Gluten-Free Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp-Crumble

Gluten free strawberry rhubarb crumble


A beautiful strawberry crisp.

Cherry blossoms are snowing pink. Love is in the air. House finches are singing. Magnolias are unfolding their velvet petals. Trees are budding lacy greens and pale sun-yellows.

In other words, Spring has sprung. And I've been craving crisp and crumble desserts. The easiest of baked fresh fruit sweets... lovely for springtime picnic, or summer backyard get-together. A perfect ending to a grill-side supper on the deck, al fresco.

Although I have featured a strawberry rhubarb crisp in the past (kissed with a hint of balsamic vinegar) I decided to play around with an alternative topping to the classic pairing of tart rhubarb and sweet ripe strawberries. And I grabbed a secret ingredient from my pantry.

Can you guess what it is?

The secret ingredient in this old fashioned crumble dessert is an ingredient your grandmother probably never heard of.

Quinoa flakes. Gluten-free quinoa cereal flakes add a distinct, delicate flavor to this fruit crumble's sweet and nutty topping. The texture is light and lovely- and far less chewy than oats.

We thought it was spectacular.

And as a bonus?

This gluten-free dessert is xanthan gum free.


Italian-Paleo Eggplant, Beef, Tomatoes + Mint

Eggplant and crumbled organic beef recipe with tomatoes and mint



Mediterranean Flavors.


The classic Italian flavors are all here- eggplant, tomato, garlic, onion and oregano with a twist of fresh chopped mint nudging it over into Greek territory- but there's not a speck of gluten or dairy.


Mediterranean goodness on a plate.

This recipe is for those of us who miss eggplant Parmesan- a little something I threw together this week when my craving for a slab of eggplant Parm (as we called it back in Massachusetts) heated up to such a fever pitch that all I could think about was, How? How to translate a dish so fiercely reliant on a fried breadcrumb coating and slabs of melty Parmesan cheese? A dish so not gluten-free. Or dairy-free. Or lower glycemic friendly to this waist-whittling goddess.

Thin, weeped eggplant slices are brushed lightly with a little extra virgin olive oil and roasted in a hot oven- all by their lonesome. This makes for a delicate, slightly crispy eggplant slice, let me tell you. Topped with a homemade ragu of Italian tomatoes, browned ground organic beef with onions and garlic and herbs and a splash of balsamic vinegar- it's love, Mediterranean style. It is sustenance. It is flavor. And it's dairy-free.



Lemon-Blueberry Muffins

Gluten-Free Goddess Lemon Blueberry Muffins


Sunshine + Lemon.


Caught in the grey flannel mood and wet patter of a rainy spring day, what's a Gluten-Free Goddess to do? Why, bake, of course. (The calorie-stingy- but oh-so-delicious!- detox soup recipe will still be there tomorrow, in all it's green and virtuous glory, don't you worry.) When the wacky winds howl like Banshees on the headlands and rain (or snow!) flies sideways as sharp as an art/music/film/literary critic's those-who-can't-do-criticize sarcasm, I hunker down in our humble rental, praying to the Power Gods that the electricity will hold. I pull on layers worthy of an L. L. Bean catalog and crank up the oven.

Baking lemon-blueberry muffins, then, accomplishes two things.

It warms us twice.

Body and soul.


Lemon Yogurt Cake


California lemons at the Farmer's Market

Luscious Lemon Cake...


From deep in the Gluten-Free Goddess archives, a lemon cake you may have missed... Ever since I saw Ilva's sumptuous Almond and Ricotta Cake I've been jonesing for something with lemon. The odd thing is- her cake doesn't even have lemon (strange the way our mind works and sweeps us away along memory traceries of scent and flavor) but I started craving a cake laced with citrus- not too sweet and not too light. A cake with character and heft.

The day I decided to bake, of course, I had no ricotta, but I did have organic plain yogurt and plenty of blanched almond flour. Inspired by Ilva's recipe, I tweaked her ingredients with those I had on hand and baked up a lovely simple cake that reminds me of a coffee cake I remember liking as a child, a bakery cake called Louisiana Ring made by Freihofer's- yet in truth, that cake featured a hint of orange rather than lemon.

There's that memory glitch again.

Some intuitive leap from taste to taste. An image, a smell can trigger a remembrance as vivid as the day you experienced it, enhanced, I imagine, by hindsight. This ability sharpens as you get older.

Time seems to condense into the senses (invoking forgotten details). You start believing the Buddha's theory about ten dimensions. You start savoring the smallest moments. Your husband hands you a mug of green tea, the steam rising in the late afternoon sun slatted through the bamboo window shade, and a loss from the past heals for a moment.

Next time I make this recipe I think I'll use oranges.



Lemony Gluten-Free Pasta with Grilled Asparagus

Lemon Infused Pasta Salad with Fresh Herbs and Grilled Asparagus


Light + Lemony Gluten-Free Pasta Salad.

To speak about something as prosaic as pasta salad seems downright ho-hum. I mean. It's just a pasta salad. It's something I tossed together with stuff I had on hand. I hadn't planned on it. I didn't spend days contemplating the ins and outs and quirks of gluten-free penne. In fact, if I'm being unabashedly honest here I rarely think about food at all.

Until I'm hungry.

Until those familiar, nagging pangs begin gnawing their pesky little way into my consciousness, distracting me from my preferred, visual nomenclature- which rarely includes anything edible.

I daydream about paint, the plight of bees, and Clint Mansell's score for Moon. I notice the temperature of light and the curve of negative space against a jar of old spoons. I think about expectations and illusions and perceptions. I ponder where my soul is taking me, tugging at me to pay attention to my life, inviting me through dreams and the random snippets of music or ideas or theories that skitter and skate and ripple the mental stream I wade in day after day, to consider time itself- if I believe in it- sliding by in a cool constant flow of now.

I rarely eat breakfast. I often forget lunch. And dinner time always surprises me. As if each day takes figuring out all over again how to (****ing) live (to paraphrase the Deadwood Zen master David Milch).

This doesn't mean I don't appreciate good food.


Or that I hate to cook (well, some days I am less than enthusiastic).

I loathe junk food and processed food. I can't take credit for this- it's simply the way I'm built, the way my body so pointedly rejects any easy, packaged fix.

Even before I discovered gluten intolerance and FODMAPs I knew on some instinctual level that in order to keep this body of mine healthy and strong for the here and now I have to pay it some attention.

I know I have to eat.

And eat consciously.

And so I find myself rummaging in the little white painted cupboard that is my pantry.

And I find a box of gluten-free penne.

In the fridge I locate a fistful of spring asparagus.

One lemon.

A few sprigs of dill, marjoram, parsley and mint.

The rest is history.

Now in my belly.

Fuel for instigating thoughts of rebirth, fragility, and the particular pink that is ranunculus.


Easy Gluten-Free Green Chile Egg Bake

Green chile egg bake - gluten-free


Easy, elegant eggs.


This simple egg bake recipe flirts with being a souffle. She imagines herself in an Anais Nin novel, puffy and voluptuous, trembling on a sunlit, blossom strewn table, about to be devoured by a Henry Miller style character, an unknown writer, all bluster and Brooklyn guff, with a surprising, childlike glint to his laughter.


In a Kerouac novel she imagines herself liquid, a stream of golden beats syncopated in hot opposition to the heart's rhythm, strangely, vertigo defyingly more in tune with how the stars blink- on and off- cradling her humble, unassuming beginnings in feather injected hay, spinning cool and restless past the farmhouse windows lit yellow by a single lamp on the center of a wooden kitchen table strewn with cereal coupons and finger smudged newspaper and coffee cups stained not with lipstick but with infinite tiny cracks, scenting the air with morning that rushes into this author's highway memory like a distant train whistle crooning its tug toward reckless freedom, toward shed dreams and mockingbird awakenings that mimic the familiar just to confuse you, just to keep you anchored, just to clip you from flying in your own, crazy trajectory, your one chance at what might be possible.

Then again.

Maybe she's just an egg recipe.

With attitude.



Fresh organic eggs