Whenever my daughter leaves here to work in some faraway city or foreign land, I throw the vegetarian diet out the window for a day or two. It's hamburger time.
I have no desire for big rare steaks, pork chops, beef tongues, chitterlings, linguisa, keilbasa, or any of that other stuff. A modest beef patty on a standard-issue white bun with a little mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato -- there's nothing better in the world.
To be completely honest, we're not really all that vegetarian around here. The kid will eat a piece of fish occasionally, and even likes a little chicken soup now and then, provided I can guarantee her that the chicken led a satisfying life during which it was encouraged to realize its full potential by being allowed to run about on the ground and scratch for little scintillas of food, rather than being imprisoned, its spirit broken, in one of those wire cages.
Mostly though, it's tomatoey stuff on pasta and beany stuff mixed with rice. There are lots of avocados and bananas, everything seems to have lemon in or on it, and there's more cheese than is probably good for us. Meatless Mexican-style food is the default setting, bread and hummus the emergency ration.
Therefore, it's with no small amount of relish (figuratively, not literally) that I devour two fresh hamburgers accompanied by Bush's baked beans on those days like today when Rachel flies off to Toronto or Dayton or wherever. I suppose I should feel guilty, but I don't.
Bwah hah hah hah.
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