When it comes to food, my basic philosophy is that I won’t eat anything that eats me first. I do understand, though, that there are many people who have religious or moral restrictions on what they can put in their mouths, and my attitude toward them is, “Please pass your sandwich.”
My friend Norma is from Texas, where the motto is “Dinner Tastes Better If You Shoot It.” For many years, I’ve enjoyed her savory Texas-style ribs and beef-laden chili, so I was somewhat brutally traumatized to hear that she had decided to become a vegan.
Vegans are a race of extraterrestrials from the star system Vega. They don’t eat meat, meat byproducts or even drive-through hamburgers. Norma explained to me that she has given up eating any food that eats food.
I admire Norma’s commitment but not if it means no ribs. Even more annoying, Norma says she is not only against eating meat, she is against preparing meat for me to eat. I’ve told her that goes against the spirit of veganism, but she remains committed. “Aren’t vegans supposed to be dedicated to cooperation between all the inhabitants of the galaxy?” I demand.
My sister isn’t a vegan, but she also has food rules: She won’t eat “anything with a mommy.” In other words, she’ll only eat orphans.
“That’s not what it means,” she snaps at me when I tell people about my sister’s commitment to only eating the children of dead mothers.
“So you can’t eat it if it has a mommy,” I repeat to show her that I’m listening and that I don’t think she’s crazy — I just think her ideas are crazy. “So no edamame?”
She is not amused when I call her back with the good news that I’ve thought of an animal she can eat: seahorses!
“Seahorses don’t have a mommy, it’s the father that gives birth!” I tell her.
My sister asks me to stop calling her with helpful advice on what animals she can eat based on a technicality. She didn’t use the word “helpful.” She asks me to respect her food rules because, after all, she “respects mine.”
This is, of course, a professional-grade lie. First of all, I don’t really have any food rules to speak of, other than my firm declaration that no matter what I eat it is not allowed to make me fat. Second of all, the whole reason people have food rules is so they can explain them to other people.
Norma from the star system Vega, for example, regularly informs me that because she eats no meat, her cholesterol and blood pressure are better than mine and she’s a far better person. (That’s the implication, anyway.) My sister feels she’s more sympathetic to animals than I am because she won’t eat something with a mommy and doesn’t think it is funny when I tell her she can go ahead because I ate the mommy.
“Maybe you’re just not a feeling person,” my sister speculates.
“Oh, but I am,” I tell her. “I’m feeling hungry.”
I actually admire the people who harbor such strong convictions that they deny themselves roast beef, plus it means more for me. And my sister doesn’t mind my professional-grade jokes as long as I stop. My friend Norma promises I will love her vegetarian chili, which I figure I can always put on a hot dog.
So the good news is that we’re all getting along, just as the good folks from star system Vega would want.
Contact W. Bruce Cameron at . For his previous columns visit .
