A Healthy Brownie – Why? (Reason 2)

Perhaps I’m just really lucky but I have the digestive system of an Indian street dog.A� I can seriously eat anything; cheese with green fur coat? Cut it off – it’s perfectly fine underneath (especially if you eat it with marmite!), bread with green spots? Pluck ’em out, toast it and add marmite.

I thank my parents for this.A� After every meal, all the leftovers would be dutifully placed in tupperware containers and stored in the fridge.A� Every fortnight (sometimes longer), Dad would make one of his curries.A� These curries are a family favourite.A� Each one is unique, specially crafted from the contents of those tupperware tubs.A� Basic rule of thumb, if it’s not furry it goes in the Balti pan.A� Then add spices, plenty of chilli and serve with rice and poppadoms.A� Yummy!

I’m not sure how many doses of penicillin would be in one of those curries but I never suffered food poisoning or gastroenteritis, until I left home and lived with a boyfriend who never ate anything that was approaching it’s ‘use by date’.A� Take from that what you will!

Fast forward a number of years and I now have a collection of friends with various different ‘food sensitivities’.A� Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), Celiac, lactose intolerant and so on.A� So reason number 2 is my friends.A� Why should anyone have to miss out on the delight of biting into a freshly baked chocolate brownie?

I figured that I like baking brownies, I like eating brownies and I like sharing a cup of tea and a sweet treat with my friends.A� It really is a no brainer!

So, Steve, Kylie, Marie and all my other beautiful and sensitive friends around the world – this blog is for you! amantadine 100mg where to buy it buy pills buy pills purchase doxazosin 2 buy innopran er

Author: Sarah Keast

"I'm just a thumbprint on the side of a skyscraper of the world." Miles, Sideways (2004). My psych said that creative expression might help with my depression. I've tried writing about yoga but the fact that I can't touch my toes makes me feel like a fraud. Given that everything I plant dies it seems pointless writing about my gardening attempts. So here are the rantings of a self confessed over-achiever who has found herself disillusioned with the establishment and diagnosed with depression. Happy Days.

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