Hot dogs/ 4th of July
Is it even legal to pledge allegiance to the flag and mimic the almighty patriotic gestures that accompany without ever setting taste buds on an All-American hotdog? Your guess is as good as mine and twenty-three years later I continue to suffer for my blatant anti-American digestive path. Every 4th of July the BBQ’s fire up and my only question is: Can we cook the veggie dogs first? Hot dogs are a sure signature staple in this culture and veggie dogs just aren’t cutting it. For what they accomplish in uncanny looks, they lack in taste with an everlasting cardboard savor that can’t seem to find its way out of your mouth.
Bacon/ New Years Day
If I were to pick one moment of bliss, my ultimate guilty pleasure—I’d have to choose bacon. Have I had the honor of tasting it? No. Can a kid dream? Yes. It’s New Years Day and my head is pounding. I need a quick dose of grease with a serious side of delicious. A sizzling sound emanates through the air as a welcoming waft transcends from my kitchen to my soul. I instantly know this is an answer directly from hangover heaven: a steamy slice of bacon.
Pepperoni Pizza/ Super Bowl
If we’re being honest here, I’ll go ahead and come forward. I have fully enjoyed every second of a full-fledged pepperoni coma: the cramping, the nausea and the aftermath. It’s hard enough to bear the smell of a fresh pepperoni pizza, but when a newly cut slice is staring straight at you with all eight of its pepperoni eyes—there’s really no other option. I took the plunge. I started slowly and “accidently” left a few pepperonis under the cheese that I “couldn’t see.” Once that perfectly spiced mysterious meat hit my taste buds there was no going back. Whether I had to induce myself into a liquored up state to brave my heart’s true desire or close my eyes and pretend it was just a slice of cheese– I was helpless against that paramount, persuasive taste. I yearned for pepperonis. They were unavoidable. Twenty-three years as a vegetarian doesn’t make it easy to digest, but living a life without that spiritual taste is merely unimaginable.
Is there anything I really even need to say about turkey and Thanksgiving? How do I even get an invite to any Thanksgiving dinner? Mashed potatoes and gravy are the grave reality every vegetarian pseudo-hipster opts out for. Have you ever seen a Thanksgiving plate full of just potatoes? Pathetic. Every year I stare down that plentiful poultry and tell myself I should have just ordered pizza. (Yes, preferably pepperoni.) And no, don’t ask me about tofurkey.
Chicken/ Every Mexican Gathering Ever
As a proud Chicana-Mexican-American-born-and-raised-vegetarian-mut, I instantly put the damper on a good meal with the familia. There’s always chicken; whether they are live, cooked or in the backyard. Grandma offers me a piece of chicken enchilada and even with a polite dismissal; she leaves the table with rosary in hand. Apparently home cooked meals lose their merit in a vegetarian’s belly.
Don’t get me wrong– I care about the animals; I have 4 cats. I just want a damn piece of bacon.