My mom came into town a couple of weeks ago and my gramma and grampa took us all out to a steakhouse for dinner. What an american dream, the steakhouse is. I'm not a vegetarian- I was for a few years, but I fell off the wagon on a road trip to Florida when I ran out of money and was more or less obliged to eat the leftovers of my friends' cheeseburgers. But I don't really eat meat unless the opportunity presents itself, maybe because it's kind of expensive and I've gotten into the habit of not buying it when I go to the grocery store, I guess... But I still can't imagine making sure to include it in every meal, even though my parents always did while I was growing up. So I sometimes forget how a great deal of the rest of the country just doesn't consider a meal complete without a major helping of meat to round out the plate. But man, a steakhouse! I ordered a "rack of lamb" figuring, hey, I like gyros. Everyone else got a steak except for my annoying aunt Nicole who is three years older than me and is constantly whining. She got chicken, which she sent back to the kitchen after asking everybody at the table if it "looked pink to you?" When the food came I felt like a viking feasting after a successful pillage: There was so much meat on the table that its surface seemed to be made of glistening, half charred flesh, and we were all sawing away deeper and deeper into it with absolute confidence that more was on the way.
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