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Fire up the grill...
The other night my freelance boss and mentor met me for dinner at a vegan restaurant.
She wore a full-length golden Russian sable fur coat.
Needless to say, in true passive-aggressive, non-confrontational Portland fashion someone spilled a drink on the collar of the pelt when I took her up to the bar and introduced her to the owners. Not red wine, not beer, but ice and a lemon, the dregs from a water glass. It was evidently a “militant” vegan on their way out the door, one who knew that they would not survive getting into an actual heated dialog with a blonde bombshell who not only totes a jacket made of small, carnivorous mammals but also wears diamonds the size of human kidneys in her earlobes.
I would like to express to this person, whoever you are, that your action embarrassed me and made me want to kill and eat your pet. You’re not going to gain any new sympathizers to your cause by behaving in such a spineless manner. The next time you see someone wearing something you find despicable, eating something you find inhumane, or behaving in a way that you find objectionable say something. That’s how we roll in cities like New York. It’s called being direct. It will make cynics like me start respecting vegans as opposed to mocking them. I was mortified that someone I respect, even if I don’t fully align myself with their fashion choices, was treated in such a way in an establishment that I considered to be “my” turf. I wanted to show how fantastic vegans are in only the way a new convert could. Instead I wound up backpedaling awkwardly, unsure of who was right or wrong.
Also, you have poor aim.
All of this said, I am still - yes, still! - not eating meat, dairy, eggs, or pizza. (I don’t like pizza. That has not changed.) I tried to have my CoffeeMate once but was wracked with the kind of nausea rivaled only by senior citizens eating day-old lobster salad on their first Royal Caribbean cruise. I still have the odd craving for rotisserie chicken or Yoplait yogurt but I really don’t miss any of my omnivorous munchies. That and Eva Darling nearly got me to propose to her after making me tofu scramble, fresh baked foccacia, roasted vegetables, and dark chocolate covered strawberries for brunch the other day. I’m actually eating better than I was before I went all-plant, and I feel better. I still have had to take two pregnancy tests just to make sure I’m not vegan eating for two, but my energy level is up and I’m feeling stronger. Maybe that’s more due to bike riding, skateboarding, and the warm weather making hot, tattooed Portland residents strip down to their light-cotton vintage duds. I hear a skateboard outside now, right on cue. Just got whiplash looking out the window.
I'm continuing with Jerk Ethic, and I’ve also decided that my next blog will be another exploration in something I shit-talk and yet don‘t fully understand.
I’m thinking Wicca.
The other day I received a Twitter direct message from someone who who wanted to feed me. I suggested coffee because I am filled with an ungodly amount of pride.
Eva Darling is kind of like a cartoon character that got bored with all the sparkles and zany sound-effects so she decided to step out of the 2D world and into ours. She’s as fun to stare at as an episode of Jem! and conversations with her make you feel like you’ve gotten into a tickle-fight. Her real name is Eva Darling. In brief, she didn’t have to feed me to make me like her.
But she did. And oh, how she did. My plan to meet up at a coffee shop and discuss her vegetarianism and thereby avoid any sort of soup kitchen-esque handout backfired. Eva showed up with a woven tote bag boasting, poorly translated from Chinese, “Alternative Living: No more killing Be healthy and loving.” (It also had a cartoon hen saying, “We Pray for You.” No joke.) Inside of the bag was a jar of carrot apple curry soup, homemade tofu jerky, wakame seaweed salad, a bag of Have’A corn chips, Seitenbacher Veggie-Burger-Mix #2, Dave’s Killer Bread Peace Bomb, a Bumble bar, Seitenbacher Vampire’s Lunch, and a mango the size of my ego. There were also hot pink hair extensions, but I think they’re both inedible and probably not vegan.
I will start by saying that the soup was hands down the best soup I have ever consumed. Better than the (vegan) spinach wonton soup from gobo in New York. Better than Amy’s (vegan) organic alphabet soup. Better than my mother’s chicken noodle. (Sorry, mom.) Eva’s soup kicked all soups asses and knocked them out cold. In fact, I ate it cold, out of the little jar she’d packed it in. Scroll to the bottom of this posting for the recipe.
I first had Dave’s Killer Bread at Paradox Café, a vegan diner down the block from my house. Dave’s loaves look like bird food but taste like heaven. The Peace Bomb, which I guess is a hippie’s version of a baguette, was just as good as Dave’s Good Seed bread, though all bread products, when toasted, make me crave eggs over easy or turkey with honey mustard. Don’t judge me for my barbaric cravings, I’m just being honest. Cigarettes are gross and the tobacco industry is inherently evil, but that doesn’t mean that once you quit smoking you stop craving a nic fix. Same goes for animal products. "Come to where the flavor is..."
The mango proved to be a bit of a physical challenge, only because I couldn’t figure out how to approach it, as I had never before been in the presence of a mango that large. My roommate (not the vegan one) washed dishes while eying me with trepidation as I took the largest knife from the drawer and approached the fruit like Annie Wilkes to Paul Sheldon. It then quickly evolved into a scene from the cutting room floor of 9 ½ Weeks, where I basically was up to my elbows in mango pulp and juice, grinning in a way that I think was only rivaled in the back seat of a Jeep back in 1998. “You look like one of those little monkeys eating that, one of those little monkeys with the fire-red asses,” the non-vegan roommate said. And with that he vacated the kitchen, leaving me, my butcher knife, and Eva’s darling mango to make bliss among the clean dishes.
The tofu jerky and the wakame salad were both snacks that remedied my usual mid-afternoon salt-n-sweet craving when washed down with some diet soda. Tonight I’m going to try to make the veggie burgers as well as figure out why they’re number two. (Eva’s guess, “Veggie-Burger-Mix #1 was recalled because it made everyone who ate it grow dreadlocks and buy VW busses.”) I’m saving the Vampire’s Lunch (“Gummi Fruits Made With Real Fruit Juice”) and the chips for a night when I’ll make Eva guacamole and then clean her entire apartment, wash her sexy van, and launder, iron, and fold her whole wardrobe out of gratitude. If being vegan means getting food like this from girls like that then I will subscribe to “Alternative Living” permanently.
Big thanks to Eva Darling, who allowed me to smear my adoration for her all over this blog and providing the recipe for the soup to end all soups:
Recipe for Curried Carrot Apple Soup
2T olive or coconut oil
1 onion, chopped
5 med sized carrots, cut into chunks
1 clove minced garlic
1 apple, peeled, cored, cut into chunks
2 med sized potatoes, peeled, cut into chunks
1t fresh ginger, peeled & minced
2T curry powder
5 cups water or stock
1/2 lemon, juiced
Salt & pepper to taste
In soup pot, heat oil on medium heat. Add onion and cook for 3 minutes. Add everything else except lemon juice and water/stock. Com until carrots are bright orange and spices become aromatic. Add water/stock and bring to a boil. Cook until veggies are soft. Purée with a blender. Add lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste. Adjust consistency with water/stock. Serve!
