The Time I Ordered at a Restaurant and Broke the Barista’s Brain (Or: The Art of Ordering Absolutely Nothing—Gluten-Free.)
Hello there, dear reader—shall I set the scene? I’m on vacation in sunny San Diego, the ocean breeze is whispering sweet nothings through wide-open windows, and plump throw pillows are practically begging me to lounge forever. Life is good, right?
Well… let’s see. One thing I’ve learned while traveling: at some point, I have to eat. Which means I have to go out to eat. And that’s where our story really begins.
I waltz into a charming little café—beachy vibes, surfboards on the walls—feeling brave enough to conquer the menu. My order? A decaf oatmilk latte (the barista handles this like a champ) and then the kicker:
“By the way, what kind of gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free, pork-free, peanut- and almond-free, sugar-free breakfast options do you have?”
Cue blank stare from Barista #1.
She leans over the pastry case—bagels, croissants, a suspiciously perfect stack of donuts—and offers a hopeful smile while listing options that all star at least one member of my Forbidden Foods List. (We all have one of those, right? Right?)
Barista #1, valiantly: “Actually, we do have gluten-free bread!”
Me, relieved: “Fantastic. I’ll have avocado toast on gluten-free bread!”
Victory! We pay, take our number, and flop into those impossibly soft pillows. I dare to imagine the perfect breakfast: crisp GF toast, creamy avocado, maybe a hint of salt. My stomach starts a tiny tap dance.
Then the barista reappears, that hopeful smile flickering.
Barista #1, apologetic: “I’m so sorry—we’re actually out of gluten-free bread.”
Me, internally: Ah. Well… that happens.
I muster a polite smile and start calculating a backup plan.
Barista #1, shoulders sagging further: “Also… we just ran out of avocados.”
So the avocado toast (without the toast) is now toastless toast minus avocado. Essentially… a plate of nothing.
Me, nodding slowly: “Okay then. I guess… I’ll just skip breakfast.”
She blinks, genuinely confused—like she’s wandered into a hidden-camera show. She looks at the menu, back at me, and you can see the internal meltdown rebooting.
Barista #1, unsure: “Sooo… you want… nothing?”
I sit up, smooth my shirt, and deliver the line I was born to say.
Me, solemnly: “Yes. And I’d like it gluten-free.”
Beat. Then we both laugh—the exact right response to a café that has successfully run out of everything I can eat… except air, of course.
In the end, I sipped my decaf oatmilk latte, requested a glass of water, and enjoyed the ocean breeze for breakfast. Which, to their credit, was gluten-free.
