Doing a low FODMAP and anti-reflux diet at the same time might as well be a death sentence for a foodie.
It’s been one day, and I already hate this. I didn’t realize how much of my cooking—my identity in the kitchen—starts with garlic and onions. Fresh, powdered, granulated… it doesn’t matter. That’s the base. That’s the flavor. That’s the smell that lets you know something delicious is happening.
Taking those away feels like being told to write without verbs. Technically, you CAN still do it. But it’s awkward, flat, and nothing comes alive quite the way it should. And now I’m standing in my kitchen trying to figure out how to make food taste like something… without the very things that make it taste like something.
Tomorrow is my birthday.
The Supreme Commander is making steak and baked potatoes, which is normally one of my favorite meals. It should feel like a win. But everything about it feels stripped down.
The steak—just salt and pepper. No marinade, no rub, none of the blends that make it feel a little special. And the baked potato. Butter melting down into every crack. A scoop of sour cream. Green onions. Maybe a sprinkle of seasoning or a garlicky salt blend. The kind of potato that doesn’t need anything else on the plate.
And tomorrow… none of that is happening. No butter. No sour cream. No green onions. No garlic. Maybe a drizzle of olive oil. Salt. Pepper.
And I know that should be enough. I know it is enough. But it doesn’t feel like a birthday meal.
It’s food. It just doesn’t feel like a celebration.
I think that’s the part I wasn’t prepared for. Not just the list of foods I can’t eat—but the way it makes me think about food all the time. Isn’t that ironic? You go into something like this thinking it will simplify things. Quiet the noise. Help you reset. And instead, I’m obsessing more than ever.
What can I eat?
What will I eat?
What do I even want anymore?
I used to grab an apple or a pear without thinking when hunger struck. Now I stand there, staring into the pantry, negotiating with myself over rice cakes. Rice cakes. Maybe with peanut butter if I’m really living it up. This is a short-term thing. I know that matters.
And I know I have it good. I really do. I don’t have chronic illness. I don’t have severe food allergies. There are people who live like this—or more restricted than this—every single day. I know that. And yet, today, it still feels hard.
What’s especially strange is that some of the foods I can eat are things I already love. Potatoes. Rice. Eggs. Strawberries. Blueberries. Carrots. Zucchini. Artichokes. It’s not like I’ve been left with nothing.
So maybe this becomes a shift. Maybe this becomes an experiment. Maybe this changes the way I cook in ways I can’t see yet. Maybe even this leaves its own tiny fingerprint.
But right now, it just feels like loss.
It’s day one. I’m hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food. I’ll figure it out.
Just… not today.
Real food. Real kitchens. Real life. –The Food Civilian