A Meat Eater's Book of Excuses

I'm a very un-picky eater, I'll eat just about anything you put in front of me as long as it doesn't involve brains or feet. But when someone wants to go out to eat, I've been known to immediately suggest Asian food -- yellow and red curries, pad thai, basil-spiced stir fry are all among my favorite dishes, and the thought of them can make my mouth water like a Pavlov-trained dog with a hyperactive bell. I always, too, order these dishes vegetarian style. I actually really enjoy tofu, when it's done right, and even in more traditionally American restaurants, I often order a salad without meat or a sandwich loaded with veggies. This, along with a dose of those shocking images of animal abuse that we all sometimes inadvertently stumble upon, all makes me think, frequently but fleetingly and entirely hypothetically, of trying to go vegetarian. Whenever I bring this idea up to my husband, I say I feel like I'm partly inhibited by what's easiest (he loves sausages, hamburgers, steak and meatloaf like there's no tomorrow, and having to cook two meals a night might just cause me to lose my head), and I'm partly inhibited by trying to be accommodating to others (I imagine arriving at a dinner party -- or worse, at my in-laws, good old-fashioned meat-loving folks -- and having to announce that I just can't eat half the meal). He nods patiently, and then says that he thinks I love meat more than I think I do.

This weekend, H and I ventured into the Poconos for a little romantic get-away. We arrived at our hotel amidst the hubbub that only a local festival could offer, a tiny town swarming with families and neighbors, dogs sometimes in tow, meandering through rows of booths, shaken lemonade and chicken wings in hand. We got settled into the hotel and ventured out to find something to eat, and I immediately made a b-line for the hot dog stand. As much as I like my tofu, nothing beats a good ball-park hot dog complete with ketchup and mustard on a hot summer day. This morning we popped into a diner for breakfast, and as I ordered my pancakes with a side of bacon (I LOVE bacon), I reflected on my choices. I've been eating more meat lately. And I've really been enjoying it. So, I suppose in the end, my husband is right. The choice to not go vegetarian may have something to do with convenience and a bit to do with accommodation, but a large part of it is probably just my own, regular old cravings. Regardless, I'm a meat eater by training and I supposed I won't be crossing the bridge to vegetarianism anytime soon. Of course, that doesn't mean I can't still enjoy a nice bowl of tofu curry every now and again.