Not Meat

The stars have aligned against me. These are subtle, yet powerful, forces conspiring, ready to force me along a course of action I cannot brook. Yes, "They" are trying to convert me to vegetarianism. Fret not, Careful Reader, for I have yet to submit to their clarion call, their (anti-)meaty arguments. If Dance School taught me anything besides the robot and the jitterbug, it was that no matter how compelling and airtight an argument, you can always respond by disregarding every logical point and screaming back even louder.

I don't think Z.M. and J.R. started out with those besotted intentions, but somehow, as these things do, it evolved. I've stated before that out of respect for them, I'll abstain from delicious meaty goodness when in their presence. Problem was, we were sitting in a vegetarian restaurant. "Vegi Chicken," "Vegi Beef," "Vegi Pork," all heresy and blasphemy.

Z.M.: So, [K.T.], would you be willing to try some vegetarian meat?
K.T.: I guess.

Please note that "I guess" is my catch-all when confronted with absurd statements. In the past, these included the likes of "Do you want to go to Law School?" "Do you want to work the graveyard shift?" and "What is love? Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more." (Note that Haddaway's lyrics are usually accompanied with me bobbing my head and people wondering why I'm talking to him. Really, it's because he is a modern poet, perhaps the last modern poet, and I need do all I can to keep his spirit alive. Alas, Haddaway, though you may have been culled from our ranks in '03, we shall never forget you. How could we?)

When I ordered the Hunan Beef with "Vegi Beef," a little part of me died an ignoble death. Given how many times "a little part of me" died by this point, it speaks either to my gift for hyperbole, or the expansive size of my soul. I'm going with the hyperbole.

And then, it came. I picked up a brown ovoid with my chopsticks, took a stick in each hand, split it, looked inside. Much like a fractal, it assumed the same shape, size, texture. No doubt that I could have kept splitting down, down, down to the microscopic level, and it would have remained the same. Slipped it into my mouth, much as I would a pill. The first thought? "This is not meat." The second thought? "The important thing is that they tried." Think spongiform material, almost like wet styrofoam, the texture and mouthfeel little more than an elaborate ruse, a uniform, non-striated, soft and smooth sensation.

K.T.: Do you think it comes in a log of some sort, and they just slice off pieces?
J.R.: No.

It threw me off, much as a wild bull, made of tofu, would have. However, I ordered the food, so I had to finish it. Thankfully, there was no requirement that I finish it immediately. Upended the snowcone ball of rice onto my plate, knocked it all down. Then, I picked out every last vegetable from the thick brown sauce and consumed them. They were actually really good. I sort of wished that I hadn't ordered the lie, and just gone straight vegetarian.

Then, the simple questions. Always the hardest. "It wasn't that bad, was it?" "You'd try it again, wouldn't you?" "Where's the bathroom?"

Here's the thing: for all the guff I gave them then, I actually appreciated the food. Well, not the fake beef, that was an affront to humanity. But the rest of it was fine, and I don't think that becoming a vegetarian would be that bad. At some point, I'm probably going to try a week without meat, just to see what happens. Of course, no one would know about it until after it ended, so I could dodge the slings and arrows of misfortune, made concrete in the mocks and jibes of my fellow carni- and omnivores.

Finally, for the record, Z.M., I do not believe you were trying to guilt anyone into eating not-meat. It just seemed like the funny thing to say.