Werecarnivore

29 Aug

My girlfriend is vegan. I love my girlfriend more than I love meat and dairy, so for her sake, I keep a vegan kitchen at home, and don’t buy anything that she can’t eat. Overall, I think it’s been a positive move for me, if not for the ethical and environmental reasons, then just for the fact that it spurs me to make sure I eat a lot of vegetables and to be more creative with my cooking than simply “heat meat until it leaks juices, cook everything else in those juices.”

Before my girlfriend and I moved in together, however, I ate a lot of meat and dairy. Food habits can be hard to break, so from time to time I get really bad cravings for animal products, to the point of near madness, and I look forward to occasions when she and I won’t be eating together to break my meat-and-cheese fast (She knows, and thankfully doesn’t mind my weak will).

One such opportunity came this week when she was going to have dinner with a friend of hers. As soon as I realized I wasn’t expected to come, I had one thing on my mind: pizza. It’s been almost a month since I’ve moved to New York City and I had not had pizza.

When a fat guy gets a craving like this, it’s really all his mind can process at that point in time. His mind can only identify two states of matter in the universe: “pizza” and “not pizza.” I would be at the cross walk and think “I need to press the not pizza so the not pizza will turn green and I can cross the not pizza. Hope nobody hits me with their four-wheel-drive not pizza!”

In Union Square I hop into the first street-side pizza parlor I can find. Like an addict looking for the quickest fix, the first thing that enters my eyeballs is this deep-dish cheese pizza, so I point at it and tell the Mexican behind the counter to heat me up three slices of that.

Now, these slices were pretty decently sized slices, but not unreasonable. One slice would about cover your entire hand. Three slices might have been a BIT much for one person, but I was hungry, and I figured it wasn’t abominable.

However, when the guy took the slices out of the oven, instead of trying to arrange the slices all on one plate since, you know, it was one person eating them, he takes each slice and puts them each on their own plate, as if to say to me “I hope you’re waiting for two friends, you fat fuck.”

I pay for it, and sit down with my three plates of pizza, clearly within view of another patron in the dining room. To him, it clearly could have looked like I had started eating ahead of the people I was waiting for, and by the time I got done with my slice, said “fuck it, you snooze you lose!” and gobbled down their portions as well. I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me or not, but I almost felt like I should just start oinking just to make it less awkward.

When you think about it, the very reason I was there was a kind of piggish greed. I intentionally wanted to fill myself with junk when at home I had wonderful things like carrots and green onions and tofu simply because I hadn’t eaten junk in a while. My body was aching for something it had no use for, when it was clearly being supplied with vitamins, protein, carbs and other nutrients from better sources.

The scary thing was it felt really good.  Not just tasted good, the pizza itself was good, but not super remarkable, just the bodily sensations that eating the pizza produced were incredibly pleasant. My body tingled. It was honestly an addict-drug response.

I’m over it now, though. Today I cooked my girlfriend a stir fry and served it over noodles and we ate it together and we both enjoyed it. I’m just curious if my occasional cravings might get worse, like I’m going to sneak into the bathroom with a cheeseburger like a drunkard on Christmas with his flask of whiskey. I will just have to make sure there’s always a freezer filled with Amy’s no-cheese pizza, Boca breaded chik’n patties, and Rice Dream, and a pantry filled with Oreos (Yes, vegan! Check the label!) to keep the werecarnivore satisfied.

My girlfriend, in her infinite ability to be supportive, has volunteered to accompany me to the pizza parlor next time I get a craving, so that in case they do put each slice on a separate plate, other people will think the rest of the food is for her. She will be thus the food equivalent of a gay man’s “beard,” which I will from now on refer to as a “bib.”

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One Response to “Werecarnivore”

  1. razareil 08/29/2010 at 4:53 am #

    Geez, you make it sound like I stop you from buying animal products, when it’s really just that you are just too lazy/don’t want them badly enough to go to the trouble of cooking both (a version of) things I won’t eat as well as ones I will. Anyway, if you look forward to us eating separately so much, I’ll make sure you get plenty of opportunities in the future. 😛

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