About two months ago, my parents made an announcement.
They’d gone vegan. Not just vegetarian. VEGAN.
Now, pretty much the ONLY thing they could have said that would have shocked me more would have been to say, “Sweetie? Your dad has decided to marry a second wife, and we’re going to move to a quiet little commune in a remote, small town in Utah.”
But I tried to be supportive–they’re doing this for their cardiac health, and given the fact that men on my dad’s side tend to drop dead without warning between the ages of 60 and 65, and Dad’s creeping up on the “magic” number: I’m all in favor of them doing anything that keeps him around for as long as possible. Even, I suppose, a second younger wife and some real estate in Utah.
Since arriving here on Friday, I’ve had tofu, I’ve had soy, I’ve had whole grains up the wazzoo. I’ve been told, “It tastes just like meat! You can’t even tell!” and I’ve been lied to. You can SO tell. It may not taste bad, in and of itself, but it doesn’t taste like meat, so stop trying to convince me that it does. It’s not a lifestyle/dietary choice that I object to in any way…but I’m a pregnant woman, and given my near lustful fantasies of a nice, thick, juicy slab of sirloin: the child I bear is a carnivore. One night I crept over to my youngest brother, and whispered, “Take me to the store. I’ll buy us some protein.” He was up and in the car in a flash.
We bought protein. We also bought some of what Mom calls “whole grain” cereal (complete with air quotes) because Nea took one look at the whole wheat&bran goodness served to her Saturday morning and promptly went on a hunger strike. We bought mac ‘n cheese, we bought Fritos, and we bought dark, yummy chocolate. We bought vegetable beef soup. We bought sausages. And then we pigged out.
We’ve also scoured the freezer. There’s no sign of tofurkey. Thank God.