Being lost searching for various amusements in a strange city is no fun. Driving behind a person who is lost and driving 5-10 miles under the speed limit so that she doesn’t miss a sign that could indicate where the hell she might be is also no fun. In fact, it’s annoying. That’s one of the reasons I owed Cincinnati and it’s surrounding areas an apology. I drove around being irritatingly lost every single day we were there. I irritated myself and I irritated others. I’m sorry.
The other annoying habit that I selfishly persisted in during our stay in The Big C is being a vegetarian.
Carnivores find vegetarians to be snitty little wusses. I know this to be true, because even my own mother grinds the word vegetarian between her teeth like it is a piece of bloody meat that she wishes to destroy with her mighty incisors.
While the animosity that my Kentuckian friends and relatives feel for vegetarians is formidable indeed, the hatred of our kind in The Big C is a vast monolith that blocks the very sun from the sky.
Of course, no one in Cincinnati expressed this all-consuming hatred aloud. But, there were subtle hints to this effect and I will most certainly elaborate upon them for you.
A Chinese buffet which boasted of an “extensive vegetarian selection” offered only white rice to me and my vegan husband. After discovering several pieces of chicken in the one dish that appeared at first glance to actually be vegetarian, we put down our buffet plates and walked briskly out of the restaurant.
Michael drove the getaway car to a Mexican place directly across the street. While I would have preferred to put more distance between us and the Chinese buffet we had just narrowly escaped, a quick perusal of the menu at the Mexican restaurant indicated we might be able to find something suitable to eat. I was heartened both by the large variety of bean burritos and cheese enchiladas on the menu and by the large margarita I sucked down in two seconds flat. I find booze to be oh so heartening.
But alas! We didn’t leave the loathing of the locals behind us when we rushed out of the Chinese buffet after placing our drink orders. No. The hatred followed us to the Mexican place.
We both ordered from the section of the menu that was clearly labeled “Vegetarian Selections” and we both ordered bean burritos topped with mushrooms. So, I was more than a little surprised to find huge pieces of roast mixed in with the mushrooms that covered my burrito.
At this point we were the opposite of “heartened”. We were disheartened and anti-heartened. Yes, we were actually protesting “heartened.” But, we weren’t on a hunger strike yet, so we just scraped the meat off of our vegetarian burritos and ate them.
Yeah, we could have sent them back, but I hate to do that. I dislike having spit and/or other bodily fluids dispensed onto my food, and I always assume that is what cooks do to show snitty vegetarians exactly what they think of us.
Are you beginning to see why I am sure they hate us in The Big C? I hope so, but I want to tell you just one more unpleasant food story.
On the night before our fated burrito dinner, we went to an eclectic caf� and my husband was served what he described as “a stir-fried salad.” I bravely tried a bite of it and he was right. The vegetables on his plate had no business being served in that mann
er. Furthermore, the cook should have been beaten soundly with one of his own red cabbages for producing such a foul mockery. Furthermore-more, it should be noted that hiring a somewhat talented Charlie Brown jazz bassist to entertain the guests in your caf� does not make up for the poor quality of the food you serve there. If you have a good bassist, start a band not a restaurant. Just sayin’.
So, there you have my confession in full. I was a lost, dazed and confused snitty little wuss in The Big C.
Doubtless, they are happy to be rid of me and my vegan husband, and I am equally happy to be back in Kentucky and playfully mocking them in my blog.
See how life works itself out for the best?