I grew up in a family where vegetables were--I kid you not--something my mom referred to as “color.” As in, “We need some color for the plate, would you prefer canned peas or green beans?” The only time I ate veggies that weren’t from a can was in the summer and that was only because my parents kept a cute little vegetable garden chock full of tomatoes and bell peppers. Thus, my dietary habits have always been pretty carnivorous.
That is, until I moved to Philly and fell head over heels for a vegetarian dude. Our relationship floundered and I knew that my not being veggie had something to do with it. So, when I had a second chance to date him, I gave up meat cold turkey, or rather, uh . . . cold tofu?
I spent a year miserably turning down filet mignon, buffalo wings, and hot dogs. Guilt ridden, I would occasionally scarf down these foods on days when I knew I wasn’t going to see him. I pretended to enjoy all of the various meat substitutes he would plop in front of me and even taught myself how to cook a few dishes to impress him.
But, when the relationship started going sour I gave up. On my way home from work I picked up every vegetarian’s worst nightmare, the Fast Food Trifecta: a Big Mac, a bucket of Original Recipe KFC, and a generous helping of Long John Silver’s fish and hushpuppies. Well, not really, but I sure wanted to.
The moral of the story: I’m back on the meat train now and I’ve never been happier.