Gluten-Free Strawberry Chocolate Chip Muffins

Strawberry Moon

The moon rose almost full last night, hanging gold and low above the palm and ficus trees, urging the local beauty factor to give up its pretense of reality and meld with dreamland. The sky was a deep shade of violet with a wash of strawberry pink at the ocean's edge. Santa Monica continues to hold me in her sway. I am in love with her- and deeply grateful to be here, celebrating my first spring in California since the late seventies. I drink the friendly March sea air in gulps. I wander the alleys and sidewalks in a state bordering on bliss, photographing details and eye candy with my iPhone. 

It is a visual feast.

And I am savoring every bite.

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Gluten-Free Banana "Crumpets"

Split and grill these sweet no yeast "crumpets" for extra flavor.

I started out craving a scone. Then it turned into a crumpet. Not a traditional crumpet. A crumpet without yeast. And sweet. Not because I have anything against yeast (I dig my English Muffins bigtime), but because I had a bevy of ripe bananas hanging out on my kitchen counter, whispering to me, coaxing me to imagine a new recipe and highlight their fragrant banana awesomeness. So that's how it all started.

But I was low on gluten-free flours.

Warning: Here's the part of the story where I am destined to offend anti-baking mix purists- you know, those Healthier Than Thou commenters who stop by like clockwork to remind me of the horror of potato starch. And sugar. And fat. They have only my best interest at heart, of course. Nothing less than my weak and sinful soul. The soul that craves chocolate for breakfast. And harbors an abiding crush on Keanu Reeves.

Well now that I've slipped from grace- again- because, yes, Darling, I used a gluten-free baking mix for the base of my crumpet recipe- I am sure to provoke at least one prim display of gluten-free piety and indignation such as-- and I quote-- The spark is now gone. I thought you should know. I will never return.

And this, Dear Reader, brought to mind a story. And a true one at that.

Chapter 3

The litany of, "How dark she was! Her hair stuck up like some Fiji island baby," was repeated through blue tinted smoke in a graveled growl betraying the years of Lucky Strikes sucked and crushed in the bottle-green ashtray pitted like a dime store fish.

The back-combed ash blond women planted around the table like molded wax tulips might glisten and nod toward her (or not) and resume their conversation- how clean or filthy a neighbor’s house was.

"You could eat off her floor," defined their Catholic imagination. 

"She’s a saint," confirmed the insight via a lipstick conserving sip. 

A pan-Formica flutter from a bee-hived believer in Easter shell pink nodded her agreement, her sugar-white crucifix reclining on her Playtex bosom. 

Immaculate.

The girl knew right then, well before the age of reason, she was from a planet different, smudged and shadowed even at noon, invisibly tattooed with no blue-eyed leg-up or corn silk angel hair like they coveted and wrestled from those curvy blue bottles.

She understood in her mute wren bones that darkness equaled other in this platinum dipped half acre- this house of buried Yiddish and abandoned suitcase clues, where roots and Kaddish were dissolved in peroxide and the strains of Danny Boy hummed by Irish husbands who were tussled with like naughty children hiding in untied shoes behind the claw-footed sofa peeling the gold off chocolate gelt as tedium plumed in kielbasa steam to the smell of eggs hard-boiled so long the yolk membranes turned green.

Shown served warm from the oven- split and toast for crumpet-style.

Sweet Banana Faux Crumpets

By Karina Allrich March 2010.

I made these tasty little crumpety numbers without eggs or butter - to keep them vegan and dairy-free. They are delicious warm from the oven as shown-- but truly sublime when sliced in half and grilled in a touch of olive oil till golden. Or toast them up and drizzle with agave or schmear with peanut butter- or Sunbutter.

I made these faux crumpets using a gluten-free mix for my flour blend- Gluten-Free Pantry Muffin and Scone Mix- because I wanted to experiment with a basic gluten-free flour mix (I bought the mix myself, and have no financial interest in the company). If you want to experiment using a different muffin and scone mix, you'll need to match the dry ingredients; the ounces on this package are 15 oz (425g). The leavened mix contains white rice flour, sugar, potato starch, baking powder, salt, baking soda and xanthan gum.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Line a baking sheet with an Exopat or parchment paper, and eight English muffin rings (I used these handy rings here).

In a mixing bowl, add:

1 box Gluten-Free Pantry Muffin and Scone Mix

1/3 cup Spectrum Organic Shortening

Cut in the shortening using a KitchenAid mixer with a wire whisk attachment or pastry cutter until the mixture looks sandy.

Add in:

2 medium size mashed ripe bananas (almost one cup)

1 1/2 teaspoons Ener-G Egg Replacer whisked with 2 tablespoons warm water till frothy (or 1 free-range organic egg and use 1/4 cup less banana)

The batter will be sticky and lumpy.

Slowly add in:

2-4 tablespoons vanilla rice milk, as needed

Mix the batter until smooth. It will be sticky.

Spoon the batter into the eight English muffin rings. Using wet fingers pat and smooth the crumpets.

Note: The batter will not reach the very edge of the rings- there was some space around each crumpet. If you'd like maximum size crumpets, use only six rings.

Bake in the center of a pre-heated oven for about 18 to 20 minutes till firm. Brush the tops with a little bit of rice milk and bake for an additional 3 to 5 minutes until slightly golden.

Remove from the oven and serve soft and warm with raw organic agave, honey or Sunbutter.

Or...

Cool on a wire rack. Wrap in recycled foil, bag, and freeze.

Thaw. Slice crumpets in half. Grill in a skillet with a dab of olive oil till golden and hot.

Maple Roasted Banana Ice Cream without Dairy

Roasting bananas makes for vegan ice cream yum.

Hot Banana!

I never bought David Lebovitz's ice cream book The Perfect Scoop because I'm allergic to dairy, and well. To be candid, a book brimming with rich and sexy recipes built around cream and butter and brown-eyed moo cow milk would just be, you know. Depressing as hell. I'd have to reinterpret and rebuild almost every recipe in the book to be dairy-free and huevo-free- except granita, and a sorbet or two. Yawn.

It's not easy being vegan when it comes to ice cream.

So when I browsed the book last summer, in an espresso scented Borders in Santa Fe, flipping through one forbidden recipe after another, I sniffed back a single tear, snugged the book back into its slot on the shelf and got on with my life. I'm used to it- this feeling of standing outside the glass looking in, admiring all the pastel ice creams or confetti-sprinkled whipped cream adorned cupcakes, or chocolate covered bites of buttery flaky goodness.

My life often feels like I'm living in a museum.

Look but don't touch.

And lest you think I'm feeling sorry for myself, Dear Reader, think again. I'm not. Really. I've been at this celiac thing awhile now (since December 2001). I vigorously pruned all additional allergens out of my repertoire in 2007. There's not much that rattles me. I roll with the punches and practice my best  Lebowski-zen detachment. And food is still linked with pleasure. Most of the time.

Although it took some patience and tweaking.

Tweaking of taste buds, I mean.

Luckily, we humans are adaptable. And with adaptation, change is inevitable, even if unbidden. I walk by the circular cheese display at Whole Foods now and wrinkle my nose (all I can think of if I inhale is a yellowed baby bib). Why cheese smells so unappetizing after only two plus years of not eating it, is fascinating.

The same response occurs if I cruise by the bread aisle. The smell of baked wheat is oddly sweet and sour and somehow, off. I hold my breath. I can't imagine ever eating it. Believe me when I say, I don't pine for it. I'm not singing songs of longing beneath its grainy window. I've moved on. Obviously, so has my body.

Perhaps all food is an acquired taste.

One tip I took with me from perusing The Perfect Scoop was roasting the bananas for ice cream. I knew it would kick up the flavor. I knew Mr. Lebovitz was on to something. I'm a big fan of frying bananas in a skillet for a simple dessert. I've done that for years- since my frugal art school days. Hot bananas are so sweet and gooey. Heaven. So I ask you.

Who doesn't love a hot banana?

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Gluten-Free Wheat-Free Chocolate Chip Scones

Gluten-free scones for tea time, brunch or breakfast.

Chapter 2.

It was ridiculous how nervous she was.  It was only a class. A painting workshop. It wasn't as if she was entering a world unknown. She knew this world.  Art school was only, what, fifteen years ago? Wrong tactic. Fifteen years is a lifetime ago. She shook it off, pushed the door open with her left hip and met the familiar aromatics of turpentine and linseed oil, the clatter of wooden easels and scrape of chipped metal stools as painters staked out their territory.

A gaggle of older women who obviously knew one another nattered about flea markets and ringed the front of the classroom where a beat up French easel sat unopened on the floor next to a brown paper grocery bag stuffed with ragged brushes and a dented roll of green spattered paper towels.

She angled toward the unoccupied far corner near the window, hoping for a wedge of natural light and some semblance of anonymity and breathing room. Painting among people was an unnatural state. To take such a solitary, contemplative practice and share it with strangers in a public space was difficult. If not impossible. In order to paint well one had to lose oneself- forget the world, shed all self-consciousness, surrender to some mysterious, invisible process. Unlikely in a group chattering about Dancing with the Stars. She tugged the brim of her baseball cap down over her eyes, tuned out the chit chat, and set up her canvas.

This is a mistake, she thought. I shouldn't have come here. I can't do this. She squatted next to her canvas bag, pulled out tubes of titanium white, cobalt blue, cadmium yellow and red. She thought about art school and how it had been the same. The easy camaraderie of everyone else. Her awkward isolation. Her big dumb need not to be noticed. Her craving to be unobservable.

Then she heard his voice. 

She straightened up and turned toward the flutter of greetings and palpable affability emanating from the front of the class room. She caught only a glimpse of his plaid flannel shirt and the flash of a large Dunkin' Donuts coffee he placed on a nearby stool before he knelt to unpack his easel. She thought she heard him say something about The Fisher King.

What a weird movie, one of the women sniffed, you liked it? I didn't get it. And I usually like that Jeff Bridges.

I thought I'd start with a demo today, he said, standing up and turning toward the class. Sound good? 

His keen blue eyes scanned the crowded room. She tried not to meet his glance. She didn't expect him to be so... So, what? Interesting? She crossed her arms and inched forward with the others to get a better view. He was washing his canvas with a swath of warm ocher and talking about values and laying in dark shapes. He joked with a mustached man who asked him the same question twice, then paused to sip coffee and wipe his brush. His back was toward her. She tried not to notice the way his shoulders fit into his shirt.

And that's when she knew.

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Gluten-Free Turkey Soup Recipe

An easy, homemade turkey soup simmered in a Crock Pot. 

A Cure to Slurp

A certain soup slurping and prickly individual (we won't name names, to protect the innocent) has been feeling under the weather for so long now the sensation is in danger of becoming a habit. Yes, the tree pollen onslaught continues. Blessed by a wet winter, Southern California trees are celebrating with copious amounts of pollen, and who can blame them? 

Hence, your intrepid gluten-free goddess has been up to no good, stumbling and mumbling around her freshly painted apartment in a Snuffleupagus stupor, thick-nosed and unable to string two coherent sentences together, never mind invent a new recipe for her lovely and devoted readers (that would be, You). Ears and sinuses filled with unspeakable things do not a creative, exhuberant cook make.

This is when a Slow Cooker can save your life.

And, yes. A Neti Pot, too [this borderline woo-woo apparatus once scared the delicate Princess and the Pea pants off me, I admit; but now we are well acquainted and are certain to be BFFL. I mean, when you can conjure instant relief without expensive (and apparently short term memory killing) antihistamines, you gotta give it a go, right?].

So here's what I have been living on- in between setting up a studio and getting up close and personal with my new pal, Neti. A simple homemade turkey soup that is chock full of garlic and cozy, soothing vegetables to ease the transition from winter into spring. May it bring you some relief if  and when your own local deciduous fellows get a wee bit rambunctious with their annual pollen fest.

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