"Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind was beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza" -Dave Barry

I remember distinctly what one of sixteen-year-old-me's first reaction to my diagnosis with Celiac was. Allergic to pizza and beer? College is going to suck.

And it did suck, at first. Sitting in the dining hall with an entirely new group of people and explaining why you are eating a sad, plain grayish colored piece of grilled chicken that's been Saran-wrapped and sitting in a hot box for three hours instead of pasta and waffle fries like everyone else? Having the, "It's not an allergy, it's a chromosomal malfunction... (sigh) sure, kind of like an X-Man... I guess...Wheat monster? Gluten girl? Wow, yeah those are funny...I'll think about it...Uh, I have to go..." conversation with weirdos at the allergy station again and again? Your face melting into about four shades of red and utter mortification when, at your first party, a drunk upperclassman stands on a chair and announces to the entire room "NOBODY GIVE THIS GIRL A BEER. SHE WILL DIE!!!"? I probably could have done without those.

But eventually, I figured it out. A little too well, maybe. My roommates were always good about the separate pots and pans and toaster rule (to their credit, even when hammered), and eventually became gluten-free experts in their own right. We even managed to get priority housing one year thanks to my...disability. I started packing a lunch to take to the dining hall, avoiding the "allergy station" (and thus, uncomfortable comic-book-based conversations) all together. And, I developed a highly efficient system of dumping a  handle of tequila into one of those margarita party bags and sticking a straw in it for parties.

My sister (also gluten-free) is a freshman at University of Delaware this year, and I know she is stuck figuring it out too (if you are reading this Mom, I didn't tell her anything about the margaritas). Athough judging by her recent appearance wearing a toga in my facebook mini-feed, she seems to be adapting quite well.

Fortunately, for her, and future generations of college-bound students, it's getting better. Like, a lot better. A ton of schools now offer gluten free dining options (Check out this website for 14 Colleges That Cater to Gluten Free Students or, add your own on this posting).

In addition to that, the resources for gluten free pizza are becoming gloriously abundant. Some of my personal favorites include Jules Thin Crust Pizza with locations in Jenkintown, Doylestown, and Newtown PA, and Georgio's on Pine in Philadelphia. I was also super excited to hear news that my favorite person (you know who I'm going to say here, right? Peter McAndrews, owner of Paesano's, Monsu, and Modo Mio) is opening a brick oven pizzeria in Media in the fall. For a more complete list of pizza places in and around Philadelphia, the always awesome Gluten Free Philly blog has the best compilation of gluten free restaurants that I've ever seen, separated by cuisine (just click on Italian and Pizza).

And then there's the issue of beer. I was twenty-three when I had my first beer, a dark, lager-style Redbridge at the National Foundation For Celiac Awareness' Appetite For Awareness event (which occurs every September and is amazing, if you live in the Philadelphia area you should really go). My dad was so proud he looked like he was going to cry. And, as you all know from reading my past posts over and over again, I did enjoy a beer at Citizen's Bank Park at a Phillies game (and, more recently, at the Wells Fargo Center for a 76ers game), but I have never really been a big beer drinker.

But Dogfish Head Craft Brewery might have changed all that. The Delaware-based brewers have introduced Tweason'ale, a certified gluten-free beer that's sorghum-based, and light and delicious with notes of strawberry and honey. And man is it good. It's incredibly easy to drink, a beautiful blend of almost-effervescent sweet and tart, but with a distinct dark and (faux) malty complexity thanks to the buckwheat honey. I ordered a glass on tap at South Philly Tap Room last night and enjoyed every minute of it. Best of all, it doesn't taste like a gluten-free beer. The sorghum taste is all but non-existant, thanks to the subtle nuances and fruity flavors that have been so delicately crafted to create a glorious sympohny of 6.0 ABV.

So, for you gluten-free college students playing beer pong with craft ales and margarita buckets, I say, stay classy... From what I've smelled of day-old Natty Light on the floor of a frat house, you aren't missing out on anything.

"A hot dog at the ball park is better than a steak at The Ritz" -Humphrey Bogart

I am not a sports fan. Although I grew up in a large, Irish Catholic family, with lots of uncles who insisted we sing “Fly Eagles Fly” after saying Grace on Christmas Eve, this love of all things competitive did not pass directly on to me.


 

Whoops

In fact, I know so little about sports that one night at Amada, when a handsome blonde gentleman came in and requested to sit in a certain section of the restaurant, I smiled apologetically and told him it was unavailable at the moment, but that I’d do my best next time he came in. He graciously nodded, and followed the hostess, who returned, wide-eyed and said incredulously “I can’t believe you just told Chase Utley he couldn’t sit there.” I stared back at her. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that was Chase Utley!”  Aaaaaaand, I’m an asshole.  (Chase, if you are out there: Really sorry about that. I Google Image-ed you, so it won’t happen again)

So no, I did not get drunk, take off my clothes, climb traffic lights, riot or destroy anything around me when the Phillies won the World Series a few years back. I was pretty sure an “outfielder” was a mathematical term for something on a graph. And, for my limited knowledge and attention span, baseball is about 7 innings too long for me to watch on TV.

But Aaron seemed convinced that it was “un-American” or something for me never to have been to a baseball game. Point. Counterpoint: After surviving without pizza for 4 years of college, isn’t it just cruel and unusual punishment to take me somewhere where beer and hotdogs circulate like currency? I had him there.

Citizen’s Bank Park, home of the Philadelphia Phillies, had other ideas, however. My friend Phil, who, although he himself is a lover of gluten, is constantly on the look out for gluten free spots for me (and thus, well-deserving of a blog shout out and big thank you), works at the park and informed me excitedly that things were changing for glutenless Phillies fans. Aramark, the company which handles the concessions for 14 MLB teams and 10 minor league clubs, has taken a personal interest in expanding their market to include gluten-free products at many of their ball parks and other venues. Kudos, guys.

And so, I donned my new Cole Hammels t-shirt (I figured, I hadn’t offended him yet) and wound up at my second Phillies game ever (the first one doesn’t count- it was freezing cold, it rained, they lost 0-9, and we bailed halfway through).

Our first stop was the South Philly Market, located behind Section 128. They have gluten-free beer and cider, as well as hot dogs on gluten-free buns. The buns come right out of the bun warmer and are soft and textured to perfection, just like, I imagine, a ball park hot dog should taste. “I want a beer,” I said, surprising myself even.  I typically pass up the gluten-free Estrella Damm Daura or Redbridge that Aaron sometimes buys to cook with, instead preferring a glass of white wine or a mixed drink. But something about drinking a beer there just seemed so… right. I got my hotdog and plastic cup, loaded up on the condiments and napkins, went to my seat and thought I am eating a hot dog and drinking beer. I felt downright American, damn it.

And Bogie was right. It was the best hot dog I have ever tasted. There was just something about being a part of this crowd, lost in a sea of red and white-clad fans, all cheering for the same team which, although I knew nothing about, I felt strangely… loyal to..., eating a hot dog and drinking my beer just like everyone else around me. For me, that is one thing that I really miss. It sounds so silly, doesn’t it? Doing what everyone else is. Like something your mother warned you against. But it is oddly comforting to experience this sameness again.

I still got lost somewhere around the 6^th inning, was excited when it was announced that Brian Wilson would be pitching until I realized that a) he was not the bass player from the Beach Boys and b) he played for the other team, and almost got smacked in the face with a foul ball because I was busy taking pictures of my hot dog. Oh, and they lost. But honestly, I had an absolutely amazing time. I get it now, the whole “America’s past time” thing.

I even waived at Chase Utley from our seats behind the dugout, but he pretended not to know who I was. I guess I deserved that.