Gluten Free Thanksgiving: Crustless Pumpkin Pie

I am venturing into my first foray, for myself, of a gluten free Thanksgiving.

Oy weh.

I wanted to find some GOOD recipes well before the big day, so that I don't spend the day miserable and whining/wishing for my Cranberry Velvet pie with orange shortbread crust from last year.

A moment of silence for that pie.

Ok. Better.

Anyway, I remembered a crustless pumpkin pie that I made for my mother when she was here for Thanksgiving three years ago, and decided to try it again--I remember it being really, really delicious.

The recipe:
GLUTEN FREE Crustless Pumpkin Pie

2 cups pureed pumpkin
1 1/4 c. sugar (I use a little less.)
3/4 c. evaporated milk (yes, you can use skim.)
3 eggs
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. cinnamon (puh-lease. I use this as a starting point and dump the stuff in.)
If you DON'T need to eat gluten free, add 3 T. flour.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix together until smooth. Resist the urge to eat it by the spoonful. Lightly grease a 9 inch pie plate, and then dump it in. Taste a little bit with your pinky finger. Resist the urge to do it again. Place the pie plate on a cookie sheet. (The regular metal kind. NOT the bake stone kind. Trust me.) Pour hot water on the cookie sheet until you've got an even 1/2 inch or so. Place in the oven. Careful--don't dump the water. Bake for 50-55 minutes. Cool. Add whipped cream. Devour. You can even share if you like.

Mmmmm.... what was that other kind of pie I had last year?? I don't remember...

Top 10...

Top 10 Things You Don't Want to Hear Your Doctor Say...

1. I just don't know what to tell you.
2. I really think we might be able to write a paper on this.
3. Oops.
4. Huh. Well that's weird.
5. Let me check with my medical dictionaries and get back to you.
6. Really? I just figured you knew more about it than I did.
7. My colleagues are gonna freak.
8. Do you know where to get more information on this?
9. Wanna see something cool?
10. Oh my gosh! You have GOT to take a look at this!

All of which I heard at my doctor's office today.

Joy.

My Unedited Life: Cake.

Photo from thepioneerwoman.com

Pioneer Woman's "Grandma Iny's Prune Cake" is in my fridge. Taunting me. Glistening in all it's spice cakey, gooey carmel covered goodness. "You mayn't have some." it taunts, sounding self righteous. The flour in the batter sticks it tongue out at me. The 1 cup of oil beckons with a "Come hither" glance and a reminder that there is buttermilk, nutmeg, and cinnamon in here. Tantalizing cinnamon..... mmmmm....

Considering that my baby will turn 1 in a month and I'm wearing a maternity shirt today, the oil should be a deterent. It isn't. But that darn flour. If it wasn't for that darn flour, I'd be diving in FACE FIRST into this cake. It's been that kind of day.

So I'm eating iceberg lettuce by the handful. Just plain old iceberg lettuce. Sometimes I glare over at the fridge, "See??? I don't need you, Cake. This lettuce is awesome. I love this lettuce, and it loves me back."

Cake rolls it's eyes. Cake knows I am lying.

Because Cake knows a universal truth: iceberg lettuce is NOT cake.

I hate Cake.

If you like Cake, and you really should, and you aren't Celiac or something, then please--follow Pioneer Woman's admonition and make this cake now.

Deal.

I have been handed a new set of cards.

I was playing Go Fish. But someone just dealt me a hand of Old Maid. And I'm not sure what to do with these cards.

One spring day in 2005, I got a call from my dad. My Mom had been undergoing some routine tests that day and he said "Oh, they're all fine. But they think she might be allergic to wheat." "Wheat? Bummer. I guess no more bread for her."

Which just shows my own stupidity.

So, for the past four years--my Mom has lived gluten free. She avoids all foods with wheat, barley, or rye in them. Bread, yes. Cookies, cakes, and pasta. But also shampoos, makeup, meats, lotions--just about anything you can think of. We've all felt bad for her. She got dealt a rough hand of cards.

Well, guess what? Can you guess? This morning, I called my doctor to find out the results of my lab work, the nurse said "Oh--and the doctor tested you for celiac. And that's positive."

Such an offhand way to tell someone they're never going to have gingerbread or birthday cake or Olive Garden ravioli again. Like she wasn't dealing me a whole new hand of cards. Because, unlike this nurse--judging by her tone--I know exactly what it means to be celiac. It means being different. It means a whole lifetime of checking labels and explaining why you can't have some. It means that I'll never again have my mother-in-laws hot scones or homemade bread. Ever. It means that someday when my husband and I go on a mission, there are places they won't send me... because I won't be able to get the right kind of food.

It changes everything.

I'm just not sure what to do with it.