Meat the F*ckers
Going vegetarian, to me, is synonymous with Armageddon, culling the sinners and the saints, and Kingdom Come. “Vegetarianism,” like every “-ism,” is an ideological apparatus meant to make cabbages and toge (bean sprouts) the supreme masters of the world. I won’t have any of it.
But I had to, at least for last night. Me and a friend went to eat at this vegetarian eatery at Katipunan, just at the edge of UP Diliman. It took me about 30 minutes to finish off a plate of potato curry and a seafood wrap made out of canned vegemeat. Thirty minutes is far too long, considering that I can wolf down a McDonald’s cheeseburger and fries in seven minutes flat, which gives me a minute to go up the office elevator and take a seven-minute cigarette break.
When you have a one-hour break for eight hours of cubicle work, you start to divide everything into 15-minute intervals.
I won’t be found in a queue for meals at vegetarian restaurants anytime soon, but a change of diet is just what I may need.
I will never understand vegetarians: back in Baguio, Oh! My Gulay and Bliss Café seem to detoxify you of everything (which basically includes something as toxic as money). I’ve had the distinct displeasure of eating more than my own fair share of vegemeat before, as well as mushroom burgers in UP Los Baños that supposedly “taste like meat.” When someone uses the a subordinative conjunction, like the word “like,” it’s a poor substitute for figurative language.
Consider the phrase, “Tastes like crap.” I think you get the picture.