When I was first diagnosed with celiac, nearly 10 years ago, I didn’t really care that I would live a life without sandwich bread. Who cares about sandwiches when I could feel good for the first time in years? Beer? Whatever. It always made me sleepy and red-faced. Pizza? I’d eaten my share. One thing was more important than taste or texture: my health.
However, there were a few things I had to mourn. Chocolate malts. The chance to eat farro (it became popular in the food world after I was diagnosed). And a big bowl of oatmeal.