Gluten-Free Blueberry Muffins with Almond Flour

Tender almond flour muffins bursting with fresh blueberries.

Today I am sharing a new gluten-free muffin recipe, and a health update on my Gut Instinct post. I know, I know. Another muffin recipe? Most food bloggers are waxing poetic about grilling burgers and dyeing frosting for their red, white, and blue recipes this upcoming July Fourth weekend, but the truth is, Babycakes, I'm just not into it. I'm in such a different head space that it almost seems comical to me, reading headlines in my Inbox about the "Ultimate Burger", or how July Fourth wouldn't be a real celebration without a hunk of charred American meat or a Philly cheese dog. 

Um. What? 

Wasn't Benjamin Franklin a vegetarian?

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You're the hemp in my...

Just so you know? It's two in the afternoon.

And I spent the day- so far- in bed. Snuggled beneath a Pendleton blanket, cruising the information highway on Steve's laptop. Nibbling pieces of smoked salmon. Approving Spicy Comments. Paying bills. Ordering lavender pillows stuffed with rice or buckwheat [not to eat, Darling, to heat- in the microwave- till toasty and warm and soothing; therapy for this sleep-deprived blogger's crooked neck and quirky tummy still not right from her sojourn into public dining in Los Angeles].

In light of a certain individual's recent ranting (and her pondering whether to throw in the towel and head for the nearest smoke shop- conveniently located next to Saints and Sinners) this post will be a simple thank you to Certain Readers- you know who you are- for the suggestion of hemp.

Hemp, as in milk.

Hemp, as in, You're the hemp in my mate... (that's MAH-tay for those of you not familiar with Viggo's preferred caffeine source).

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My Humble Petition

(Parental warning- this post is rated PG 13)

Dear Wise and Merciful Goddess,

There have been so many gruesome failures (or quasi-semi-successes not worth sharing) in my tiny blue tiled cocina of late that I am perilously close to throwing in the towel and crying, WTF? I am spending days (yes, days!) feeling hollow from hunger because I can't find anything in the cruel pantry to eat. Especially for breakfast. And brunch. And snacks.

I can usually rustle up a tasty dinner built around potatoes or rice with a piece of fish or the one sausage I can eat. But truth be told- as you may already know in your omniscient all-knowingness- I am missing eggs and cheese like crazy this week. Dear Divine One, what I wouldn't give for one of my pasta frittatas. Or a sizzling tray of nachos. Or- Oy!- a hot and cozy slice of my roasted vegetable kugel.

With limited sources of protein to pick from- beef, pork and some fish- I am stymied at breakfast. Not to mention mid-day. And late afternoon snacks! I mean, seriously. Who wants to eat fish three times a day as my brisk and steely Nurse Practitioner (transplanted from coastal Maine, duh) advised?

And if might gently and sweetly ask, is it really wise to eat beef every day- even if it's grass fed and organic and roaming the range with Tommy Lee Jones and all that good stuff? I kinda doubt it. Not at my overheated pesky age.

As you well know, I'm no spring chicken.

Which I'm also allergic to. Here's the thing. Without my brown rice and beans, my peanut butter on rice cakes, my grabs of almonds and cashews, protein powder smoothies, and hummus? And those fast and fabulous grilled quesadillas? I am, quite frankly, more than slightly askew. Not to mention, cranky. And some days- like today, for instance? Yours in devotion is frustrated and gloomy and frankly, wicked pissed and hungry.

And I'm not going to lie about it.

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Blueberry July

The view from our casita last night was a painting in progress- rapidly changing washes of color from east to west. The softest pink pushing into indigo. Cerulean dropping into sea green when you least expected it.

The day had been hot and dry and discouraging- I had realized abruptly, driving home in late afternoon glare to the beat of an REM song (I've got my spine, I've got my Orange Crush) that I had used a chicken bouillon paste in the previous night's green chile. I reached for it automatically. Without thinking. Just as I had the cup of herbal tea with lemon the night before that.

I felt like an idiot. 

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