A few months ago I marched THBBF (The Hungry Babushka Boyfriend) off to the naturopath to try and get some answers to his tiredness and general run-down-ness. Most women would agree that getting their man to go to the Dr is a task in itself. I mean, their limb could be dangling off and they’d still try to convince you that all it needs is a bandaid. So asking a man that has tried just about every form of “conventional” medicine to cough up over a thousand bucks to visit an alternative therapist is kind of like pissing in the wind vacuum cleaner.
Thankfully, my pissing in the wind eventually resulted in THBBF pissing in a cup (and being jabbed repeatedly with needles) only to come home with a rather shocking report card – my boyfriend, my soulmate, my trusty taste-tester had an intolerance to just about EVERY. FOOD. IMAGINABLE Piano.
I won’t bore you with the details (I mean, who doesn’t have a food intolerance these days) but we basically banished every single food from his diet. When he got sick of eating lettuce for breakfast, lunch and dinner we threw the towel in and went back to normal eating. Well, all except one thing – gluten. I am the first person to admit that I’m not super strict on this (I stress THBBF is non-celiac gluten intolerant, so he won’t die – mainly gluten-laden things like wheat bread and pasta were given the flick) after all, how the hell does an Eastern European recipe developer give wheat marching orders? As far as I am concerned life without puff pastry is a life not worth living designer brands for less.