high-bar baking

I went to the allergist recently. I wanted to see if I was still allergic to tree nuts. I hadn’t been tested since I was twelve and hadn’t slipped up since I was fourteen. I grew up hearing that you don’t outgrow allergies to tree nuts (like kids not infrequently do with peanuts) — something about there being too many of them. But I never once reacted to Argan oil (questionably categorized — did it count?), and when I heard of a tree-nut-allergic acquaintance who did, I took to the Google. There’s a one in nine chance you outgrow tree nut allergies. That’s not big. But eleven percent is more than zero percent! I’d been told it was zero. 

So to the allergist we went. 

After the world’s least healing acupuncture session, I had my answer. Wasn’t in the eleven percent. Walnuts, cashews, pistachios all lit up like a Christmas tree. Doc thought I might not be allergic to pecans (50-70% chance), and she’d let me test those someday if I wanted to. But she guaranteed me I wasn’t allergic to hazelnuts. Or Brazil nuts (hey, Selenium!). 

I did ask about forty five times if she was actually cool with me going home and loading up on hazelnuts. And then I asked multiple follow up questions. All the ones I knew my mother would ask when I got her on the phone. 

And who can blame her? I give her grief for being overprotective about this. But now I’m an adult, so I understand a little bit better. I doubt I would ever trust the person (even grown up!) who I’d watched struggle to breath after I had handed her a cookie. When she was three. I never had to live with accidentally poisoning my own toddler. (I’m fine, Mom, really! You did great!) 

But Doc said I could. Forty five times. 

So I went on a quest. I did some hazelnut baking, but I waited to try anything. I wanted a witness. A co-celebrant. Hopefully not an emergency contact. I dragged a friend to a gelato shop in search of hazelnut gelato (yes, I am taking recommendations for hazelnut things to try; that’s what gelato was). When that fell through, she dragged me to a grocery store. I tried a Ferrero Rocher in my car. 

They’re like almonds, hazelnuts. I can see how they’re cousins. Not a bad food. Nutella on warm sourdough toast makes me happy. Surprise, I’m a human being. 

Sarah’s Hazelnut Chocolate Bars are pretty good. I’m still partial to the original iteration of the recipe, her Lemon Oat Bars. And when it comes to fudgy goodness, the Two Chicks Chocolate Oat Bars (all seven pounds of them) will always be the key to my heart. 

It’s nice to have to be afraid of one fewer thing. That’s pretty cool.