I’ve been feeling like a vegetarian in Texas lately, and I have to say I have a heck of a lot more sympathy for you herbivores now that I’m all, “I can’t eat that. Not that either. Nope, not that AT ALL.” Like a lot of people on restricted diets I wind up cooking a heck of a lot and avoid eating out to help ensure my stomach doesn’t get all freaky deeky. Actually, I don’t know if this is true at all. Maybe I’m the only one who lives in a perpetual state of dirty pots and pans and the rest of you are all, “I’m picking up soy-free, dairy-free delights from the drive-through, bitches!”
Regardless, when my husband and I started talking about having an at-home date night this week (I know! Aren’t we exciting!?), I started to get depressed because I knew that meant lots of cooking, cleaning, and basically working just to have a romantic night with my man. I expressed this to him, and he said not to worry my pretty little head about it because he would pick up dinner. When I reminded him I can’t eat gluten, and thus eating take-out is way dicey, he said, “Don’t you think I fucking know that? You have a gd blog, after all, that I’m forced to read and click on multiple times every gd day to increase your precious page views.”
Actually, he totally did not say that. Instead, he offered to go to one of our fave lunch spots, Tender Greens, and grab us some tasty salads. That’s when I started to cry.
You see, a salad is not a date night meal. My husband doesn’t understand this because that dude loves salad. But if I’m having a special date night meal there had better be an app, or at the least a cheese course, followed by a salad, and then the entrée. Amiright?
Herein lies the problem with take-out. Finding something that fits the gluten-free bill when you’re eating out is incredibly difficult when you have an attentive waiter standing over you jonesing for a tip. When you’re just running in and out, you’re lucky to get your food order right, much less make sure there’s no gluten all over that. And the potential for slosh over as you drive home is just too risky. So how is a gluten-free gal to get a safe meal that she doesn’t have to either cook herself, or pay a babysitter so she can leave the house?
The obvious answer is vegan joints. Which luckily are all over Los Angeles, and there are some seriously delicious ones. But my inner Okie/Texan is also afraid that a vegan meal isn’t really date night material either. I think that’s pushing it, honestly.
This is where my husband tells me if I continue to eat like I’m in my 20s and living back on the farm, I will die from heart disease. Furthermore, perhaps at-home night date is not such a great idea. Which means, we may be eating Chipotle for date night. Again. (Which I also have to point out, totally doesn’t count either.)