And they were gluten free.
“Raisins?” Ingrid asked.
Ingrid had known the answer before she typed it the first time. She’d known it for six years, ever since her doctor sat her down with a laminated chart of “forbidden foods.” But Ritz crackers were the last thread connecting her to the easy, thoughtless eating of her pre-celiac life. The buttery, salty, shattering-in-your-mouth perfection of a Ritz was the taste of childhood sick days, of teenage sleepovers, of college cram sessions where she’d crush them into tomato soup. are ritz gluten free
That night, after they left, Ingrid did not search “Are Ritz gluten free?” again. She already knew. Instead, she typed: “Gluten free buttery crackers recipe.” And they were gluten free
Ingrid closed her eyes. She pictured her niece and nephew, fingers sticky with peanut butter, little teeth sinking into the salty, flaky discs of her former life. She pictured herself sitting across from them, nibbling her sad, dense impostor cracker, pretending not to watch. She’d known it for six years, ever since
Twenty minutes later, she pulled a tray of golden, shatteringly thin rounds out of the oven. They were not Ritz. They were smaller, a little lopsided, some edges darker than others. She let them cool. She picked one up. It didn’t crumble. It held.
She stood in the middle of the grocery aisle, phone glowing. The official answer: They contain enriched flour—wheat, barley, rye, the unholy trinity. Some flavors, like the “Gluten Free” vegetable crisps from the same brand, were certified. But the original? The round, golden, sixty-four-cracker-per-sleeve original? A ticking gluten bomb.
And they were gluten free.
“Raisins?” Ingrid asked.
Ingrid had known the answer before she typed it the first time. She’d known it for six years, ever since her doctor sat her down with a laminated chart of “forbidden foods.” But Ritz crackers were the last thread connecting her to the easy, thoughtless eating of her pre-celiac life. The buttery, salty, shattering-in-your-mouth perfection of a Ritz was the taste of childhood sick days, of teenage sleepovers, of college cram sessions where she’d crush them into tomato soup.
That night, after they left, Ingrid did not search “Are Ritz gluten free?” again. She already knew. Instead, she typed: “Gluten free buttery crackers recipe.”
Ingrid closed her eyes. She pictured her niece and nephew, fingers sticky with peanut butter, little teeth sinking into the salty, flaky discs of her former life. She pictured herself sitting across from them, nibbling her sad, dense impostor cracker, pretending not to watch.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled a tray of golden, shatteringly thin rounds out of the oven. They were not Ritz. They were smaller, a little lopsided, some edges darker than others. She let them cool. She picked one up. It didn’t crumble. It held.
She stood in the middle of the grocery aisle, phone glowing. The official answer: They contain enriched flour—wheat, barley, rye, the unholy trinity. Some flavors, like the “Gluten Free” vegetable crisps from the same brand, were certified. But the original? The round, golden, sixty-four-cracker-per-sleeve original? A ticking gluten bomb.