew we would need: a drying rack (two actually, since jeans and towels take two days to dry), a printer/scanner/copier (the scanner part to be paperless, and the printer part because paperless is still a distant dream), a good sized stockpot (pasta in teenage-sized portions), and a yellow mixing bowl. I couldn't bring the waffle iron with because of the voltage thing, but I figured I could still make pancakes from scratch.

I had read that Ireland, like many northern European nations, has a fairly high rate of celiac sprue, so I was expecting that gluten free products would be relatively easy to find. There are three different types of GF flour made by Odlums (the Irish equivalent of Pillsbury) in the supermarket, but they contain egg albumen as a binder, which means I can't use them. Luckily, the health food store in town had a little bag of rice-based bread flour, and the Internet had several GF pancake recipes to choose from.

The first pancakes out of the pan were pale and flavorless. I added some salt and sugar, and they started to taste better, especially when slathered with jam and yogurt. But they were still pale, and I knew I was in trouble when Number One used the term gelatinous when referring to them the second weekend.

So yesterday in Tesco, I bought what they call a sandwich pan. It looks a bit like a shallow pie pan, almost like a cake pan. What it does hold nicely is scones. Before kids, I had perfected buttery oat scones; this morning, my yellow bowl served to mix up some GF scones laced with chunks of green apples from the neighbor's tree. It may be that waffles will have to wait until we're home again.

Oatey Scones (GF)

1 3/4 c GF flour mix (I used Doves Farm White Bread mix, a base of white rice flour with potato starch, tapioca starch, and xantham gum)
1/4 t salt
2 t baking powder
1 t baking soda
1/4 c butter
2 T sugar
2 T brown sugar
1/4 c porridge oats
1/4 c apples, chopped
1/4 t cinnamon

1/4 c (soy) yogurt
3/4 c (soy) milk

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
Mix dry ingredients thoroughly. Cut in the butter. Mix in liquids as gently as possible. Dough should be moist & slightly sticky so add more if necessary, a little at a time.
Turn mixture into buttered pan, shape roughly, score in quarters (or eighths) with a floured knife. Bake 20-25 minutes. Serve warm with more butter and jam.