Veggie Tales

Now, I know I've done my share of ragging on vegetarians. But I stand apologetic after a lovely gesture from a vegetarian friend. Upon hearing of my sad state of financial despair, she insisted on taking me out for a steak-and-martini dinner. At Freemans, no less, where stuffed game animals make up the decor, some members of which could have been related to her vegetarian pet bunny. At dinner, I tried to order a salad but she would have none of it. I humbly accepted. For the steak-and-martini dinner is a meat eater's Holy Grail, a carnivore's delight, and, of course, a gross ostentation. But do they actually go together? The answer is a resounding "yes!" I had a Plymouth martini, up, with a twist. The steak was rare. The acidity of the drink balanced the fattiness of the meat and complemented the tang of blood. It also made a pretty darned good horseradish chaser. We ate at the bar - is there any other way to enjoy a steak-and-martini dinner? For one night, at least, I got to forget my troubles and live it up the good ole boy way. I was so satisfied by the end of the meal, like a Wall Street fat cat post-bailout, that I had to refrain from slapping the waitress on the ass on my way out.