Saved by the Bell

On Saturday, I was hanging out in the kitchen of our church hall, waiting for the V-meister to complete her first day of L1thuanian school.  The V-meister actually speaks fluent L1thuanian already, but I like to run around like a headless chicken six out of seven mornings a week and besides, my daughter is not yet old enough to realize that she could be doing gymnastics or watching cartoons instead of reciting noun declensions of a Saturday morning.

Anyway.  There was another mom there prepping ingredients for some chili she was planning to serve at a dinner party that night.  Because I know that hers is a non TV watching family who also bakes their own bread and probably composts as well, I asked her if the chili was vegetarian.

It was! And before I knew it, I had launched into a monologue about my new flexitarian diet.

Now, I didn't know what flexitarianism was until I read about it in Martha Stewart's magazine two days ago, but I liked the sound of it and wanted to impress chili mom with my healthful ways.  All of a sudden, not only was I a flexitarian who eats nothing but grains, fish, poultry, and the occasional Big Mac, I was also making my family healthful recipes from the Moosewood Cookbook every other night. So while my friend V, who also happened to be in the kitchen listening to our conversation, shot me a look that said, "I saw you eat three pounds of ground chuck yesterday," I went on about the versatility of bulgar wheat. (What is bulgar wheat?) 

My friend V was on to me.  She said, "So. Do your kids eat these Moosewood recipes, too?"  And I was all, "Um, if I'm making something I know they wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, I'll give them soy nuggets instead."  And she was all, "You are so full of crap."  Which she didn't actually say out loud, but it was written all over her face, as was, "I'd like to see you turn on a stove."

My point is that while waxing poetic about quinoa, I realized that I have an affliction whereby I feel compelled to match my tastes and convictions to those of whoever it is I happen to be speaking with at the minute. And it's not that I'm lying, exactly, because I do like salmon and while I was speaking with chili mom, I was 100% convinced that I would never eat another Chuck Peterson Hungry Heifer special again as long as I lived, until I came home to find the P-Dawg making spaghetti and meatballs.

Before I had a chance to exchange wheatgrass smoothie recipes with my soul mate chili mom, the bell rang and I had to go retrieve the V-meister.  But now that I'm aware of my condition, I'll be working on developing a better sense of self.  Let's just hope that in the meantime, I don't meet any communists or trekkies.

Spaghetti with meatballs is a regular part of my flexitarian diet