Last week, I had a blast from the past when one of my best friends from my single life in Salt Lake City called to tell me he was moving to Denver.
Jason and I were pretty inseparable those years. While I loved being swingin’ single, he endured hours of lamentations about alllllll my glorious relationships. And believe me, as a SWF who did not marry until I was 30 (a veritable Old Maid in Mormon culture), I had a lot of them. And they were not all glorious.
Jason lived with a few other guys in the foothills overlooking the city. Their only furniture in the living room was a killer entertainment center and four ratty recliners. Because is this not the sign of the ultimate bachelor pad?
He and I shared a love for the outdoors and cooking. We spent countless hours concocting recipes, man-handling raw meat and devouring every carnivorous pound of it. The two of us had history.
He married a great gal the day before Jamie and I tied the knot and we lost touch. Until now.
They have a son a month older than Bode so I offered to let them stay with us last week while they looked for a place.
Now, we all change to some extent when we get married and breed. I used to run up mountains for fun and discuss politics, culture and current events. Never once did I utter the words “Poop” or “Potty.”
But nothing could have prepared me for the change in Jason. I mean, this was my cooking bud! I was ecstatic to try some of my new recipes on him. I’d start with my famous Chicken Tikka Masala with homemade naan and end with Jamie’s fantastic smoked ribs. Maybe we’d even make a bacon-wrapped turkey for old time’s sake.
Until the bomb was dropped.
As I discussed the menu, Jason turned sheepish.
“Well uhhh…actually, I meant to tell you that Kate and I are [mumbling] afafjarians now.”
“You’re what? Agrarian? What’s that?”
“No, vegetarian. I don’t eat meat anymore.”
I could not have been more shocked if he had told me he was having a sex change. He is a big guy. A really big guy. A big carnivore-eating guy.
I stared at him blankly, giving him the reaction he anticipated. I honestly have never been friends with a vegetarian. To my knowledge, I don’t discriminate or offend except for when I walk around Taste of Colorado with the juices of my life-sized turkey leg oozing out of my mouth.
I realized last week that even though I am not against the lifestyle, I just cannot relate. I don’t consider myself a huge meat eater but most of my most favorite dishes revolve around it. And there was no way I was going to try some of his “substitute meat.” I am still recovering from the trauma of once eating Spongebob’s cousin tofu.
Entertaining guests is stressful enough but my fretting reached a new level over what to feed them.
Finally, I threw in the white flag and pandered,
“So, what do Your People eat?”
“Vegetables. A lot of vegetables.”
Who knew?
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 