Seitanic Verses
I will eat anything. From $1-sushi to filet mignon, from gyro to grasshopper. Sweetbreads, kidneys, Rocky Mountain oysters, nothing is off limits. If it’s not toxic, and not cilantro, I’ll eat it.
So, when I first ventured into the world of online dating, I presumed finding a like-minded match would be easy.
I’m Jewish, but I’m more of what I call a “gastronomic Jew.” That is, I don’t so much observe, as eat. The sites dedicated to religion tended to attract the highly observant, or, worse (at least for me), the Kosher. Bad news for the boy who considered bacon its own food group. I chose a generic site, a site that promised to find my perfect match based upon dozens of scientific bases of compatibility. So of course the site matched me with…a vegan.
Her name was Heather. It probably still is. Our first date, rather than coffee or a glass of wine, was for vegan cupcakes. I’d never met a cupcake I did not like. Until that night. Picture a bran muffin, only denser and with less flavor. I could not eat it, but on the good hand, it would have made a handy weapon had I been mugged on the way home.
I knew Heather and I had virtually nothing in common, but she had that special something I look for in a woman: a willingness to go out with me again. So, I agreed to a second date.
I like vegetables themselves. After all, you can’t mess up steamed broccoli, a stuffed artichoke or a salad. It’s when you get into the “mock” foods that they lose me. Vegetarian “chicken”, vegetarian duck, even a gigantic vegetarian “haute” dog; or, as I called it, a toe-footlong.
Heather also loved organic foods, which she swore tasted better. I tried some and was disappointed: it tasted nothing like organ.
One night, Heather tried to convert me to a vegan lifestyle with one of her home-cooked meals. She swore I’d love seitan, which she explained was “TVP” — textured vegetable protein. It sounded about as appetizing as a “meat-flavored snack”. Heather had countless recipes for it: Seitan Parmesan (with vegan cheese); grilled seitan; moo shu seitan. Heather promised that it tasted just like chicken. Heather, a lifelong vegan, never tasted chicken.
Against my better judgment, I tried her moo shu seitan. I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know with certainty whether there was a connection, but I woke up the next day with palpitations. I saw my doctor, who advised I was in “a-fib”, or atrial fibrillation, doctor shorthand for abnormal heart rhythm. I blame the seitan. The doctor prescribed further tests. I prescribed bacon. I was right! A few slabs of Oscar Meyer’s finest, and I was feeling fine!
Heather and I did not work out. She was kind, smart and fun, but she could not stand commercial fabric softener, real milk, down pillows, or, of course, steak. I admire her resolve, I do, if there were more people out there like Heather, the world would be a healthier, and likely kinder, place. But it’s not me. Most of my meals involve one or more meat dishes. If G-d did not want me to eat meat, He would not have made it so tasty. Everything is better with bacon. Even bacon. I’ll do a lot for love, but I won’t eat tofurkey. So, I updated my online dating profile to include one important question: Eat prey, love?
