Bleatings from EnviRambo.
Last night I made sloppy joes - with real meat. It was weird. And slightly disgusting.
I guess it has been a while since I have handled raw meat. I had somewhat forgotten about the mess. And the blood. A perk of cooking vegetarian.
No slimy chicken to handle, or fear of salmonella. No bloody hamburger, or risk of E. coli. No thawing. No de-fatting. No de-boning. No greasy mess that is a dickens to deal with when you have sworn off paper towels. None of that.
Last week I bought steak to treat Mister for our anniversary. They were nice thick steaks, but not huge. I had broiled them in the oven and had them resting on top of the stove. He walked in the kitchen, stopped, stared, and said "That's a lot of meat".
This from a man who previously would have polished off both our steaks without thinking twice. Now he is doubting just one. I am confident he still has the capability of consuming mass amounts of food. The man has a hollow leg, I swear. So for him to question the larger-than-life portions we previously had been accustomed to was surprising. And refreshing, for I had been thinking the same thing before he entered the kitchen. Wow, that's a lot of meat.
We ended up splitting one steak and saved the second for another meal. A meal for three no less.
It is interesting how our perception of normal has changed. We went from a quarter-pound of meat per person to a quarter-pound of meat per meal to no meat at all. In a span of about three years. For those of you thinking that's great, but my husband would never go for that, I felt the same way. And here we are. Three short years later.
"That's a lot of meat."