Saturday, July 23, 2011

Meat wheelie ...

While no one was looking I engaged in a private scientific battle with myself to eat a 100 percent vegan diet for a full week.

This was an act of bravery, having recently learned that my favorite pizza chain sells single slices of pepperoni-flavored love triangles for just $2 during the lunch hour. But, being a strong fake vegan, I folded that information into an origami MASH game and stored it away in my brain for a more meat-friendly week. Like next week.

Obviously, since I'm sitting here on a Friday night watching ABC Family and writing this instead of sitting here on a Sunday night watching ABC Family and writing this, I failed.

I blame it on actually naming the challenge. I've never actually had fantasies involving bubble baths in cake batter and being buried alive in a cheese coffin until I told myself I couldn't have these things. Usually I'm pretty cool with wrapping beans in a corn tortilla and burying it in arugula, avocado and hot sauce. No seizures. Nothing.

Here is the case study:

As you know, I hate lunch. And the only real way to express that angst has been to eat at Subway so often that I not only know the tanning booth habits of the employees, I actually know the name of that one regular who sits at a table playing with his Nintendo DS all afternoon. (Kevin).

Let's just say that eating a 6 inch veggie sub without cheese doesn't make me like lunch any more than I already did. No mustard in the world is that great. Although I did think to myself today: Meh. You already hate this meal. What difference does the degree of hate make. You can just as easily hate lunch with turkey or without.

Then I freaked out because I ate a Clif bar without reading the ingredients. (But it was okay!)

Today's lunch was easy since I tend to eat a PB&J sub from Erberts & Gerberts about once a week anyway. What I didn't anticipate is that without the bonus of Cool Ranch Doritos, which I usually crunch up on the sandwich, I was starving by 7 p.m.

I ended up shoving a bunch of black licorice down my throat in the parking lot of Whole Foods. It was very After School Special. And then a woman knocked on the window of my car and asked for a ride. When I said no, she pointed at my cup holder which was filled with change. I emptied it a third of it into her hands like it was Halloween candy and then as I drove home I decided I need to come up with some hard and fast rules about when I do and don't give people money and/or rides.

Then Chuck told me I was wearing leather shoes all day. We had a brief clarifying conversation about ethical vegan versus dietary vegan.

Cruel. Very cruel. The hottest day to ever drip out of Satan's asshole and I spent the day in a place that didn't have air conditioning. So then someone bought an entire grocer's freezer filled with ice cream treats, but I couldn't have any because I'm vegan this week.

It occurs to me that this is all very silly. I'm not actually a vegan. I'm just playing one for a week. If I want ice cream, it doesn't mean another senseless death of an attractive mammal. It just means I ate ice cream. Still. An experiment is an experiment.

"This must be what it's like to be religious," I thought to myself.

Then I came home and stuffed two soy ice cream treats down my throat. Two.

Today I took advantage of a tip I recently read on something somewhere that said that a doctored Torpedo from Quizno's can be vegan, since it is made on dairy-free ciabatta. So that's what I got for lunch.

I started wondering if I would even know? I could be tricked by a teenager in a visor. Chuck told me about a family in New York that sued a restaurant when it was discovered the entree they were assured was vegan had meat product in it.

"Yeah. You could be like 'Well, I said on my blog that I was going to be vegan for a week,'" he said.

This all ends in a very anticlimactic way. I was offered the opportunity to eat picnic food and I took it: A hamburger with a slice of Velveeta. I relished the way the Velveeta was sweating when I untethered it from another slice of sweating Velveeta. A bit of potato salad. Potato Chips. And a brownie. Coke.

I have no regrets.

And I didn't have any regrets about celebrating the fail with cheese sticks from Arby's either.

I think we all just learned a little something special about moderation. And my weak will. And announcing contests with myself on the internet.

Ah well. Whatevs.

No comments: