The Agonies of ALLergen-Or-Nothing?

Dear Tamar:

I'm breastfeeding a baby who reacts to most major allergens, along with a few additional ingredients thrown in for, uh, the opposite of fun. The list currently includes gluten, dairy, soy, eggs, pork, tomatoes, turmeric, grapes, strawberries, chocolate, and caffeine. I like meat and vegetables and gluten-free grains, but... I also like variety? How do I enjoy something other than the formula of meat + vegetable + grain for each meal of the day—especially when my idea of a good breakfast has always included eggs? How can I learn to see cooking under these constraints as creative instead of limiting?

-ALLergen-Or-Nothing

Dear ALLergen-Or-Nothing,

Have you ever tried to pull up grass by its roots? That’s what I was doing—from between paving stones in my yard—when I figured out how I wanted to answer this question. Grass roots are impressively deep. They branch profusely, becoming knotty networks of strong white veins, bunched firmly then propelling themselves explosively into soil. It had never occurred to me to look into the etymology of the idiom “grassroots” until I concerned myself with pulling them. It now seems obvious now. Most of the strength of grass is invisible. It doesn’t matter what you do to the blades. Grassroots are indefatigable.

I also breastfed an allergic child. Or: for a year, I produced the milk that fed my allergic child; by the time I figured out the source of his discomfort, my son was so terrified of nursing that the supply chain had to be me —> pump —> bottle —> him. It took me so long to figure out because I couldn’t imagine my life without the foods I loved most. He and I suffered because I refused to entertain a year without Hawthorne Valley yogurt, or Bellwether Farms ricotta or whole milk cortados. After four months of collective suffering, I gave them all up and had to stay tethered to a pump for the next eight months. I applaud your equanimity and your priorities. I wish I’d done things differently.

What helped me through my dairy-free year was that cuisines are like grassroots. Once you concern yourself with a dish—as with a blade of grass—you find a robust network far beyond what you can see, never mind imagine, by viewing it from afar. I only had to avoid dairy. I excised from my culinary musing any cuisine that featured it, and focused my interest on cuisines that exclude it. I dug out my Fuschia Dunlop and learned how to make the Dan Dan noodles and Mapo tofu and “Fish fragrant” eggplant I missed from my New York City days. Because of the grassroots nature of cuisine, I found myself getting better at cooking rice, and better at Sichuan dishes, and more interested in them and more often. I developed new yearnings. I found my refrigerator full of ingredients that lent themselves to Chinese preparations—from Sichuan and beyond.

I had it easy. I kept tofu and soy sauce and never had to worry about turmeric or tomatoes. But focusing your attentions on a cuisine based on ingredients you can eat and trusting that the new focus will lead to other interests and ideas remains a relevant approach.

Your list is a bit daunting, so I’ve done some musing on your behalf.

The first cuisine that sprang to mind was, perhaps surprisingly, Muslim Chinese. Probably, I was dreaming about Dan Dan Noodles and remembering your child’s pork allergy, and recalling that lamb tends to be almost universally tolerable and thought of spicy cumin lamb noodles. Traditionally, it’s made with wheat noodles. But if you were to substitute the broad, chewy rice variety, you’d have exciting prospects. And other dishes, of beef and potatoes, and spicy soups, immediately entice. You’ll use coconut aminos instead of soy. Or a combination of coconut aminos and fish sauce. But it’s doable, and you’ll find paths branching before you.

Singaporean food found its way into my thinking, too. I remember that I made Hainanese Chicken Rice during my no-dairy era, and found it so soothing I began bringing a congee cooked according to similar principles—the porridge made with chicken broth, and a ginger sauce alongside—to all postpartum friends. But Laksa, made with rice noodles also fits the bill, as does Nasi Lemak. Again, my hypothesis, proven only by myself and my metaphor, is that digging in will show you how much more there is to be excited by.

I recalled that both farofa and pao de queijo are made with cassava, which got me thinking about Brazilian food in general. Moqueca can be made with only one modification. Vatapa with none.

You mention breakfast in particular, which got me thinking about both Indian and Thai breakfasts. With Idli and Dosa and Poha and Upma in your repertoire, how could you miss eggs? If you can make Khao Tom or Jok, why would you want pancakes?

Dear cook, there are hundreds of cuisines into which to dig. I can’t promise you won’t feel an occasional pang for familiar toast-and-eggs, but I can promise that you’ll find other, deep and diverting meals to love. When I finally stopped pumping breast milk—eight years ago now—I found that my love of rice-based cuisines remained. I still cook everything I began making due to that odious milk-protein allergy, proving to me—and hopefully you—that engaged cooking doesn’t have to be an agonizing, Allergen-Or-Nothing proposition.