I remember the last time we had peanut butter in our house growing up. Sitting on the tiled floor of our kitchen, I held the jar in my hands and I knew that this was something we had to do. Never again could we have any nuts (especially peanut butter) in our home. It was too dangerous, too much of a risk.
This came after a few incidents where my older sister had, by accident, consumed peanuts and had ended up with a severe allergic reaction. Her throat started to close, her breathing would become strained. The few (thankfully, very few) times that I’ve witnessed this, it’s been terrifying.
Unlike my sister, I have no allergies to food (nor to animals). But knowing someone who is deathly allergic to such foods, I am typically more sensitive about this issue.
And there’s a reason why I say typically. Just a few weeks ago, I attended my first gluten-free event. When I first heard that the Big Summer Potluck was going to be a gluten-free weekend, I had a moment of hesitation. Really, how could a weekend without bread or cake or cookies be fun? What the heck were we going to eat?