How do you handle being glutened at a restaurant?

Navigating the restaurant scene with celiac disease is akin to embarking on an expedition filled with both anticipation and a fair dose of trepidation. It’s like the thrill of dining out is halved by the lurking fear of an unwanted gluten encounter. So, what happens when you do get glutened by a restaurant? How do you handle it? What’s the game plan?

I recently got an email that dives right into these murky waters. Here are my two cents on the matter.

Short response: Yep. Sorta. Nah.

The extended version: Over my dining out years, I’ve been blindsided by gluten my fair share of times, but there was this ONE instance where the restaurant owned up to their goof-up. And they chose to tell me right as I was savoring my final morsel. Here’s the lowdown:

I saunter into a sushi spot and launch into my standard interrogation with the manager:
“Do you understand gluten?”
“Is your sushi rice made with just vinegar, or is soy sauce in the mix?”
“Any cross-contamination risks I should know about?”

And so on and so forth.

Everything checks out. I go for my go-to order: three salmon and avocado rolls, spicy mayo on the side. I double-check on the sauce’s safety. All clear, they say.

Mrs. Dude and I dine. Mrs. Dude and I delight.

Then, as I’m polishing off the last bite, the manager approaches with a bombshell. The spicy mayo, it turns out, is a gluten minefield. Our jaws drop. “And you’re telling us now??????” (Dude note: That was the end of my spicy mayo days.)

What’s the manager’s next move? Let’s play a guessing game. Did the manager…

a) present us with the bill, charging full tilt for our meals?
b) tack on an extra buck for my gluten-laden sauce?
c) opt for both of the above?

C is the winner, folks.

This being my first direct hit, I was clueless about what to expect. Immediate expulsion of my meal? A slow and agonizing demise? An eternal bond with the bathroom?

The outcome? Initially, nada. That night, zilch. The following day, zip. Had my GI doc been mistaken? Was my entire celiac diagnosis a flub? Was a blog rebranding to “Gluten Eating Dude” imminent? Then, day two post-gluten bomb…WHAM! It hit me like a freight train of gluten-free bricks. Utter exhaustion. Stomach turmoil. Anxiety through the roof. An emotional and physical trainwreck. Focus, gone. Patience, nonexistent. Sleep, never enough. And this joyride lasted SIX MONTHS. Not something I’d wish on anyone.

And what did I do with regards to the restaurant? A big, fat nothing.

What should I have done? Good question. Though looking back, I cannot believe I paid for my meal.A

So, what’s the move if you find yourself glutened? If you’re not absolutely certain it was the restaurant’s fault, it’s probably best to hold off on accusations. Facts first, finger-pointing later. But if you’re positive they dropped the ball, absolutely have a word with the manager or owner. It’s an opportunity for enlightenment, and it might just spare the next celiac diner some agony.

Then, let it go. Holding onto resentment won’t do your recovery any favors. Being glutened is draining enough without adding a grudge into the mix.

File a complaint? That’s a “depends” from me. In your case, probably not. They’re usually on their A-game. But if a restaurant is blatantly neglectful about gluten, if they’re cutting corners on cross-contamination, or if their gluten-free offerings are more about profit than care, then by all means, make your voice heard.