First Love, Then Wheat: the lingering taste of loss…

I spent my summer saying goodbye to things that I had previously believed held permanent placements in my life. First love, then wheat. Loss is a terrifying thing because, more often than not, we don’t see it coming. One night, you’re falling asleep soundly after receiving a ‘Sweet Dreams’ text from the person you trust most deeply with every secret inch of your soul. The next evening, you’re sobbing and telling them never to speak to you again. One night, you can’t sleep–so instead you find yourself in your kitchen baking a loaf of bread. The next morning, you go for a walk with your dear friend and discuss your shared love of toast. You then go home and eat a nice, buttered slice. Your throat begins to tighten: this gives way to a slew of other unmentionable and horrifying symptoms. You end out your day in emergency care, with a needle in your ass, and a new found fear. Yesterday you could eat anything you wanted to–but from today forward, you can’t. 

I was sick for weeks after the encounter. Though wheat was the initial suspected culprit of my despair, other foods began to cause trouble. Things that I’d long considered “safe” foods when I was feeling unwell, the comfort foods of my childhood, were no longer a viable option. I was down to sipping bone broth and begging the universe to not let it make me feel awful–and some days the universe listened, but other days I guess it couldn’t hear me. I rapidly lost fifteen pounds–then more. I was allergy tested for the second time in my life; eighty needles in my back only to learn that women can receive false negatives if they are tested while on their period. (Perhaps this is something that we should warn women about before sticking them with eighty needles.) I went through rounds of bloodwork and endured multiple blown veins. The poking and prodding felt endless–as if I were some sort of human pin cushion. Answers didn’t come easily. In fact, for a time, it felt like no answers came at all. Even when answers did finally come, I found myself extremely unwell for the next few months while we worked to figure out which medications and lifestyle changes were helpful and which weren’t helping at all. 

When I realized that the course of my life was forever altered by my body’s sudden proclivity for malfunctioning–especially in reaction to the simple act of eating–I didn’t handle the news well. I grieved intensely. I had been slowly but surely working to build a career as a food and wine writer. So, now what? How could I follow this path when I suddenly couldn’t safely eat? It felt like a fatal blow. There is so much in life that I’ve dreamed of experiencing but have not yet had the opportunity to achieve. In a moment, my life was irreversibly altered by a slice of buttered toast. I should have been worried about my health. Instead I cried to myself: now I’ll never eat pasta in Italy. I’ll never have a croissant in Paris. I can’t just pop down to the pub for a pint with you. And how could you ever love someone so complicated? You could never love someone who can’t simply go out, carefree, and graze from the menu of life without questioning what allergens might be present–or which food my body would suddenly decide was unsafe today–and would it be a mere inconvenience or ultimately fatal. 

I tied my self worth to all that I’d achieved since beginning Plonk & Pleasure; it had become my entire identity. To lose love was one thing, but to lose wheat felt like more than just an omen: it felt like losing myself entirely. Once love and wheat were ripped from my life, I found I didn’t know myself at all. With them gone, there wasn’t much left to me. Was I cursed to lose everything that I ever held dear? If I’m not the girl swilling wine, eating pizza, and telling you all about my most recent restaurant escapade: who am I? 

Eventually, the veil was lifted. The unknown came to light. I began, for the first time in a very long time, to have answers. I’ve gained the knowledge of what’s “wrong” with me and how to, at least for now, treat it the best that we can. If you wonder why I’m such a cranky bitch half the time, it’s because my cells are constantly shadowboxing nonexistent threats. I haven’t lost wheat per se–but I have lost gluten. I didn’t lose your love: because you can’t lose something that you never really had. Now you’re just one more thing, in an ever growing list of things, to which my body poorly reacts. I’m currently embarking on a journey. I can’t call it a healing journey: because there’s no cure for what ails me. But, I suppose, it’s a journey towards being a healthier and happier version of myself. 

Brain fog is a side effect of the disorder that I have. With any luck, I’ll forget all the bullshit that you put me through. I’ll forget the taste of a real croissant. I’ll forget the magic of combining eggs, flour, and a little olive oil to manifest fresh pasta on a whim. I’ll forget the joy that Johnny Ox pizza used to bring me. (Just kidding–I’ll never forget how fucking good Johnny Ox is.) The memories of everything but pizza will get hazy and grow distant. I’ll forget: but I won’t forgive. Just because I can handle pain doesn’t mean that it’s been easy for me–or fair. I’m a girl who’s always, gladly, suffered for my art. But ultimately, I think some things aren’t worth hurting myself for. Your approval? Not worth it. Your love? Not worth it. Johnny Ox pizza? I’d happily die just to taste one last slice. Priorities, baby. 

I was never your priority. Sure, you liked my writing. You liked the ego boost that I provided. You liked when I exalted you above all others–because you have a praise kink and nobody can fault you for that. But, let’s be honest. At the end of the day, you always left me footing the bill. You want everything for free even though everybody knows that nothing in this world comes without a cost. I paid with both my mental and physical health. So, consider this my final notice–I’m so done giving more than I receive from you. I’m done pretending that everything is perfect. I may have lost the ability to eat gluten, but you lost something more vital: me. I’ll be fine. You’ll just keep on being you.

Loss is subjective. What have I lost, really? Nothing. I’ve gained more than I’ve lost. Now I have answers as to why I’ve felt so awful and what I can do going forward to help combat it. As for my future? It turns out, Italy is full of amazing gluten free pasta, there are gluten free croissants in Paris, and the world is still my oyster–because oysters are gluten free. And while most gluten free bread tastes like cardboard, there are options that rival the “real deal” if you know where to look. Eating gluten free should come with some sort of government stipend because the groceries are infinitely more expensive. However, this has forced me to plan and prioritize more than I’ve ever had to before in my life: which helps me to discover what’s really important to me. So no, I can’t pop down to the pub for a beer with you–but I don’t want to. I’ll drink cider in the fall and wine the rest of the time. First love, then wheat: the things I thought I’d lost, but I was mistaken.

So, my life has changed forever? That’s cool. There’s a lot of local places that I can’t eat anymore? That’s fine. Obviously, Plonk & Pleasure as you knew it won’t ever exist again. But, you’ll still see me posting and writing from time to time: because nothing short of death will stop me from being the girl swilling wine, eating pizza, and telling you all about my most recent restaurant escapade. Like, try to make me shut up about Daylily Estates–-it will never fucking happen. They’re amazing and I need to shout about it. There will be some businesses that I still love but simply can no longer support for my own health and safety. Sometimes it’s best to love something from a safe distance. 

I may have built this brand from the ground up, but henceforth I’ll be driving it like I stole it. Buckle up for gluten free snack and wine pairings, adventures in finding the most tolerable gluten free pizzas, and shameless praise of my favorite local winery. You’ve got to take the rough with the smooth, the bad with the good, and the plonk with the pleasure. Life’s not all rainbows and butterflies: sometimes it’s bottom shelf Merlot and gluten free pizza. For a girl who’s lost so much in the past year, you’d think I’d be more devastated than I am. But honestly, I’ve never been happier. It’s weird how losing something (or someone) can make your life so much better, easier, and blissful. Sometimes you have to kill a piece of yourself to keep living. The parts of me that I haven’t yet buried are ready to wreak some havoc, Fort Wayne. Babe, wake up–Plonk & Pleasure is back and she’s thirsty as fuck.