I haven’t knowingly eating any beef or pork since 1985, when I sat across the dinner table from Henry Rollins
(yes I had dinner with Henry Rollins) and listen to him say, “I don’t care how many animals you kill, I just don’t want to eat them.” That Henry, ever the sentimentalist.
Young and impressionable, this was easily the coolest thing I had ever heard. “Hey! Good enough for Hank, good enough for me.”
Yesterday at 1:25 PM, at Vera’s Burger Shack
, I let Henry down. P ordered the Vera burger, me a Veggie. All I got to say is the words “Vera” and “Vegi” look an awful lot alike when scrawled on top of tinfoil. And I kept thinking, “This the most authentic veggie burger I’ve ever had.” Finally, after eating nearly three quarters I say to P, “I think I’m eating your burger.”
23-years of unwavering dedication to a diet born not out of ethical or health concerns, but because the singer of a punk rock band told me to, has come to an end. Sorry Henry. Today the clock gets reset to 1.
On the flip side P, who up until yesterday believed all veggie burgers to be the spawn of Satan, thought it tasted pretty good.