“Raisins?” Ingrid asked.
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. are ritz gluten free
Silence. Then, softly: “…Ritz crackers. I can get something else. The gluten-free rounds?” “Raisins
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. Some flavors, like the “Gluten Free” vegetable crisps
Her sister replied with a skeptical emoji. But Ingrid smiled, because for the first time in six years, she wasn’t searching for a ghost. She had made her own.