Vegetarians in the Day to Day

My vegetarian cousin and I decided to get together for a bite to eat, and opted to meet at Union Square. (There is a vegetarian joint on the east side of the square, but I had a mad craving for meat – to be specific, grilled sausage – and had no intention of looking at tofu.) I felt guilty. Vegetarians often have to make accommodations for the rest of us, eating bread and a green salad with a side of fries while surrounded by the aroma of sizzling flesh. But damn, I needed a sausage.

Nostalgia:
I was longing for those simpler years when I was a student on stipend, traversing Europe without a care in the world, unaware of the fact that I had amassed nothing in assets or mutual funds and that I was facing a bleak retirement back home. What did I care, really, when I had a fantastic sausage sandwich in my hand, replete with a local artisanal mustard?

My cousin accommodated my longings and we headed to Mandler’s on 17th Street, a Euro-style sausage stand with an array of mustards no one can sneer at. No French’s Yellow Dye Number 5 Flavored slime here!

“I can always find something to eat,” he said, adding, “I survived for months in Brazil.”

More Nostalgia:
My cousin’s mother was at one time a radical hippy writing inflammatory prose from a Haight-Asbury apartment, and then later from a commune in Missouri. She raised her kids on milk straight from the goat, homegrown produce and a fear of any large organization. She still lives on an organic farm and remains as isolated from the Establishment as she can be, although the flame of her prose has all but flickered out.

I ordered the Krainerwurst on onion bread, a delicious combo that I highly recommend. The counter staff encouraged me to let them slather on some toppings, but I wouldn’t have any of it.

“I want to taste the sausage,” I said. “I’m here for the sausage, not the mushrooms.”

My cousin ordered the vegetarian sausage and some zucchini fries.

“Oh my God,” he declared, “this is really good. I’m so happy!”

We sipped on our beer and then gossiped about his recent overnight incarceration for smoking weed while riding a bicycle.

“They stripped-searched me,” he said.

“No kidding?” I asked. “Why didn’t you call?”

“Obvious reasons” he replied.

Thankfully, Mandler’s has a happy hour – two for one. We got happy – about three times.

Nostalgia Redux:
I remember my aunt standing next to the campfire in her gauze dress, hair in braids, breastfeeding my cousin and spouting off about the Establishment and how one day all we will have to eat is corporation-owned, genetically engineered, processed foods. I miss those nights around the campfire, even if she did get on my nerves.

“The one thing about being a vegetarian that sucks,” my cousin said, “is that I miss that whole grilling-out in the open thing. But this vegetarian sausage tastes like the real deal.”

“I just wish you had more options,” I said.

“There are thousands of options out there. It’s a matter of looking at it as a creative challenge, and not as deprivation.”

Resolution: Keep an eye out for exciting vegetarian dishes to share with those many out there who refrain from flesh. They, too, like to have a good time and a good laugh.

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Posted on 9/21/2005 ( Permanent Link )
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