What was intended to be a four week post-holiday spree of meatless eating has turned into an ongoing conversation that frequently includes this phrase: ‘So, are we vegetarian?’
Spoiler alert, we are not, not really. We order meat sometimes when we’re at a restaurant (read: steak burrito at Chipotle yesterday) and will happily eat it if someone else has cooked for us (read: we don’t want to be those people, the ones with the fussy diet that makes everyone feel anxious about having us over) but at home, we eat a lot of vegetables. And we eat at home 90% of the time, which means bring on the baby spinach.
I never thought I, a midwestern barbecue chicken enthusiast, would go for months without having beef or chicken in my refrigerator. I truly did not, much in the same way that I don’t anticipate ever dying my hair platinum blonde or attempting to grow the worlds longest fingernails. It’s a surprise to me, is what I am trying to say, but I like it. I like surprising myself. I like the challenge of finding new recipes and adapting the old ones. I like the way I feel healthier.
I also like offering myself meat at the grocery store to make sure I am not deprived by my idealism. Here Emily, I said, how about that tasty-looking wing in the deli section? Want one of those little guys? No? Okay, maybe next week.
Now, after three months and nearly 60 new recipes, O and I have some stand-out favorites. The quinoa would be worse with ground beef in it, I swear it’s that good, but don’t forget the avocado! The eggplant dish… well, anything with baked fresh mozzarella is a winner in my book. And the cold orzo salad is perfect for the warm spring day that I keep waiting to arrive. And speaking of springtime, Punxsutawney Phil, I am coming after you, you lying scoundrel.