But for someone like me, it's forbidden fruit. See I'm on a gluten free diet and have been for about nine months now. For the most part, it's working out great. I've given up things like bread and pasta and crackers and in return I am migraine and tummy-trouble-free. And if you would have had the misfortune to spend any time in my head or stomach before then, you would know I got the better end of the deal.
But this weekend my strength was tested something fierce.
I was hanging out in this darling little town called Lanesboro, Minnesota. My smart and hilarious friends and I drove down together and had a blast the whole way. Our other friend Molly was playing at the VFW that night so we got to see her show and it was awesome. The next day we grabbed some coffee and headed out for a jaunty walk on a crisp fall morning, taking in more of Lanesboro's insanely cute landscape. And on our way back to our precious B&B we walked into the local breakfast hang called the Pastry Shoppe to enjoy a highly recommended breakfast. That's when all hell broke loose.
Now you would think that a girl who can't eat wheat would steer clear of a place called the Pastry Shoppe like someone with Polish calves would avoid capri pants, which I do. But unlike the legs my mom gave me, I'm okay with my gluten-divorce, so why would some harmless little restaurant in a tiny, unassuming town be anything to worry about? Why indeed.
I walked through the door of the Pastry Shoppe and in an instant was smacked in the face by a sight I'll never forget. Just miliseconds before my arrival, some evil baker had placed a fresh-out-of-the-oven pan full of the most alluring sweet rolls I have ever laid eyes on into the bakery case. I swooned. It felt like I had just run into an old boyfriend who was totally over me and looking fine.
These were not just any sweet rolls. These were voluptuous sweet rolls, with a delicate amount of icing that served as a delicious adhesive for the heaving bosom of uber blueberries piled on top. Caligula on a cookie sheet is what they were.
I panicked. I blushed. Then the sweet rolls made a move. They nudged one of those Rubenesque berries atop the now melting icing, causing it to slowly slide off the side of a roll. The room stopped. That music from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" started playing. I was Clint Eastwood and the sweet roll was Lee Van Cleef. The camera panned to me, then the blueberry, then back to me, catching a small bead of sweat sneaking down my temple.
I swallowed hard and then I heard it. The sound of a large plane hurling toward earth. My jaw dropped open just as the bowling-ball-sized blueberry hit the cookie sheet with the splash of a tsunami. The juice from the bluberberry exploded upward and I fell to my knees, raising my fists to the heavens and screamed "WHYYYYYYYYY?"
Just then, a waitress walked by with huge hammer-shaped earrings. I tore one off and slammed it into the glass, throwing myself on top of the entire pan of sweet rolls, inhaling them in one gulp like they do with hams on Tom and Jerry cartoons.
Next thing I know, my friend Becca was tapping me on the shoulder, telling me our table was ready and I realized it was all just a moment in my subconscious.
Or was it? I'm back to being okay with not eating wheat. I suppose it's normal to crave what you're missing now and again. But is it normal that ever since that morning, I want a cigarette after passing through the bakery section of the supermarket? Especially since I don't smoke? Beats me.
All I know is if you are ever anywhere near southern Minnesota, you should definitely make a trip to the Pastry Shoppe. And remember, what happens in Lanesboro, stays in Lanesboro.
Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc.
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