The Flying Pie: A Gluten For Punishment

Okay, let’s get one thing straight right way: you are NOT Gluten-Intolerant. Neither are you. And you. And you. You—over there in the corner—maybe a little bit, but I doubt it. Even the National Foundation for Celiac Awareness admits that only 1 in 133 (.075) Americans has celiac disease and that may be fudging it a bit. So why do we have forty aisles of the supermarket now occupied with gluten-free goodies? Why are magazines and newspapers and television shows full of articles and advice for victims of this new plague? The whole thing is out of control. To be glucose-intolerant is to participate in a runaway new fad. A dumb one. Think Pet Rock.

Who started this freewheeling snowball rolling down the mountainside? Was it the son of the lactose-intolerance discoverer seeking to break out on his own? Was it some unknown arch-enemy of Wonder Bread, looking to bankrupt his foe? Or was it something else—say the Evil Plan of some food companies to develop an entire new realm of products to foist upon an unsuspecting public? With history as our guide, we might be inclined to choose Door Number Three, but that’s not the whole story.

Part of the blame belongs to the supposed victims, themselves. Beset with stomach problems of incalculable origin, the sufferer, replete with the boundless assistance of the internet, searches out his own diagnoses. And since the causes of stomach/intestinal issues are often extremely difficult to discern, eventually everybody gets around to gluten. Here’s a Helpful Hint for Better Living: sometimes it’s better (even cheaper) to see a doctor. Gee, what a concept!

Gluten abstinence has grown dramatically over the past several years According to the NPD Group, a fairly responsible marketing-research firm, nearly one-third of adults in this country say they are trying to either eliminate or cut back on gluten (a combination of proteins found in wheat and other grains). And this movement has spawned an exploding food industry valued at more than FORTY BILLION DOLLARS. Think any of those guys are going to discourage the anti-gluten sugarplums dancing in your head? Entire aisles at grocery stores are dedicated to the diet. Restaurant chains offer gluten-free menus. Trade shows devoted to gluten-free products have popped up nationwide. Bars even use menu icons to denote gluten-free beers. Enough, already!

On the other hand, most of the poor shlubs who DO have celiac disease are stumbling around unaware of the problem, so let’s get this whole thing straightened out once and for all. Since the average doctor may not even have full awareness of the testing necessary to discover gluten problems, here’s what should be investigated. Tell him Bill told you so:

1. Deamidated Gliadin—in many processed foods, wheat is put through a process of deamidation, which makes it mix better with other ingredients. This chemical process also goes on in your intestines, which can further complicate the issue. Your body may tolerate every other form of gluten but this one.

2. Glutenin—Gliadin is not the only component to gluten. The other half of gluten is a compound called glutenin. This compound was once thought not to cause an inflammatory response in the body but recent research has shown this not to be the case. Looking at just part of the gluten is like having only some of the pieces to a puzzle.

3. Gluteomorphins—Many people feel worse when they first come off the gluten. They are probably detoxifying off gluteomorphins or gliadorphin. Gluteomorphins are opiate-like compounds that can make gluten act like an addictive drug. Coming off the stuff can bring several days or even weeks of irritability, brain fog, headaches and lethargy. Kinda like liquor, come to think of it.

4. Prodynorphins—These little buggers are necessary for your body to make endorphins, which you’ll be wanting. Their production can be suppressed in someone with gluten sensitivity.

5. Wheat Germ Agglutinin—This is the lecithin component of wheat and can bind nutrients to make them unusable in your body. They can also cause an immune response, leading to chronic systemic inflammation.

6. Gluten Cross-Reactivity—This test can be the missing link for many people who are eating “gluten-free” and still have symptoms. When your body makes antibodies against gluten, those antibodies can also recognize proteins in other foods. When you eat those foods, even though they don’t contain gluten, your body can react as though they do. Is this frustrating or what?

Some common gluten cross-reactive foods are rice, corn, soy quinoa (whatever the hell THAT is) and buckwheat (take that, Aunt Jemima!). A comprehensive health history and testing can be a life changer for undiagnosed sufferers. What works for one person may not be right for the next.

Okay, that’s it. We don’t want to hear any more about your gluten issues. Next week, we’re taking on a more serious problem—the expanding prevalence of Yaws.

Weaning Day

In the thoroughbred horse business, weaning day is that dreaded date when foals are abruptly separated from their mothers, the better to get on with their future lives of learning to be racehorses. And while it is an inevitable annual occurrence, nobody is all that happy about it.

In Flying Pie Land, weaning day is that awful time when the vacation blogs cease and readers have no more colorful stories and pictures of exotic ports of call to fancy. “Is it really over?” they ask, mournfully, hoping for some kind of magical reprieve.

This year, we have decided to provide that reprieve with a fadeaway half-column and some leftover photos. We appreciate all the plaudits and the massive readership of the last four editions of The Flying Pie. I suppose everyone would like it if we just remained on permanent holiday but there are bills to pay, horses to attend to, FDA battles to be fought, all of that requiring a return to General Headquarters. We are rested and ready to perform our tasks, though the memories linger on. Sooner or later, in the middle of some arduous process, we may be forced to summon up memories of the Golden Gate or misty Sausalito or lovely Laguna to help us through the day, and we have them all right here in our mental pocket, ready to trot out at a moment’s notice. Vacations are greatest in the present tense. Not bad in the past tense, also.

Chinatown, My Chinatown

When the lights are low. Hearts that know no other land, drifting to and fro.

Maybe it was the early hour (ten a.m.). Maybe it was elevated expectations. But to me, San Francisco’s Chinatown, the largest in the U.S., was a bit of a snore. Siobhan, on the other hand, liked it just fine. Certainly, showing up a good hour before the stores opened didn’t help. But even when they did, not much to get excited about. The first places to stir were giant junkatoriums, filled to their brims with every manner and make of souvenir dreck, some of it a thousand years old. They throw NOTHING away in Chinatown. I stayed outside the first place to open, watching squadrons of chubby Chinese granny-ladies tote merchandise from the depths of the establishment to the front. Siobhan disappeared inside, eventually appearing with an enormous purple bag—for “my books,” she said. She could have interred a small library in the thing, together with a modest herd of grazing animals and a small dirigible. Many prizes disappeared into the bag and still there was room. It was strangely remindful of its inverse uncle, the magician’s hat, which continued to dispense items well after it just had to be empty. She took the thing everywhere and, incongruously, it never seemed to get heavy.

Here’s a tip for you: in Chinatown, they have tea shops. LOTS of ‘em. Siobhan, like Will Rogers, has never met a tea shop she didn’t like. We went in to have some tea and buy a few packages for Austin Li’s mother. You remember Austin—Siobhan’s lead pony, holding down the fort at home. Not just any tea would do, it had to be tea of a high quality. To discern such, we would need to communicate with the little Chinese lady who was busily stocking the store, not a huge disciple of the King’s English.

“What tea you like? she asked Siobhan, who told the lady she wanted something very nice, a tea the recipient would recognize as being of high stature.

“You take this one,” the woman told her.

“Will Mrs. Li recognize that this is a very good tea?” asked Siobhan

“Oh sure, she know!”

“And how will she be able to tell?”

“See name here? Like Tiffany. You know Tiffany? Very good.”

Siobhan knew Tiffany, though not from any personal experience. She bought a batch of tea and we marched on. To the calligraphy shop. Bet they don’t have one in your neighborhood. Inside and up a flight of curving stairs, a wizened old man held forth, surrounded by every inkless writing instrument known to man. The idea here was to get Austin, himself, a gift, sort of a small marble cylinder about six inches long. On the head of the cylinder, Siobhan wanted the man to carve Chinese lettering which read “Good Fortune.” Austin could then stamp his correspondence with the message, although it could be rough going with the email. Communication in this place was….well….did you ever see the Abbott & Costello Who’s On First routine?

“You tell me name?”

“MY name?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Siobhan, but this is a gift for someone else.”

“You write name.”

“MY name?”

“Yes.”

Siobhan wrote her name. The little man wanted to know how to pronounce it. Siobhan pronounced it in syllables. The man followed, very pleased that he eventually got it. You have to understand that this place probably didn’t get too many visitors. Days were long and you had to milk these valuable conversations as best you could.

Finally, we got to Austin’s name, which was, after all, what we were here for. The proprietor brought out a kazillion little marble sticks for Siobhan to choose from.

“Wow,” she said, amazed at the selection. “any of these, right? All of them are good?”

“You take any one,” the man beamed, happy with his expansive offering. Siobhan eyed them carefully, looking for something exceptional.

“I’ll take this one!” she exulted, happy with her choice. The Chinese man’s smile turned into a concerned frown.

“That one maybe not so good.” he told her. Siobhan, not the most patient of customers, looked at me and rolled her eyes. The man across the counter allowed that she had made a wonderful choice from a standpoint of beauty but the stamp on the end would benefit from simpler surroundings. A compromise was made. Smiles all around. A delivery date was proffered and money changed hands. It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

We marched outside into the bright Chinatown sunlight. I looked over at Siobhan. “You know,” I said, “I really like that cylinder you got for Austin. Is it too late to buy one for me?”

She hit me with her big heavy purse. I finally realized what she bought it for.

Leftovers