The Authoritarian Vegetarian

I’ll keep my first “Hospitality Fatality” rant short.  I must be dense because I don’t understand why being a vegetarian constitutes grounds for canonization.  You know what I’m talking about–the occasional eating companion who pompously declares, “I’m a vegetarian” as if the rest of us are cannibals.  Exactly what is so magnanimous about not eating meat and seafood? I want to reply, “Well, good for you. Chomp on them veggies.” I’m not irked at all vegetarians, just those self-righteous ones who think it’s somehow sanctimonious to bypass tortellini with truffles (where, exactly is the meat in that?) for a bowl of lettuce, shredded carrots, and sliced cucumbers sans dressing. Let’s face it. We have no clue if and who washed those veggies. Quite possibly, my succulent tortellini is the healthier order. (At least that’s what I’m telling myself.)  But despite my frustration, I promise to avoid the temptation to retort, “I’m a carnivore.”  I do so swear, with you as my witness, to abide by hospitality morality codes.  Until then, I just want to say, “Come on, let’s just order, eat, and get over ourselves.” Enough said.


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