Gluten-Free Vegetarian Thanksgiving Recipes

Cider roasted vegetables- pair with polenta, rice or quinoa.

For those of you celebrating Thanksgiving without the bird, here's a quick round-up of my favorite gluten-free vegetarian holiday recipes to inspire you.

Most of these recipes are actually vegan- a dairy-free plus for those of us gluten-free and casein-free. The few recipes garnished with cheese can be easily converted to dairy-free status by using your favorite vegan cheese.

In my kitchen, that's the way the cornbread crumbles.


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Quinoa Salad with Pears, Baby Spinach

Vegan Gluten-Free Bliss

If you're looking for a fresh idea to liven up your ho-hum salad plate, Babycakes, have I got a recipe for you. Light, vegan, and packed with protein, this is no ordinary bunny food. It's got teeth- er, I mean, quinoa. Studded with nutty, buttery chick peas and crunchy toasted pecans and succulent jewels of ripe, juicy pears. And did I mention, in a bowl licking maple vinaigrette?

In fact, this is a salad even salad haters would eat. You know, those stalwart gotta have my meat and potatoes aficionados who eschew anything leafy. Who snicker at fiber. And mock carrot sticks. The sort of individual who gets misty eyed for melted butter and bacon martinis. To said individuals, salad could never be anything but rabbit chow. But this lovely mélange of flavors just might pique their interest. The sheer luxurious deliciousness of these autumnal flavors might coax them into flirting with bunny food goodness. Just this once. Then- who knows what could happen? They might settle in, fork poised, all dubious and dreaming of rib eye. They might take a bite. And then another. And another. And before you can say blueberry pancakes on a stick- they might actually smack their lips and grin and hold out their empty plate for more.

And you.

You could smile back, sly and slow, as you reach for the serving spoon to comply with their new found desire.

And feed their craving.


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Best Gluten-Free Pumpkin Muffins

These wheat-free pumpkin muffins feature coconut flour and almond flour.

Favorite Companion

We found canned organic pumpkin on the store shelves this week. So be prepared for pumpkin recipes. I, for one, Darling, can't get enough. Pumpkin is my favorite fall ingredient. Maybe because it cozies up to gluten-free flours so well. It adds moisture and depth to g-free baked goods. It flirts with cinnamon and ginger like the sexiest, inscrutable movie star. You know what I'm talking about. It's not overt. Or blatant. It's not over the top. It is subtle. Secure.

Pumpkin doesn't demand to be admired.

Because it doesn't have to prove itself.

It's not a bully flavor that crushes gentler flavors in its wake. It doesn't bark and claw to be Top Dog 24/7. It doesn't have a deep seated need to own the room, to dominate, to control the ingredients it shares a bowl with.

Pumpkin goes with the flow.

It likes vanilla.

And it likes chocolate.

You could say, it's bi-flavorful.

Which happens to be a quality I admire. Even embody and embrace. Because life is brimming with diversity. Life is rich and complicated, sticky and glorious. And for every preference I may think I cherish, there are sure to be a dazzling array of alternative preferences twinkling beyond my peripheral vision like so many bokeh jewels.


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Gluten-Free Pumpkin Pancakes

Pumpkin pancakes with apricot jam and pepitas.

Pumpkin Pancakes, Yes.

I haven't made gluten-free pancakes in a long time. I am- typically- not a big breakfast person. A solo slice of golden gluten-free toast glistening with melting cashew butter and a big mug of hot coconut milk chai usually does it for me.

So what possessed me to change my routine? Why did I suddenly have a deep growling desire for pancakes?

In a word: pumpkin.

My favorite cucurbit.

I could wax ridiculously poetic about this humble gourd and what it brings to the grit littered landscape of gluten-free land. I could draw you a map of flavor that curves through a forest of cinnamon and nutmeg. I could don a teacher's cardigan and chart the impact of pumpkin's inherent cellular moisture on milled non-gluten grains. I could sport an orange baseball cap and pitch you a three act plot line where pumpkin is the hero rescuing the wan, deprived princess in the Kingdom of Celiac.

But instead? I'll just share the recipe.


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Best Gluten-Free Apple Cake Muffins

A tender and light apple cake muffin. Gluten and dairy free.

Apple Cake Inspired

Before we get to muffins, I have a game for you. Created spontaneously one night, after some dizzying Facebook scrolling (when did Facebook become one endless stream of bumper stickers?). Pardon my yawning.

I think I'll call this amusement... The Dating Game. Here's how it hatched over crudities and hummus.

"I wish I knew you in high school," I tell my husband. This is not news to him, by the way. It's a popular topic lately, now that I am in my second adolescence, eighteen years past mid-life.

I sketch for him a vivid narrative of study hall humiliations and spikes of burning shame, waving a carrot stick in his direction, just for emphasis. I search for words to depict how it feels when a snickering quarterback punches your clutch of school books with his fists, sending you to your knees in a crowded hallway to rescue the sprawl of English homework, algebra and biology books that emit the faint smell of ink and gum.

He sighs audibly. He hates to hear these stories.

"I would have played you my Tommy album," I say. "I would have cooked you brown rice and tamari. We would have talked about books. Siddhartha. On the Road. Women in Love."

He smiles and adds, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas."

We toast Hunter Thompson with our mineral water.

"You wouldn't have liked me in high school," he says.

This isn't the first time I have heard this. It always puzzles me. Though he tells me this with less conviction now that he's been married to me for seventeen and a half years. I picture him in Levi's and an un-tucked flannel shirt. Beefy, brainy, sarcastic.

"I was angry," he mentions.

"Me too," I say, "but on the inside. A classic geek. They called me Four-Eyes."

"That's original," he says, popping an olive.

"And Sandwich," I add.

He raises an eyebrow. "Sandwich?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "Because of my hair. Straight. Thin. Parted down the middle. Like this." I place the edges of my palms on either side of my face. "Sandwich."

"Bullies," he says, and shakes his head in disgust.

Suddenly I feel inspired.

"Let's date in high school! Let's watch the movies we loved. Share music. Talk about books."

He laughs but I can tell he is visualizing it.

"For our first date," I tell him, "let's see Easy Rider. It rocked my fifteen-year-old world. Peter Fonda. Captain America. It launched me into orbit."

I sit back, sip mineral water, and glance at him sideways. I conjure my best rendition of my fifteen-year-old self.

"Hey. Wanna see Easy Rider?" I ask.

"It's rated R," he tells me. "We'll have to sneak you in. Or get you a fake ID."


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5 Gluten-Free Potato Salad Recipes

Gluten-Free Vegan Potato Salad - Simplicity

Potato Salad Love

I am thinking of you. As I pack. Folding linens into squares (next to impossible with fitted sheets). Wrestling with rebellious hangers. Cradling white soup plates in sheets of recycled paper. Boxing and taping and labeling our material life once again. Our seven year journey westward now migrating east. Back to the Cape.

Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

Where we first met.

Where we first touched, shaking hands goodbye at the end of a six week painting class (it would take you two and a half years to call me and invite me for coffee).

Where I raked up a post-hurricane marriage and as I sorted through tree limbs and debris saw the biggest rainbow curve high above the destruction.

Where I set up my freedom cottage as a single mother, living in 350 square feet by wits and faith.

Where I learned to trust my instincts. And snip free the soft lies agreed upon.

Where you finally did call.

Where we began our marriage. Our life as parents. Best friends. Lovers. Painters.

Where I most feel at home. By the New England sea.

Returning. With sand in my shoes that I never shook free.

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Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Zucchini Brownies

Zucchini adds moisture to these fudgy gluten-free brownies.

Baking Therapy

In the thick of joy and the slow drain of heartache, I bake. I've mentioned this before. Baking is my way. I tie on my apron and rustle up my inner domestic goddess and cope with the world. Because joy tastes sweeter shared with those you love, gathered around a clatter of plates and clinking glasses and spoons licked clean. And heartache...

Well, heartache may not be soothed or tamed by a cookie or slice of cake.

But it doesn't hurt to try.

As for me, I've been reading several (new to me) books this summer. And I suppose, if you were to analyze the connecting themes, you might discern a search not only for meaning in a sticky, complicated post 9/11 world, but also for release. Release from the grip of societal expectations, collective assumptions, and the yoke of consumerism (I am, after all, post estrogen dependence; priorities do not include miracle-push-up bras, nail polish decals, waxed nether regions or upper lip injections).

I am more interested in keeping my mind agile than my thighs firm.

Hence the books I'm reading. Newest (to me) is Buddha's Brain. I'm learning about the amazing plasticity of the mind, and the neuro-scientific practice of creating new "wiring" (especially as we age) by gently training our mind to release ancient, habitual (so often, negative and critical) thought patterns (what the PhDs call neural pathways but what I like to refer to as my teeth-grinding mental squirrel in a cage wearing my grandmother's wig) and cultivate more self compassion. Which in turn makes everyone happier, apparently.

I guess if you're feeling at peace with the energy ebb and sometimes tumultuous flow of your days and nights, and baking brownies with those surplus zucchinis, and watching the magical late afternoon sunlight dappling the backs of a pair of wild turkeys guiding their brood of nine into the blackberries below the kitchen window, you can feel pretty blissed out.

Or maybe it's the chocolate talking.


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