The Carnivorous Beast in Me
It all started on November 21st, 2011 with this:
No, not the goofy guy cheesing for a picture. This:
I present the Rosa Blanca Burger. Ground Filet Mignon served with your choice of cheese, bacon, sauteed mushrooms & leeks, tomato, red onions (not pictured because my husband dispises them) and avocado. Seriously, my mouth watered. Alex offered me a bite but I refused under concerns for getting sick on my honeymoon. Two days later, I ate sushi at the brand new Sushi Amor de La Fortuna in the middle of the rainforest like an idiot, woke up with food poisoning all night and negated my argument for skipping Alex’s steak burger offer altogether. Alex was a perfect 1 month old husband and went down to the concierge at 6am and told them that he was having bathroom troubles, thus the need for Imodium. But, that story is for another time.
I’m a vegetarian because cutting meat out of my diet cut out bi-monthly migraines. Now, occasionally I run into a person who thinks they have migraines. A migraine, by the dictionary of Tina, is a headache that leaves you debiliated, nauseous, screaming in agony, shoving needles through your swollen, bumpy brow ridge, all while cursing at whoever invented light and heat. Then, just when you think it can’t get any worse, you vomit, releasing the pressure for a mere second, before getting even worse than before. Again, I digress.
I could care less about the slaughtering of cows and pigs. I wouldn’t do it myself, but I’m okay with that. It’s not for health purposes, either. Luckily, maintaining my weight has never been that big of a problem for me, regardless of what I put in my body. No, I just learned that cutting meat out of my diet also cut migraines out of my adolescent life.
It’s been twelve happy, meatless years since that day. I always knew I’d go back to the “dark side” eventually. With my luck, I’m going to be Phoebe Buffay, craving steak during my pregnancies. Plus, I won’t be raising my children vegetarian. I don’t want to be the mommy who sends her kid to day care with a “special snack” because I’m overbearing in dietary demands for my toddler.
Enter the honeymoon steak burger. Mmmmm. Mouth watering, juicy, quality, organic meat. After months of concerns that I wouldn’t be able to physically put meat in my mouth, chomp down onto a texture I haven’t experienced in over a decade, I did it. With an angel sitting on my shoulder reminding me that I have Type O blood, which thrives on red meat and intense exercise, (thanks to my lovely neighbor, Brie), I gave into my burning cravings. On Mother’s Day, down at my mom’s house, she grilled me up a wee baby burger, topped with cheddar cheese, carmalized onions, lettuce and some ketchup.
Completely ignoring the 45 minute time period where I wasn’t entirely sure it was going to stay down, I have only one thing to say:
It was everything I had imagined it to be. And then some.
Me, on that fateful November day, trying to convince myself that crab gazpacho could hold a candle to Alex’s steak burger. We’re just going to have to go back to Costa Rica, now.
*Filed Under Personal Life and Home Life*