“You should eat some meat,” she said as my tongue dangled out of my throat.
“Sawy wuht?”
“Trust me on this.”
I had no reason to trust this woman. I had been a vegetarian for almost 17 years. I was doing fine. My health was good enough. Well, except that bout with mono that one time and so many sinus infections that I couldn’t even take antibiotics anymore.
I had no reason to trust a woman who told me that I was “unhealthy” after doing some sort of “tongue reading.” She wasn’t my doctor, just some woman the company I was working for hired to “do something cool” during our lunch break.
I did not want to trust her advice and yet, when she told me I needed to eat meat, I did not fight back. Maybe it was her soothing voice or maybe it was my body speaking for me, but I made the choice to try meat, whether my stomach liked it or not.
My friends thought I was insane.
“Aren’t you going to throw up?” said one. “What about all that tofu?” texted another.
“¯\_(ツ)_/¯,” I responded.
Here I was, practically a lifelong vegetarian, ready for a burger to take my virginity, medium well.
“Umami Burger, 7 pm,” I texted my friend. “I’m doing this.”
My friend gave me a nervous glance, while I scanned my potential suitors on the menu. Did I want the “Classic”? The “Truffle”? Or was I more of a “Manly” kind of girl?
I played it safe and went with the “Classic”. I knew I wanted my first intimate contact to be with something stable, something with a 401(k) plan and a summer home in the Hamptons. I swiped right on a grass-fed beef patty.
My suitor showed up just in time. He was warm and soothing. My friend stared at me in awe, with each bite I swallowed.
“Are you going to eat the whole thing?” she said.
“The whole thing,” I said, as the last bite of a brioche bun touched my lips.
We sat there for a while. I waited for my stomach to break up with me, to send it back. But she didn’t. She liked him and I kind of like, liked him, too.
I’m coming up on my one-year anniversary with meat. I still don’t know how to cook chicken and think that turkey is best in bacon form, but I like it. In fact, I think I might love it.
My pre-meat life was fine. That’s the problem. It was the same. My post-meat life is exciting. It opened new doors for food Instagrams and late night pizza toppings. More importantly, eating meat has become my metaphor for saying “yes” to the unknown.
Meat has taken me on dates to new barbecue joints, the famous, albeit politically incorrect fast-food restaurant for a chicken sandwich and even a corn dog at the state fair.
I took a risk taking the advice of some strange, quasi-medical professional. I took a risk saying no to all of my quinoa, meatless salads for McDonald’s hamburgers and chicken sausage.
I took a chance on meat and it took a chance on me.
January is the only month where your friends are not allowed to judge you for taking that risk and eating that piece of meat. No one will think you’re weird when you decide to go on an all-gluten diet or sign up for a month of acroyoga. Say “yes” to that resolution, especially if that resolution involves second, third and fourth dates with bacon.
Don’t knock 2016 until you try it. Or at least taste it.
