You Say Salad, I Say Steak (A Vegetarian’s Dating Conundrum)

Written by on 06/11/2013 in Humor

Vegetarian/Carnivore DatingMy girlfriend and I took a trip to the Space Needle’s restaurant recently. We’d been given a gift certificate for $200, so we planned to SPLURGE! We even dressed up for the night, her in a cute black strapless dress, me in a purple button-down, pink tie and jacket. It would seem that sitting down to a nice meal, well-dressed, in a beautiful restaurant above an entire city wouldn’t be the hardest of tasks, but there’s just one thing: I’m a vegetarian and she isn’t.

In fact, my girlfriend is a food connoisseur. She knows all the hot spots in town, has a defined palate and researches recipes more than scholars research Plato. It’s sexy how well-versed she is in food culture.

On our 41 second elevator ride from the gift shop to the restaurant, my girlfriend, who is scared of heights, clung to my arm while I, in my mind, wondered what meatless food there would be on the menu. Probably fries, a salad or two, maybe a mushroom or eggplant dish (though I am not too fond of those mushy vegetables).

When we got to the top, we were shown our seats. I don’t want my choice of vegetarianism to be the burden of anyone but myself. In truth, I am not a vegetarian out of morals. I’ve heard the horror stories of snooty, nose-upturned vegetarians or vegans making any meal with a non-believer tedious and annoying. Embarrassment is not my game. In fact, I am only a vegetarian because eating meat makes me tired. I would feel sluggish after eating a burger or a steak, and this seems the antithesis to eating. For me. (Though I do often wonder, every restaurant has chicken on the menu–WHERE ARE ALL THESE CHICKENS COMING FROM?!)

I did the math. I was at a beautiful restaurant with a beautiful view, sitting next to a beautiful woman who wanted to spend the evening chatting, flirting and laughing with me. Sharing is what makes a night like that. Given the generous gift certificate and her joy of tasting delicious foods (and my growing joy in that regard) we ordered enough food to feed us for a week. We ordered duck fat fries, oysters (which came on a HUGE block of ice), burrata & hot coppa (burrata, a mozzarella with an oozy center). For entrées (I know!), she ordered the scallops and I ordered a vegetable gateau (like a veggie lasagna). . . and a LOBSTER TAIL. Fuck it.

She knows I had a bad oyster experience before, but she offers me one anyway–“Maybe this will erase that bad taste in your mouth!” And with her, I had the chance to try lobster again for the first time in years (and now I can go a few more years without).

We could hold to our rules about, say, diet, or television shows, or what side of the bed, but then we’d be essentially Hatfields and McCoys. Instead, at dinner, she and I enjoyed the exchange, sharing the food over conversation. And, after our dinner, we left, walked to her apartment, and got in bed.


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