Especially one that eats fish
because you're addicted to sushi
and that Hawaiian Blue Marlin
with grilled Shitake mushrooms
on garlic mashed potatoes in a
raspberry wine sauce with
marsala-reduced shallot butter
is on the menu.
Of course, you don't eat the
sawn-off limbs of cows or
chickens or pigs just
fish, which you try to justify
somehow but can't quite pull it off
so when that Hawaiian Blue Marlin
sails out of the waiter's hands
thick and juicy like a beefsteak
your stomach is growling
but you feel kinda guilty and
then you spot the pinkish-blob
on the corner of your plate
and think queasily,
"Oh no, did I order something
that comes with a side of
Proscuitto?"
And you're the worst sort
of vegetarian to take out
because you always assume
dishes come without red meat
even on the side.
(You remember the time you
ordered Sweetbreads not knowing
it was the hypothalamus gland
of a young cow and how you
burst into tears at the table.)
Luckily, however, your dining
companion eats flesh, so, as soon
as the waiter glides off you hurriedly
scoop up the pink blob with a spoon
(is it some bit of someone
else's marinated organ meat that
accidentally got flicked on your
plate?) and push it on to his pasta
whispering, "Tell me what it is...I
think it's MEAT."
And he quickly shoves the pink
blob into his mouth as a waitress
comes with cracked pepper and
parmesan cheese. You believe
he is going to be sick or something.
The waitress doesn't notice, only asks,
"Pepper?" and he nods weakly
(Will he barf right here? you wonder)
"Parmesan?" she continues smoothly
and his eyes look to be watering
and something in his throat keeps
moving up and down--obviously
he can't speak so he shakes his
head slowly (Is he choking? Is he
going to make it? you start to panic, and
prepare to do the Heimlich maneuver)
And as you get ready to save his
life all the while cursing yourself
for not asking if that slab of
Hawaiian Blue Marlin came with
a side of pig intestine he swallows
hard and clears his throat softly.
"Are you ok?" you ask, "Was it
meat? Will you be all right?" and
the napkin in your lap is all
twisted up. Your gentle dining companion
takes a sip of his Bogle Cabernet,
smiles and says thickly,
"That was your marsala-reduced
shallot butter."
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