Every so often, it happens.
The husband and I will be contemplating the food intake, and resolve to make some changes.
“We should eat less meat,” the husband will observe.
“We should,” I will agree.
“We should eat more fish,” he will continue.
“We should,” I will say.
“We should go on the Mediterranean diet,” he will say.
“We should,” I will say.
And so we will try — for a week or two anyway. The roasts and the ribeyes will be struck from the shopping list. And in their place, we will jot down the Mediterranean things. You know. Tomatoes. Olives. Fish and nuts.
This will continue, oh, until I am wandering around the grocery store and spot a big old rack of ribs or some sale-priced Italian sausages.
Enter: the meat. Exit: the olives.
In theory, we’d love to be vegetarians. Problem is, we also love a grilled porterhouse slathered with teriyaki sauce and topped with wine-glazed mushroom sauce. Rare, of course, with taters on the side.
Sigh. We’re rather fond of meat.
If we ever make it to vegetarian nirvana, however, I know what we likely wouldn’t do. That is to say, we probably wouldn’t be inclined to go for food that looks like meat, but, well, isn’t.
You know what I mean. A tofurkey does not a turkey make — at least in my humble opinion.
This strikes me as curious. I would be no more inclined to buy a steak that wasn’t made from meat than I would be to drive a bicycle that looks like a car.
If I’m wanting to spend less time watching the boob tube, I’m not likely to sit around and stare at a cardboard box that, well, looks like a television. You get the idea.
Go big or go home, I say.
At some point, we will make the turn and do the vegetarian thing. For now, however, we’ll do what we do and stick with the status quo. Grilling season has just begun, and the ribs are calling our names.
