Ode To Plant Life


A word on vegetarianism - Iím against it.Oh, I know itís all the rage. You canít swing a dead cat without some vegetable fiend badmouthing you for ordering bacon on your salad (and they tend to be cranky about the dead cat too, by the way).But Iím not one to buck a trend, so with the help of my friend Stanley, I managed to completely wean myself off of meat.Thatís right, no more sins of the flesh.(Incidentally, this includes Braunschwiger, which apparently had legs at some point.)


To be honest, I was skeptical it could be done.Now I donít think itís particularly nice to ship our quadrupedal cousins off to the slaughter house mind you.Iíd much rather send them to Hot Springs with a first class ticket and a new hat.But then how would we get our weenies?Iím not one of those people who can slip a tube of tofu in a hot dog bun and pretend everything is ok.††


But, there was no escaping it, Stanley was insistent.Heís always been something of a pessimist and he kept shouting doomsday threats about ďhardened arteries,Ē ďcardiac arrestĒ and ďmad cow disease.Ē†† So, I caved.I wasnít happy about it.It takes a lot of courage to hand over a string of Thuringers, even if they are laden with spongiform encephalopathy.††


In preparation for my encroaching meatlessness, I scoured the refrigerator for anything that was once hoofed, beaked or furred.And when I say furred, I am of course referring to the Great Northern Wallaby in my crisper.(What?!They go extremely well with red sauce and a dry Chianti.)Anyway, when I finally had all of my delicious sinews hidden in various shoe boxes and dresser drawers I was at last ready to strike out with Stanleyís plan.Oh, it was an orgy of agricultural flora!


The first day, we had celery sandwiches with radish rosettes.The second day - red beet stew.The third day we reveled in shaved cucumbers with a spray of soy.And on the fourth day, Stanley served something resembling a blanched rutabaga, although it could have been a zucchini disguised as a squash masquerading as a turnip, I really couldnít tell.At that point everything began looking like a tuber to me, even Stanley. The more veggies I ate, the more bizarre the hallucinations became.The phone bill turned into a veal cutlet and my wife Ė a delectable two-legged steer.


It wasnít long before I was hiding pepperoni in my pant cuffs and shaved ham under my shoe tongues.But donít kid yourself, Stanley was showing signs of wear too.He was just sneakier about it.Donít think you can hide a pot roast in your pants and get away with it.No sir! Not when the ladle is sticking out of your back pocket anyway.