Drunk with Alcohol - Or Could it be Gluten?!
Is She Drunk, or Did She Get Gluten?
A true (and slightly humiliating) story from a fancy restaurant in Yellowstone — plus the surprising science of why gluten can make me look tipsy.
We'd been on the road for a few days, and there hadn't been much I could safely eat. I'd been leaning hard on the jerky, canned vegetables, seaweed sheets, and nuts I'd packed. So when we reached a lovely restaurant in Yellowstone, my husband and I decided to splurge on a real, sit-down, someone-else-cooks-it meal.
We did everything right. We asked for the gluten-free menu. I explained to the waiter that I needed to be sure there was no cross-contamination, and he assured me the chef would prepare my plate on a clean surface. When the food came out, I started in on the fish — heavenly — and then took a bite of what looked like rice beside it. Something tasted off. I flagged the waiter and asked what it was.
His face went white. He froze in place, eyes wide, mouth open, and actually gasped: "Oh dear God… that is wheat." He snatched my plate, apologizing over and over, promising to bring me another. As he rushed off, I looked at my husband. Of course — it had been the most expensive thing on the menu.
Which was almost funny, because it had happened before. Years earlier, traveling in Wyoming when gluten-free food was nearly impossible to find, we'd finally reached a nice restaurant and I'd ordered the priciest thing on offer — halibut. It arrived absolutely enormous, filling my entire plate, deep-fried in flour. And now here I was, at another beautiful restaurant, ordering the most expensive plate again… served on a bed of orzo, that little wheat pasta shaped so much like rice you'd swear that's what it was.
I tried to enjoy the gluten-free plate that was brought out to me, hoping the effects wouldn't hit me too soon, but it didn't take long for my husband to see where this was headed. He leaned over and said, "We need to get you out of here while you can still walk."
He hoisted me up, draped my arm over his shoulder and wrapped his around my waist. "Please don't say anything to the waiter," I mumbled, "he feels horrible." But there was no hiding it — I was not doing well. I looked absolutely, unmistakably drunk as I tried to put one foot in front of the other, and my husband walked my wobbling self down the long row of dinner tables, past a gauntlet of curious onlookers, and out to our cabin.
If you'd been one of those diners, I promise you'd have assumed I'd had far too much wine. And this is not a rare event in our marriage. So many times when I've gotten gluten, my husband has had to carry me or walk my "drunken-looking self" back to the car, back to the house, back to the room, back down a trail. The whole trick is to get moving while I can still help a little, because before long my legs turn to that of a raggedy-Ann doll — no ability to keep my feet planted under me. We have laughed until we cried over the comedy of me trying to climb a set of stairs in that state.
So… was I drunk, or did I get gluten?
Here's what I've since learned, and honestly, the science is kind of wonderful.
When someone with celiac disease eats gluten, the immune system overreacts and attacks the lining of the small intestine. That's the gut misery so many of us know too well. But for some of us, the reaction doesn't stop at the gut. The very antibodies our bodies make against gluten can cross-react with cells in the cerebellum — the part of the brain that runs balance, coordination, and steady movement. There's a name for it now: gluten ataxia. It's actually the most common neurological reaction to gluten, and doctors have been studying it since the mid-1990s.
And here's the part that made me laugh out loud when I read it. The cerebellum is the exact same part of the brain that alcohol knocks offline. That's why a tipsy person staggers, veers, and slurs — their cerebellum is struggling to do its job. So when gluten hits mine, I look drunk for precisely the same reason an actually-drunk person looks drunk: same brain region, same wobbly result.
I wasn't imagining the resemblance, and my husband wasn't exaggerating. (And no — it isn't that my body is secretly brewing alcohol. There is a separate, rare condition where gut microbes ferment food into actual ethanol, but that's a different story entirely. In my case it's my immune system at work, not a hidden batch of homemade wine.)
A gentle, serious note in the middle of the comedy. Because gluten ataxia involves the brain, repeated reactions aren't something to shrug off forever — over time, ongoing gluten exposure can do lasting harm to the cerebellum. The reassuring flip side is that staying strict about gluten is exactly what protects it. If the "drunk walk" happens to you with any regularity, it's genuinely worth talking with your doctor — ideally a neurologist familiar with gluten-related disorders — about gluten ataxia. The vigilance we already practice, guarding against every last crumb, is the very thing keeping that part of the brain safe.
What Yellowstone taught me — is that expensive does not mean safe, and the priciest thing on the menu gets no special pass. Fish, in particular, is a sneaky one. It gets dredged in flour before it's pan-seared or fried, it rests in sauces quietly thickened with wheat, and it arrives plated on things like orzo or vermicelli that can look, at a glance, exactly like rice.
So now, when I order fish out, I ask specifically: Is it floured or dredged before cooking? What's in the sauce? What's it served on — and is that grain actually rice? A kitchen that takes celiac seriously won't mind the questions one bit, and the ones that seem bothered are telling you something useful.
But I don't want to leave you afraid of a nice dinner, because it can go beautifully. We recently traveled to Canada and didn't have a single problem — and my goodness, they know how to prepare fish. It was some of the most delicious food I've had in ages, and worth every penny. A careful question or two, a kitchen that listens, and a good meal out becomes exactly what it's meant to be: one of the real joys of traveling.
With much love (and steady feet),
Steffanie
Shared from my own experience — this isn't medical advice, and it hasn't been evaluated by the FDA. Gluten ataxia is a real, recognized condition; if you experience recurring neurological symptoms after gluten (unsteadiness, slurred speech, coordination trouble), please see your doctor or a neurologist, since early recognition and a strict gluten-free diet help protect the brain.
A true (and slightly humiliating) story from a fancy restaurant in Yellowstone — plus the surprising science of why gluten can make me look tipsy.
We'd been on the road for a few days, and there hadn't been much I could safely eat. I'd been leaning hard on the jerky, canned vegetables, seaweed sheets, and nuts I'd packed. So when we reached a lovely restaurant in Yellowstone, my husband and I decided to splurge on a real, sit-down, someone-else-cooks-it meal.
We did everything right. We asked for the gluten-free menu. I explained to the waiter that I needed to be sure there was no cross-contamination, and he assured me the chef would prepare my plate on a clean surface. When the food came out, I started in on the fish — heavenly — and then took a bite of what looked like rice beside it. Something tasted off. I flagged the waiter and asked what it was.
His face went white. He froze in place, eyes wide, mouth open, and actually gasped: "Oh dear God… that is wheat." He snatched my plate, apologizing over and over, promising to bring me another. As he rushed off, I looked at my husband. Of course — it had been the most expensive thing on the menu.
Which was almost funny, because it had happened before. Years earlier, traveling in Wyoming when gluten-free food was nearly impossible to find, we'd finally reached a nice restaurant and I'd ordered the priciest thing on offer — halibut. It arrived absolutely enormous, filling my entire plate, deep-fried in flour. And now here I was, at another beautiful restaurant, ordering the most expensive plate again… served on a bed of orzo, that little wheat pasta shaped so much like rice you'd swear that's what it was.
I tried to enjoy the gluten-free plate that was brought out to me, hoping the effects wouldn't hit me too soon, but it didn't take long for my husband to see where this was headed. He leaned over and said, "We need to get you out of here while you can still walk."
He hoisted me up, draped my arm over his shoulder and wrapped his around my waist. "Please don't say anything to the waiter," I mumbled, "he feels horrible." But there was no hiding it — I was not doing well. I looked absolutely, unmistakably drunk as I tried to put one foot in front of the other, and my husband walked my wobbling self down the long row of dinner tables, past a gauntlet of curious onlookers, and out to our cabin.
If you'd been one of those diners, I promise you'd have assumed I'd had far too much wine. And this is not a rare event in our marriage. So many times when I've gotten gluten, my husband has had to carry me or walk my "drunken-looking self" back to the car, back to the house, back to the room, back down a trail. The whole trick is to get moving while I can still help a little, because before long my legs turn to that of a raggedy-Ann doll — no ability to keep my feet planted under me. We have laughed until we cried over the comedy of me trying to climb a set of stairs in that state.
So… was I drunk, or did I get gluten?
Here's what I've since learned, and honestly, the science is kind of wonderful.
When someone with celiac disease eats gluten, the immune system overreacts and attacks the lining of the small intestine. That's the gut misery so many of us know too well. But for some of us, the reaction doesn't stop at the gut. The very antibodies our bodies make against gluten can cross-react with cells in the cerebellum — the part of the brain that runs balance, coordination, and steady movement. There's a name for it now: gluten ataxia. It's actually the most common neurological reaction to gluten, and doctors have been studying it since the mid-1990s.
And here's the part that made me laugh out loud when I read it. The cerebellum is the exact same part of the brain that alcohol knocks offline. That's why a tipsy person staggers, veers, and slurs — their cerebellum is struggling to do its job. So when gluten hits mine, I look drunk for precisely the same reason an actually-drunk person looks drunk: same brain region, same wobbly result.
I wasn't imagining the resemblance, and my husband wasn't exaggerating. (And no — it isn't that my body is secretly brewing alcohol. There is a separate, rare condition where gut microbes ferment food into actual ethanol, but that's a different story entirely. In my case it's my immune system at work, not a hidden batch of homemade wine.)
A gentle, serious note in the middle of the comedy. Because gluten ataxia involves the brain, repeated reactions aren't something to shrug off forever — over time, ongoing gluten exposure can do lasting harm to the cerebellum. The reassuring flip side is that staying strict about gluten is exactly what protects it. If the "drunk walk" happens to you with any regularity, it's genuinely worth talking with your doctor — ideally a neurologist familiar with gluten-related disorders — about gluten ataxia. The vigilance we already practice, guarding against every last crumb, is the very thing keeping that part of the brain safe.
The lesson: be careful with expensive fish at fancy places
What Yellowstone taught me — is that expensive does not mean safe, and the priciest thing on the menu gets no special pass. Fish, in particular, is a sneaky one. It gets dredged in flour before it's pan-seared or fried, it rests in sauces quietly thickened with wheat, and it arrives plated on things like orzo or vermicelli that can look, at a glance, exactly like rice.
So now, when I order fish out, I ask specifically: Is it floured or dredged before cooking? What's in the sauce? What's it served on — and is that grain actually rice? A kitchen that takes celiac seriously won't mind the questions one bit, and the ones that seem bothered are telling you something useful.
But I don't want to leave you afraid of a nice dinner, because it can go beautifully. We recently traveled to Canada and didn't have a single problem — and my goodness, they know how to prepare fish. It was some of the most delicious food I've had in ages, and worth every penny. A careful question or two, a kitchen that listens, and a good meal out becomes exactly what it's meant to be: one of the real joys of traveling.
With much love (and steady feet),
Steffanie
Shared from my own experience — this isn't medical advice, and it hasn't been evaluated by the FDA. Gluten ataxia is a real, recognized condition; if you experience recurring neurological symptoms after gluten (unsteadiness, slurred speech, coordination trouble), please see your doctor or a neurologist, since early recognition and a strict gluten-free diet help protect the brain.
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