Eating Out

Going out to eat can be an interesting experience for anyone, but it seems to be more interesting at times for the vegetarian and vegan among us. When I first quit eating meat it was difficult to go out. I didn’t really know what I could get where and what places put things in what that would and could make me sick. I also was in the awkward stage of being a new vegetarian. I didn’t want to make a scene (I still don’t) and I wasn’t always sure about what even to ask. Over time it got easier (or maybe I adjusted… as with the rest of my family). Today was one of those family eating experiences out in a public restaurant (they can be so embarrassing sometimes I have learned to just ignore it and expect it). My great-aunt’s birthday is today and a number of us met in shared celebration. Sometimes it’s just nice to be able to sit down at a meal together (and sometimes it is really nice not to have to prepare that meal yourself). We went to this little local place (a favorite of my aunt) that has this great little bakery in part of it. We have reached the point in my family that even after the waitress or waiter as taken my order various family members (especially my mother) often make sure that the person knows that I am in fact a vegetarian and I do not eat meat. This is often a response to a question such as, “Would you like ham on that?” No, thank-you. Of course somewhere in there is the added chiming of a voice or two (not my own included) going, ‘She doesn’t eat meat,” or, “She’s a vegetarian.” As annoying as it may seem (especially after I have often asked the wait stuff person questions regarding a pasta sauce or potential broth usage or whether or not meat is included on some salad) it actually has become rather bearable and endearing in their own way.

When I first made the decision it was very difficult on my various members of my family. Surprising me the most at the time was the fact that my grandparents were the most supportive as it would seem to challenge their years of life the most. (“Whatever it takes as long as you are better.”) There were often times at restaurants when my mother seemed to have to apologize to wait staff that I was one of “them.” It always seemed in that tone… you know the one… the one apologizing for something that their kid or parent or someone has done. Then one afternoon I got a burger that was supposed to be veggie and wasn’t…. I never chew, just biting into the now strange substance was enough to make be almost vomit on the table. After nearly two years of hearing my mother utter phrases like, “I’m sure now your body has healed enough that you could start adding meat back…” she was suddenly ready to go up to bat for her vegetarian daughter. I was floored as she called over the waitress that fateful afternoon and calmly explained and asked to see the manager regarding the kitchen mistake. It seemed in that moment realization finally had come to her that this was not a passing phase and I wasn’t just “going to get over it.”

In a rather short amount of time my mother went from apologizing to wait staff to explaining and to making sure that they knew so that there was no misunderstanding. (Who needs a veg shirt when your mom is ready to tell the world?) She even told the sample lady at the grocery how long I had been a vegetarian when shopping for produce one day. Eating out is no longer her making excuses for the “freaky eater” at the table, but informing the staff that its not just I don’t what that ham on my salad or sandwich, but that I REALLY don’t want anything to do with it. (She even has called the pizza place to ask them twenty questions about what is in what and complain that an order was messed up and that her daughter is vegetarian and can not eat whatever the mess up usually is.)

A typical family trip to meet somewhere to eat often includes Grandma calling and making sure that where-ever we go has something that I can eat. (She does seem to have a thing for buffets.) Followed by at least two people asking me while we are looking at the menus if there is something I can eat and making sure that I will not go hungry. (This is often where one of my “sensitive” brothers asks me if I want some labeled “meat-lovers” or how raw I like my steak.) We order drinks. (And somewhere there is a lemon in water discussion.) Then we order and at least someone (no including myself) makes sure that whoever is taking our order is aware that there is a vegetarian in their midst. In the end it is kind of sweet and well-meaning. I know not every person who ever takes our order cares why I ordered what I did, but in many ways it means that my nutty family has finally found a sense of normalcy and acceptance in the fact that I do not eat meat and have no intentions of ever doing so again.