I had one of those Oprah A-Ha moments last week, at the most inappropriate time: Right before I chewed off a piece of the best gluten-free bread I’ve ever eaten. (Not surprisingly, from the same place as the award-winning cupcake.) That life-changing thought was, “What the hell am I doing eating bread with dinner?” I had a full on dinner pulled together. I had the protein, the vegetables, all of the accoutrements. When the challah rolls came out of the oven it just seemed completely extraneous. I know! Who am I?

Sure I look tough stomping the holy hell out of that bread here on my blog. And it’s true I’ve gone six months avoiding the bread basket in restaurants, dismissing them as if someone had dropped a big turd on my table. But as I’ve started forgetting what it’s like to have a warm roll with dinner, I’ve been known to say that I miss bread like a phantom limb. Then, I discover gluten-free bread perfection, and it’s clear is that I missed the idea of bread. I missed not being able to eat whatever the hell I wanted, when I wanted. But the actual bread? Eh, not so much.

A big doughy blob that goes next to your dinner plate seems kind of gross now. It feels empty, when paired with a flavorful side dish, or a juicy steak. Would I kick an amazing gluten-free muffin out of my bed? No way. But having bread with dinner when it’s just . . . bread, now strikes me as goofy.

Listen, I’m not telling anyone to stop enjoying their delicious bread. I’m not even returning my fab bread machine. I’m mostly just coming to terms with the fact that something that was such a big part of my life (see: Fresh Direct parabaked anything), is something I am now, so totally over. How does that happen?

I’m sure a life coach or two would say it’s that 30- or 60-day breaking the habit thing. Maybe that’s all it is. If so, I’d love to test that theory. I’m giving up saying, “Nom, nom” for 30 days. Let’s hope it works. For all of your sakes.

Image via The Sensitive Baker, which is totally awesome, by the way