Inspired recipes to support individuals with impaired glycogen storage and Mitochondrial IV impairment. These recipes are not for the general public.
Egg yolks and heavy cream coaxed slowly with a whisper of glucose and the seed of a vanilla bean. Baked in a water bath, served chilled in small ramekins. The quiet standard against which all bedtime foods are measured.
Frozen-and-thawed sourdough — already noble with resistant starch — cubed and soaked in an unapologetic custard of heavy cream, whole eggs, melted butter, glucose, and almond flour folded through for slow protein. Baked in individual ramekins until just set. A breath in the warming drawer brings it back to life at any hour.
Buttered slices of the house sourdough layered into the smallest ramekins, drowned in cream, eggs, glucose, and a pinch of nutmeg. Baked until the tops are bronzed and the centers tender. A century-old English nursery food, repurposed for the long night.
Sourdough cubes tossed in a pan of melted butter with sliced apple, cinnamon, nutmeg, a glaze of honey, and the merest pinch of capsaicin to quiet the tongue. A beaten egg poured across the top binds the whole. Baked into small portions, kept in the cold for any quiet hour.
Thin slices of sourdough spread with cream cheese, softened butter, and a haze of cinnamon, rolled into pinwheels, cut into rounds, dusted with glucose. Two or three suffice, eaten without ceremony, standing at the counter.
A generous slice of the house sourdough, lightly toasted, thickly buttered, anointed with raw honey or grade-A maple. Eaten unhurried, in slippers, before the lamps go out — or at the first light, while the kettle is still finding its boil.
Cream cheese and slow-curd cottage cheese blended silken with heavy cream, three whole eggs, and a careful pour of glucose or maple. Baked crustless in a pan glazed first with butter and sugar — the first bite tastes of caramel, the rest tastes of restraint. Finished, if you like, with a scatter of buttered sourdough crumbs.
A spoonful of sweet butter mashed with sugar and a drop of vanilla or almond, eaten straight from the bowl. Made first in secret, named between a grandmother and a grandchild. The oldest medicine in this kitchen — and now, at last, served openly.
Coconut oil and a touch of MCT melted with sweet butter, a discreet measure of glucose, peppermint, and vanilla. Set in small moulds in the freezer. Each bonbon is a slow-release pill disguised as a candy — the sugar, suspended in fat, releases for hours rather than minutes.
Pecans, almonds, pumpkin and sunflower seeds tossed in browned butter with a sparing handful of glucose, sea salt, and vanilla. Toasted coconut chips and cacao nibs folded through. A scatter of lard-fried chicharrones for evenings when the palate prefers savoury to sweet.
A small porcelain dish of glucose tablets within arm’s reach. Not a meal, not a snack — a discreet measure of pure substrate, taken without ceremony when the hour calls for it.