Letting Go

When my husband and I made the decision to go gluten-free with our 18-month-old daughter, it was strangely easy for me. I started by removing all the gluten-containing foods from the pantry, and either threw them out, gave them to neighbors, or sent them home with our moms when they came to visit. I put the toaster in the Goodwill pile and made a mental note to buy a new one on our next Target run. The utensil drawers were emptied of any wooden, plastic, and silicon tools, and I bought new ones with a leftover Williams-Sonoma gift card. Sure, I missed some of the foods I was accustomed to, but overall, I didn’t feel sad or like I was giving up anything.

After several weeks of learning to shop for our new gluten-free lifestyle and finding some new favorite ways to prepare foods, I was ready to get back into baking. It was then that I realized I had overlooked a sizable chunk of my kitchen when clearing out equipment that might pose a cross-contamination risk: my baking drawer. Upon opening it and really looking at the contents, all the aluminum and nonstick surfaces that could harbor small, gluten-filled scratches, I realized how much I needed to replace. The two little six-cup muffin tins I took from my mom’s kitchen when I moved out during college; the 8×8 pans in which I had perfected my Martha Stewart brownies; the round cake pans that had made dozens of cakes for friends, family, and coworkers; the popover tin my dad had given me just last Christmas, which, though new, had already created a regular habit of Sunday morning popover breakfasts.

Each of these items was easily replaceable, and without great cost. But I found myself hit by an unexpected wave of sadness when looking at my little collection and thinking about its history. Most of these pieces have been with me for more than a decade. They saw me through cold, quiet nights in Portland, where I moved during a brief “finding myself” adventure and began collecting and experimenting with recipes in earnest; they helped me create goodies for my new neighbors and coworkers when I started a job in what has become my current home city; and they have made countless treats shared between me and my husband, many of which have become tradition throughout the years. It was humbling to think of all the confections I’d made in this assortment of bakeware, and sad to think that I wouldn’t carry these pieces with me as my daughter experienced all those treats alongside me.

I put everything in a big box and surveyed my nearly-empty drawer. I began making a mental list of what I needed. I put a few items in my Amazon cart, and with a few clicks, new cookie sheets and a cooling rack were on their way. The next day when C and I were out, we bought a new muffin pan and some cake tins. I started getting excited about baking gluten-free goodies for her, and told myself that these pieces might even be the start of her first kitchen whenever the day comes for her to move out.

The box of my old bakeware is still sitting next to the garage door. Somehow, seeing it each day as we pass by on our way out to the car has helped me feel better about letting it go. Maybe it’s strange to go through this period of mourning, but they were part of what I consider to be formative years in my life – most of my 20s, and my early 30s. More than anything, they hold memories. As I’ve worked through the many changes that have come with our new gluten-free lifestyle – the lifestyle we chose so as to create the best home environment for our daughter – I’ve been grateful to relive those memories, many of which I probably wouldn’t have recalled without prompting. And I’m excited to create new baking memories with her, ones that we’ll share as a family. Not only will she have all the bakeware she needs if she decides to raid my stash when she’s all grown up, she’ll have a collection of her own recipes that we tested and refined together.

I can’t wait to get started.

Written by Abby