When I moved to New Orleans six years ago, I arrived as a vegetarian, a foreign language the city’s foodie scene isn’t fluent in.
“Can you recommend any good vegetarian restaurants?” I once asked a concierge.
He handed me some menus: meat, meat, meat, and more meat.
“Where’s the vegetarian part?” I asked.
He glanced down. “Chicken.”
After six months of boring myself with approximately 87 redundant iterations of risotto, I gave up my vegetarian diet and embraced animal proteins.
Last weekend, at the Emeril Lagasse Foundation’s annual benefit — Boudin, Bourbon, and Beer — I stumbled upon 40 or 50 edible reminders of just how fantastic carnivorous living in this city is. Needless to say, it was an exceptionally bad weekend to be a vegetarian.
So you woke up Friday and decided to become a vegetarian.
Then you travelled to meat Mecca.
Rows of happy you’d have to abstain from.
Mood stabilizers you couldn’t taste.
I feel very sad for you.
Your diet at the event consists of this
and probably what this woman is holding.
You’re not sure if you should be more concerned about starving to death, coming down with scurvy, or being the most inebriated person at the benefit.
You hate all of these happy people.
Including Mario and his team of Luigis.
And this woman with a plate of something delicious.
Why are they happy? Pork on pork on pork:
on a cracker,
on a bun,
Heaven on brioche.
One nibble couldn’t hurt…
I mean, ducks are not nice animals. They bite.
And harass small children and dogs.
Let’s be honest, geese are just giant ducks.
And don’t even get me started on quails.
They’re basically pigeons.
It doesn’t count if the meat is hidden.
Or lodged beneath something vegetarian.
Or stuffed inside of a fruit.
Screw it. You eat meat again.
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Chelsea Lee is assistant editor of NolaVie. Email comments to her at email@example.com.