I ate toast!…and so begins the FODMAP reintroduction

Yesterday I ate half a slice of toast for breakfast. This morning I ate a whole slice. Tomorrow (provided I don’t get any horrible symptom flare-ups), I will eat two slices of
toast.

I am almost beside myself with excitement! (and that wasn’t sarcasm).

Quite simply, happiness on a plate.

Over the last eight weeks, I had pretty much managed to forget the wonders of toast…crispy outside, fluffy inside, spread with butter and jam. Eating toast this morning brought back memories of the weekend breakfast ritual I developed during my final year at uni. It was simple. It involved two slices of toast, one spread with jam, one with marmalade, a cup of tea, and a magazine.  As part of the ritual, I had to cut each slice in half and then eat the pieces in an alternating fashion…marmalade, jam, marmalade, jam. Some may consider this slightly OCDish, to me it was just comforting.
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The best granola yet?

Pretty much every time I make up a batch of granola my Mum says something along the lines of it being the best I’ve ever made. It was flattering the first couple of times, but after hearing it every time, the compliment began to grow a little thin. Surely not every batch of granola I make is better than the last. Was she sure she wasn’t just unfairly comparing a toasty, crispy, extra fresh batch with the tired, somewhat stale, several week old remnants of the previous lot?

And so, when she once again told me that my last batch of granola was ‘the best yet’, I (most likely) pulled a face of distrust (I have been told that pulling faces, more often than not unattractive ones, is somewhat of a habit with me. It’s mostly in the eyebrows, apparently, ‘expressive eyebrows’…) and I refused to buy into the compliment. Although I would go as far as agreeing that this particular granola was a very, very, good one. But I wasn’t willing or bold enough to go about casually using superlatives. Continue reading