You know that gross musician or actor that you sometimes daydream about making out with in a dirty laundry hamper? Except you’re both 16 and almost nauseated with too much Mike’s Hard Lemonade? I made the mistake of telling my husband once my sexy dirt-dog candidate was one of the guys from FUBAR and guess how well that went over? Sometimes, for reasons completely unknown, you want gross things in and around your mouth. 

Which brings me to Quejos, these ridiculous gluten free Brazilian buns they sell fresh on Main St. (in Vancouver), and frozen in some grocery stores. I don’t think I even like these. But I crave them. It makes no sense. They are only mildly enjoyable when still warm out of the oven, when the insides are almost raw. Even then the extreme chew and clearly audible squeak the dough makes against your teeth is so weird. (How has the squeak not been worked into the marketing?)

But I still keep on keeping on buying and eating them. Not because the shop is awesome. The shop is something else. I’ll give them a round of mega high fives for carrying a pretty broad selection of gf crackers, cookies & cereals by the till. But, service is a coin toss – seems like the owner wants the counter workers to also be making the quejos in the darkened back of store. Thus, it always seems like you’re interrupting them. Some handle it gracefully. Others look at you like, GREAT. A CUSTOMER. I wait patiently, jab in my pin numbers on the crumb-encrusted debit machine and leave with my four buns, shaking my head. WHY CAN’T I QUIT YOU QUEJOS?

Recommended for I don’t rightly know!
Best served in the car, straight from the shop’s oven, while the rest gently steam up the plastic bag. (Or open faced with avocado, ham & havarti)
Gluten Free Authority rating: a confused 7/10