Praising Plants, Pissing Off Predators

“Do you like it, Mike?”
He grimaced at the burrito the same way he’d grimaced at the menu.
“I, um, I like some of the stuff in it. Guacamole. The cilantro.”

When cilantro is on the list of preferred components of an entrée a meal is not going well. I dragged my friends Mike and Mary to Blossoming Lotus, a vegan eatery located in the Pearl District. Lotus is pretty much exactly what I thought of when I thought of vegans at all prior to relocating to Portland. Hippies. An adjacent yoga studio. A fountain and some music with chimes for décor. Of course all it took for me to fall in love with the place was a bowl of vegan chocolate-mint soft serve. That was back in October. I’m not lying when I tell you that I missed the soft-serve on the right coast. I missed vegan dessert. I dreamt about it.

I should explain that Mike is a carnivore. A rigid one. He’s one of those guys who thinks that bacon-wrapped tenderloin bites paired with a side of venison is a legitimate meal. He has admitted that if he eats a salad it requires a gimmick, such as blue cheese, candied walnuts, or Craisins. When I had originally suggested Lotus it was because it was close to his job. He had chortled in response. A vegan restaurant, really? A whole restaurant serving vegan food?

I was only able to get him to agree to going in light of my month-long experiment. Mary would act as a buffer. The neutral pH strip of the meal, if you will.

She had an Indian bowl, and I went with my usual Monk’s bowl, ginger dressing on the side. Mike chose the black bean burrito after muttering, “They really shouldn’t put the word barbecue on this menu. It’s just wrong.”

The waitress had explained that tempeh was fermented soybeans and grains pressed into a mostly firm patty. Mike had not been sold. He read through the menu thoroughly and while I’d like to believe that it was because he was trying to absorb the broad scope of the experience chances are it was because each dish, to him, read either like the equivalent of eating a broken bottle or drinking a few snifters worth of bleach. I had suggested a sandwich because it would be the closest thing to what he would normally consume. But no. There were too many greens involved. My sometime cynicism seemed downright sunshine and rainbows compared to my friend’s seething contempt for all things plant-based.

“Cashew crème?” There was a snort. “Cashew crème. Okay.” Eye rolling.

It’s true that you can figure out your stance in an argument by having it challenged. I hadn’t expected my friends to enjoy the meal, which is wrong of me, I know. In fact, I invited a staunch meat eater to Blossoming Lotus for my own philistine amusement, perhaps in direct response the events of this morning, when I was taken to watch the biscuits I have so been craving get consumed by a non-vegan as I sat and sipped my black coffee between lukewarm mouthfuls of drool. But tonight instead of merely sitting back with a smug smile and watching two omnivores squirm over dinner at the vegan cafe I found myself passionately discussing the benefits of eating locally (something his lady agreed with whole-heartedly) and pointing out how a plant based diet could reduce the impending food crisis according to what I read today in the New York Times.

I’m enjoying being a vegan. I repeat, I am enjoying being a vegan.

Most of the time.

“I like this. I could eat this every night,” was Mary’s reaction to the bowl. She seemed incredulous.
“Really?” Mike asked, equally as shocked, although perhaps for different reasons.
“Well, did you hate it?” I asked of his three-quarters consumed burrito.

Silence.

“You ate it,” Mary observed.
“I was hungry.”
“So you would eat it versus not eating anything. It wasn’t as bad as something bad,” I pointed out.
“It was on par with something bad,” Mike replied.

My vitriol towards vegans apparently has abated. I’m not beating them by joining them. In fact, this attempt at bitterness Botox had backfired. I was feeling a bit, well, defensive. The discussion of bridging the gap between consumption and creation of food had sent vegan pride coursing through my veins along with the Darjeeling tea. I could be self-righteous and enjoy my steamed kale. The only rotisserie I’m craving is the slow burn of carnivorous doubts being spun over the flame of herbilicious purpose! Or, um, maybe I just dig being self-righteous.

I responded to his snarky comments and disdain with the revelation that maybe, just maybe, I would continue on this plant path at the end of the month. He suggested a venture to Ruths Chris’ Steakhouse to celebrate my eventual departure after I was, as he put it, “off the wagon.”

I think I’m off of the ground chuck wagon permanently, Mike. Hope you enjoyed that burrito. You could have offered me a bite.

Blossoming Lotus (rules)
925 NW Davis, Portland OR 97209