a vegetarian in our bread line!
Early last year, mini-pear kept making noises about eating meat. Her dad and I haven't had anything that once walked in years (although despite knowing better, we ho for sushi - and the lobster ravioli at Calypso!).
The opportunity presented itself at my granddad's funeral last year. In an effort to hush her protestations at the dismal post funereal luncheon, I tossed a couple of chicken wings and a sausage roll her way. The remainder of the trip, she would whisper in my ear, "Who's paying for lunch (or dinner, or breakfast)?" I'd told her I wasn't paying for meat, but if she encountered it at someone else's house, or on someone else's nickel, there wasn't much I could do about it.
Bring on the beef! She began a campaign of unparalleled meat consumption at other people's houses. In the face of her unbridled enthusiasm for anything with a face, I pulled back from my previous position on purchasing the stuff. I'd buy it at restaurants, but I wouldn't cook it at home. It was that ubiquitous staple of kids meals everywhere - the hot dog - that led me to bring the meat home. She seemed hell bent on consuming it. The least I could do was to make sure it was grass-fed, organic, free from pesticides, antibiotics and hormones. I added the most expensive lunch meat on the planet to our weekly grocery list.
She seemed to delight in the difference in our diets. She would gleefully point out that it was "flesh" she was consuming. "Is this your favorite animal I'm eating?" "Thanks for the bacon, cute little piggies!"
I'd like to say I silently acquiesced. Allowed her free rein. Smiled non-judgmentally as I fixed her another salami sandwich. Her father (oh patient one!) did. I tried, but every once in a while I'd snap. "Why is a turkey's life worth less than your beloved horses?!?!?!" I'd rage as I unzipped the bag of free range roasted turkey breast and tossed it across the kitchen table as if it contained a load of radioactive dog shit.
At any rate, chalk up another yes for radical unschooling and free choice. This evening, we grilled tuna steaks on the patio. I sauteed some swiss chard and prepared beets the way she likes them (boiled...philistine). Mr. Pear delivered the plate of tuna to the table. Perfect grill marks, crisp on the outside, juicy in the middle, my vinaigrette expertly drizzled on top - tuna looked good.
I dug in. He dug in. The dog paced in anticipation of her cooled portion. Mini-pear stared at her plate in horror.
"I just can't eat it!" she gasped.
The remainder of the meal she spent on her soap box, diligently outlining all the reasons we should give up fish in addition to "regular meat"! How she "never knew how awful it is for the animals!". How her carnivorous days were over! As of this minute!
We had to talk her down from pasting the butcher's display cases with "facts about how evil it is to eat meat!" and I think she's talked us into giving up fish.
And so it goes.
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