Putting the “Carne” Back Into Reincarnation

Could there be a meat-eater in your future? Could it be you?

I just finished reading a book about an incredible young woman who, under hypnosis, can remember in intimate detail many of her 86 past lives. Wow! I can't even remember what happened yesterday.

The book, Many Lives, Many Masters, was written by the woman's psychiatrist Brian L. Weiss, and he thought it would be "comforting" for people to know that their soul lives on after death through reincarnation. According to the author (and his patient) we learn new lessons in each of our lives. In between, we hang out for a while in a murky spiritual world with a bunch of old dudes called "Masters," who spout off helpful platitudes of new-age wisdom. When we've finally learned enough, we move on to the next "level," wherever and whatever that may be.

Well I, for one, am not particularly "comforted" by this idea of reincarnation. The idea of suffering through 85 or so more lives sounds pretty darned tedious. (I've been awfully lucky in this life, and I figure the odds won't be so good in the future.) Dying that many times doesn't hold a lot of appeal to me either. (Like Woody Allen, I don't mind dying; I just don't want to be there when it happens.) And then there's that one awful, nagging question: Suppose I come back as a meat-eater?!

I know a number of people who strongly believe in reincarnation. A few of them have even told me that, because of my ethical veganism, I must already be at an advanced stage—nearly ready to move on to that coveted next "level."

These people obviously don't know me very well. In reality, I feel more like Albert Brooks' character in the terrific movie about reincarnation, Defending Your Life. Like him, I'm filled with neurotic fears and anxieties, and much more likely, I think, to be kicked out of the universe entirely than to be promoted to any higher plane. With my luck, I'm destined to spend my next 85 lives as a slaughterhouse worker, or the dorky kid with the bad acne behind the counter of the local hamburger joint. Doesn't that sound delightful!

Okay, I shouldn't make fun of anyone in the meat industry here, because maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't be so bad to be reincarnated as a meat-eater. Indeed, I've spoken with many ethical vegetarians who have said—not entirely in jest—that they wished they could be like everyone else and "not get" the connection between meat-eating and disease, suffering and environmental degradation. Maybe reincarnation is a way to do that. Maybe as we learn more from our past lives and from the "Masters," we'll lead our future lives blissfully chomping down corn-dogs without a concern in the world. And maybe, after a few lives of that, we'll then move on to the next "level," where we'll all be rewarded by being able to eat as much meat as we want without ever getting heart disease, or even fat.

I hope reincarnation doesn't really happen. After I die, I'd much rather go live on a cloud somewhere for eternity, playing golf with St. Peter and having someone serve me peeled grapes and single-malt Scotch. If reincarnation does happen, though, vegetarians should fare pretty well. I think there's a darned good chance that one of those things we have to learn before we can move forward is that eating by the Golden Rule will take us to a higher spiritual place. I hope we vegetarians have already learned that lesson in this lifetime.

If I'm reincarnated, I want to go to a world where we get our energy directly from the nearest star and our nutrients directly from the ground, without having to kill anything for "food." If that doesn't work, I want my next life to be way out in the future, when everyone has decided to adopt a vegan diet and they've finally stopped showing reruns of Friends. If I can't have either of those choices, I guess I'll have to give in to the forces of the universe. In that case, I want to be a dog living in some gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills. I'll sleep most of the day, be lazy all the time, and scarf down scraps of ham and roast beef from the table. Yeah, I'll be a meat-eater, but that's okay. The "Masters" will be happy, and at least I won't know the difference.

It’s an Odd World Out There

The other day a friend of mine pointed out that we humans spend most of our lives trying to make sense out of things that defy rationalization. It's our little way of trying to assert some control over our inherently uncontrollable lives. I'd never thought about it that way before, but I guess I have to agree. The need to make sense of things would seem to explain everything from science to Hollywood's happy endings.

Of course nothing makes less sense, and defies rationalization more, than the world of animal agriculture and meat eating. The craziness of it, and the way we vegetarians relate to it, never ceases to amaze me. Here are some of the things I've seen in the last few weeks that have left me dumbfounded.

If we call it "organic" it's sure to sell

In a move that is sure to take the motoring world by storm, the automaker Audi has announced that all the leather they use in their cars is "organically tanned." But what does that mean, exactly? Do they just put their leather seats out in the sun? Is "organically-tanned" leather supposed to be safer or more environmentally-friendly than the pesticide-laden leather other car makers presumably use? Wouldn't Audi's efforts be better spent just making cars that get decent gas mileage? If automobiles are going "organic," will microwave ovens and toilet paper be next?

If we call it "free-range" it's sure to sell

In North Carolina, money from the tobacco settlement is funding the raising of "free range pork." I'm not sure what the connection is between tobacco and meat (other than they are both unhealthy and addictive as all get out), but I suppose one good vice always supports another. In any event, farmers say that consumers prefer the taste of this meat because of greater "intramuscular fat" than on factory-farmed animals.

It should be noted that these are rich farmers. Supposedly, demand for the "free range pork" is so strong they can make a profit of $2,200 per hog. (Wow! I somehow don't think their primary motivation here is ethical.) There's a lot more money to be made in meat than in tobacco these days.

Just in time for the summer barbecue season

Ingrid Newkirk, the president of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, has drawn up a most unusual will. Upon her death she asks that her flesh be barbecued and her skin used to make leather products, all in protest of the way humans treat animals. She also wants her liver to be vacuum-packed and sent to France as a foie gras protest, and her feet to be removed and made into umbrella stands in a mockery of what we do to elephants.

I personally think Ms. Newkirk's plan is incredibly imaginative and fun. (While I'll pass on the barbecue, I'd be proud to have one of her feet next to my front door!) But I just can't imagine stuffy meat-eaters and other animal abusers appreciating the humor in this. I can just see Mr. Meat-Eater now, rolling his eyes when he reads about this at breakfast. ("Look at this Marge…another one of those animal rights fanatics wants to be an umbrella stand.")

Maybe we should all have wills like this. I'm sure Hormel would be delighted to get into the human "foie gras" business—especially if it's as profitable as "free range pork."

Mad dogs and Canadians

Canada's discovery of its first cow infected with mad cow disease made big headlines, got plenty of TV news coverage, and sent many US stocks tumbling. The Canadian government made extraordinary efforts to ensure that the public's food supply wouldn't be tainted. Unfortunately, the governmental bureaucracy was no match for the profit-hungry meat industry. Would this "downer of all downer" cows go to waste instead of profit? No! The cow was "processed" into dog food that was subsequently shipped to the United States.

Things we don't need science to explain

Signaling a major step forward in the advancement of human knowledge, a study at Edinburgh University and the neighboring Roslin Institute subjected fish to bee stings on their lips and concluded that fish can experience pain. While animal rights supporters found this conclusion to be rather obvious (Well, duh!), fisherpersons "carped" at the idea. A biologist for Britain's National Angling Alliance expressed the opinion that fish "literally do not have the brains" to feel pain. (A spokesfish for the test subjects countered that anyone who thinks it's fun to stand for hours waist-deep in a freezing stream doesn't have the brains a fish is born with.)

It's what we say, not what we do, that counts

Yogurt and ice cream maker Stonyfield Farm advertises that it "celebrates strong women." Next fall it is sponsoring the "Strong Woman Summit" with celebrities like Erin Brockovich. When the irony was pointed out to the Stonyfield farmers that their products only exist because of the rape of females of another species, they declined to comment. Surprise, surprise.

It's a strange world out there, and nobody's explaining it.

Your Guide to Rationalizing Away the Holidays—A Christmas Tree for Guilt Ridden, Tree-Hugging Vegetarians

It just doesn't seem right, but many vegetarians will spend the holiday season wracked with guilt again this year. For these folks Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without a tree. But the thought of chopping down a perfectly good evergreen, just for their holiday decorations, is something they find most distressing.

Guilt over Christmas trees isn't limited to vegetarians, of course. For some reason lots of people—even those who don't give a second thought to what (or who) might be on their dinner plates—are troubled by the annual slaying of the conifers. But it may be worst for vegetarians, especially when we consider that having a tree may mean at least temporarily putting aside some of our vegetarian values—you know, those pesky little values like environmental sensitivity and not wanting to kill things.

Is there a solution to this problem? If you're starting to feel guilty just reading this, can you rationalize your way out of this dilemma and still enjoy the holidays? Of course you can!

In fact, there are at least six ways that you, the sensitive vegetarian, can have a Christmas tree this year, and you shouldn't feel guilty about any of them. (Well, not too guilty anyway.) Here are your options:

Option #1—The Real Chopped-Down Tree. Yes, you can join the multitudes and purchase a real, beautiful, made-out-of-wood tree that someone will be happy to chop down for you for a price. You can bring it home, decorate it, and watch it turn brown and die before your eyes (and maybe even catch your house on fire). You won't feel guilty about any of this if you keep a couple of things in mind. First, even if Christmas tree farming wreaks wanton environmental destruction, this destruction pales in comparison to the good environmental deeds you do all year long just by being a vegetarian. Really!

And you needn't feel guilty about chopping down this poor defenseless conifer either. Remember, you became a vegetarian because you think the lives of plants are inherently less valuable than the lives of animals. By necessity you chop down plants all the time to nourish your body. Nourishing your soul is equally important.

Option #2—The Real Live Tree. Okay, maybe the rationalization you have to go through for a cut tree is just a little too much. The simple way to ease your guilty conscience may be to buy a live tree this holiday season, and then plant it out in the yard after New Years.

While this sounds great in theory, there are some potential drawbacks. Live trees are small, expensive, and heavy (roots, you know), and you can't keep them inside too long. Then, of course, there will be all the work involved in planting a Christmas tree in your arctic, frozen yard on January 2. Digging through granite might be easier.

Since you're planting this tree in the middle of winter it's likely to die by February. Will you feel guilty about that? Extremely. But hey, at least you can say you tried!

Option #3—The Phony Christmas Tree. If you're still feeling guilty about a real tree, you can always opt for the aluminum or plastic variety, and that's fine too. Sure, there's even more wanton environmental destruction with a phony tree, but that's okay—remember, you're good the rest of the year. Anyway, this baby will last forever, so your grandkids will still be enjoying its "beauty" (I use that term loosely) in the year 2068. Heck, by that time someone will have figured out how to recycle it.

Option #4—The Benson Branch. A few years ago one of my very clever vegetarian friends (or was it her husband?) came up with a very clever idea. She found a huge branch that had fallen off a tree, brought it home, and decorated it to the nines. It was gorgeous. If you're adamant that killing shouldn't be part of your holiday tradition, and you're particularly good at decorating things (there's a lot of empty space in a dead branch) this may be the option for you. As long as you avoid the aluminum tinsel, there's no guilt here. No-sir-ee (Bob).

Option #5—The Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. The Christmas special featuring all those zany characters from the Peanuts comic strip has been on TV every holiday season since the Revolutionary War (although many of us would swear we've seen it more often than that). Remember when Charlie Brown picks the mangiest little tree on the lot that nobody wants? Remember how the children decorate it with all the gaudy ornaments from Snoopy's doghouse, and then everybody decides they love it, and it symbolizes the real meaning of Christmas? Well, this could be you!

This year you could go out on Christmas Eve and buy one of those poor scraggly trees still left on the lot that you always feel sorry for. (I bet the Christmas tree person will want to get home early, and will even give you a discount.) Then you can take this poor little tree home and have a wonderful Christmas Eve with your family decorating it, drinking soy "egg"nog, and getting into the spirit of the season. And instead of feeling guilty, you'll feel good about yourself, because you'll know that if you didn't buy that little tree it would have been chopped down for nothing, and would have gone in the dumpster the day after Christmas.

Option #6—Someone Else's Christmas Tree. Being inherently lazy as well as a cheapskate, this is the option I usually choose. It just makes sense. Why go to all the trouble and expense of putting up your own tree when someone else will do it for you?
That's right, you'll enjoy the holidays more this year if you spend quality time with your friends' and neighbors' trees!

To make this a reality, all you have to do is schedule a few "chance" encounters at the supermarket with folks you know during the month of December. During each of these "chance" encounters you will say something like this: "Gail, what a surprise to see you! You know, I was going to invite you and Jim over for a holiday party, but with everything going on at work and with little Johnny having that foot disease, I just haven't had a chance to decorate. Boy, it sure would be great to spend some time with you guys…"

Now, if Gail is any kind of a decent human being at all, you know she's going to invite you over to her house, where she'll have a beautifully decorated tree (not to mention a fire, food and drinks) that you can enjoy without feeling guilty. Play your cards right and you'll be getting four or five invitations like this every week. You won't even notice that you don't personally have a tree.

Isn't sharing wonderful? Isn't this the true spirit of the season?

The Veggie Avenger Spends a Holiday at Mom’s House

Just when you thought you were safe, we return to the adventures of the Veggie Avenger, our vegetarian superhero of superheroes, with a look at how the tactless spend their holidays.

The Veggie Avenger is at home feeding his pet turtle Sammy when the phone rings. It's his mother.

"Florian?"

"Yes, mother." He hates it when she calls him that.

"We're having Thanksgiving supper dear. Your Uncle Lou and his family will be here."

"So?"

"So I expect you to come."

The Veggie Avenger gives Sammy the international symbol for gag me with a backhoe. "We went through this last year mother," he shouts into the phone. "I don't want any part of your vicious, death-mongering holiday celebrations!"

"That's fine dear," his mother says politely. "We'll expect you on Thursday at 2:00."

On the appointed day our hero reluctantly shows up at his mother's house. Uncle Lou is there with his wife and their pubescent twin girls Sharon and Cheryl. The girls giggle hysterically every time they look at the Veggie Avenger. Then, while Lou carves the turkey, the Veggie Avenger puts on a black arm band and reads a funeral mass. Sharon and Cheryl stare wide-eyed.

"Dies irae, dies irae..."

"Dish yourself up a helping of yardbird, son," Lou says. Everyone's plate is heaping with food, while our vegetarian superhero is making due with string beans and cranberry sauce.

"No thanks," the Veggie Avenger answers. "I don't eat my friends, even on holidays."

"Your mother makes a mighty tasty turkey," Uncle Lou persists. "Be polite and give it a try."

"I'd rather be polite to the bird." Our high-strung hero starts the funeral mass again, and begins genuflecting wildly, taking out the salt shaker with his elbow.

"If he's not going to eat the turkey, neither am I!" Sharon suddenly declares.

"Me neither!" shouts Cheryl.

"Now, now, girls," Lou says.

"Just ignore him, dears," Mom adds.

The girls push their plates away and look defiant.

Lou glares at the Veggie Avenger and mutters something about the progeny of unmarried dogs.

Mom glares.

The Veggie Avenger just shrugs. Inside he's beaming. Once again his unconventional tactics have paid off. He's taught his two nieces to think about what they eat and make their own decisions. He's proud, but he has to say something to break the tension.

"Anybody want to phone out for Chinese?"

Special Handling Instructions Instructions

There I was. It was Sunday afternoon, and I and my two mangos and my steak sauce (don't get the wrong idea—it's great on seitan) were all in the Express Check Out line at the grocery store. Actually, that was wishful thinking. It was more like the "Slow Crawl" line.

As I waited I couldn't help but notice that the "14 items or Less" [sic] being purchased by the guy in front of me included three particularly large and particularly grisly looking pieces of meat. What joy, I thought.

Then I noticed something peculiar. I saw that each of these offensive items bore a label with the title "Special Handling Instructions." Looking closer, I found that these labels warned buyers of the bacteria in meat and gave them instructions on how to handle it, lest it poison them and their families.

Now, I realize this is probably old news to most people. I may be the last guy in America to discover that meat contains these warning labels. The reason for this, other than my being dim-witted of course, is that I can't stand to be around the stuff. Whenever I find myself anywhere near the meat section of a store my standard procedure is to divert my eyes, hold my breath, and walk in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. I haven't been up close and personal with a package of meat since that night 20 years ago when a vegetarian friend and I took gag photos at an A & P in Chicago. (Trust me, you wouldn't want to know the details.)

In any event, I was pleased to discover these new meat labels. I assume, without really knowing, that they are the result of the infamous Jack-in-the-Box scandal a few years ago. Somebody's lawyer probably talked to somebody else's lawyer, and everyone suddenly realized that meat was crawling with E. coli and other bacteria, and that these labels better go on before people started filing lawsuits.

The "Special Handling Instructions" labels are a step in the right direction, and maybe they'll even save a few lives. It's doubtful, though, that they'll change anyone's purchasing habits. Rather, it seems to me to be a tribute to meat's addictive properties that people will continue to buy the stuff and feed it to their children despite the fact that it advertises itself as being covered with harmful germs.

Of course, we vegetarians know that exposure to potentially deadly bacteria is just one of the hazards of eating meat, and a small one at that. The current labels don't go nearly far enough in our opinion. Everyone gripes about cigarettes (and rightly so), but meat has long been the most under-labeled product in existence.

Considering the mountain of damning evidence and the almost universal agreement that this product kills more people than handguns, it's incredible that we don't even insist on nutrition information on the package, much less any serious health warnings. What if a six-year-old wants to buy a package of bacon with her allowance? Any butcher in the country will hand it over the counter in a brown paper wrapper—no permit, no waiting period, and no questions asked.

I want to change this outrageous state of affairs. I'd love to see the meat industry come to us vegetarians and ask us to redesign meat labels. (Yeah, this is likely!) We could come up with some great ideas. Here are a few examples of the "Special Handling Instructions" I'd like to see on meat packages. You can probably think of lots more.

1. WARNING: CONTAINS BLOODBORNE PATHOGENS—HANDLE ONLY WITH LATEX GLOVES
   
2. MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS. THIS EFFECT IS INTENSIFIED BY USE WITH ALCOHOL
   
3. 
   WARNING: BIOHAZARDOUS WASTE—PLEASE DISPOSE OF PROPERLY [preferably by burial with full honors]
   
4. DO NOT USE IN OR NEAR OPEN FLAMES—THIS INCLUDES BARBECUE GRILLS
   
5. WARNING: REPEATED USE CAN LEAD TO HEART FAILURE, DEATH AND OTHER UNPLEASANTRIES
   
6. CAUTION: SLIPPERY WHEN WET
   
7. KEEP OUT OF CHILDREN'S REACH
   
8. MAY CAUSE SEVERE GASTROINTESTINAL DISTRESS. IF THESE SIDE EFFECTS PERSIST, DISCONTINUE USE
   
9. AVOID CONTACT WITH SKIN OR BREATHING OF VAPORS
   
10. WARNING: PESTICIDES APPLIED HERE
    
11. DO NOT USE NEAR FOOD OR DRINK
    
12. CAUTION: USE AS INTENDED MAY CAUSE INJURY OR DEATH
    
13. INDUCE VOMITING IF SWALLOWED
    

If we put all these very truthful labels on meat packages maybe the public will finally get the idea that meat doesn't only require "special handling." It requires no handling at all.

Religion, Politics and (of course) Food …what really matters is Speed

"Americans don't dine. They gobble, gulp, and go."—A 19th Century European traveler, quoted in The Good Old Days—They Were Terrible! by Dr. Otto L. Bettman

"I love most things from the US except McDonald's, your football and this fiasco of electing a president."—
Graham J. Weeks

I'm sitting here reading a news story about ConAgra, the huge food conglomerate, recalling 1.45 million pounds of corn flour and other products because they may contain StarLink biotech corn. That corn, in turn, might possibly cause allergic reactions in some people. Now, while I certainly don't have any problem with such a display of concern about the public's welfare, as a vegetarian I do have to wonder why ConAgra doesn't also recall its "Big Mama" pickled sausage, or its "300% hotter" cousin, "Tijuana Mama". After all, those products, along with countless other ConAgra "foods," contain ingredients (animal fat, nitrates and nitrites, etc.) that, without a doubt, cause cancer and heart disease.

Hmmm…. A company recalls products that are possibly linked to allergies, but leaves products on the market that are certainly linked to much more serious diseases. Why?

Well, I could chalk it up to the craziness of meat-eaters, but I think the real answer is speed. Allergies manifest themselves right away, while heart disease and cancer take a lot longer. And in modern America if something isn't going to occur quickly, we really don't care. Call us when it happens.

Of course, nowhere in our culture is the "need for speed" more apparent than in our food industry. I stopped at a grocery store this morning in search of oatmeal, and was surprised to see that even the Quakers (not known to be the fastest group of Americans!) were promising me hot oats in only 5 minutes. If that wasn't fast enough, I could opt for "quick" oats that cook in only 1 minute, or "instant" oats that must cook even before a person can get the package open. Judging from the product selection at my store, it's pretty clear that most Americans want their oats instantaneously.

Even as they race to copy us, the rest of the world makes fun of this American preoccupation with speed. Sometimes their criticism even gets serious, like just last week when a prominent Catholic theologian criticized McDonald's in an Italian newspaper. In an article endorsed by the Catholic Bishops' Conference, Massimo Salani denounced the eat-and-run culture promoted by McDonald's, and warned that eating a Big Mac with fries was the antithesis of receiving communion. He said fast food "completely forgets the holiness of food," should be spurned by Catholics, and is appropriate only for atheists, or possibly Lutherans.

Wow, those are strong words! There's obviously a "whopper" of a gap between the laid-back, family-oriented Italian Catholics, and those crazy, mile-a-minute, American Quakers! As a Lutheran, I may only be one French fry away from eternal damnation, but I must admit that I share Mr. Salani's views about McDonald's being unholy. Their speed, though, would not be my #1 complaint.

In a culture known for doing things fast, it seems ironic that as I write this nearly two weeks have already passed since the enormously entertaining election of 2000, and we still don't know who the next President of these United States of America is going to be. (Yes, I know that as you read this you know how the election turned out—but that's just the advantage you have of living in the future!)

The election didn't represent a Constitutional crisis, but rather a technological crisis. (When the ballots cast for each candidate are closer than the inherent margin of error in counting those ballots, its pretty hard to identify the winner, no matter how many recounts you have!) In any event, it certainly was a turn of events that for once Americans were the ones keeping everybody waiting. Again the world criticized. (Do they secretly love our speed, or do they just hate whatever we do?)

However the 49 recounts eventually turn out (only you know for sure), the message for America seems clear: what we need in this country are faster elections and slower food. Now, you may think the solution to all this is to ship all the bigwigs at McDonald's to a monastery in Italy and let the Quakers run our next election. Sure it sounds silly, but I'm with you.

A Word About Restaurants

Dining out as a vegetarian can be a gratifying experience. There's a real thrill in finding a new restaurant with an array of creative vegetarian dishes. And, at those places we frequent, there is a certain satisfaction and sense of place to be experienced, knowing that we, along with the rest of the vegetarian community, constitute an important part of the clientele and keep the vegetarian items on the menu.

It goes without saying, however, that the negative side to restaurant eating for the vegetarian looms very large. When navigating the uncharted menu of a new or unfamiliar restaurant, hazards abound for the unwary vegetarian. For every new restaurant that holds some promise, there are at least five others with no redeeming social value. Dinner at one of these can mean an evening of anger, starvation, embarrassment, or all of the above.

As a fairly frequent traveler, I have the fortune, or misfortune, to try lots of new restaurants around the country. Since most of my travel is on business, the choice of these places is often not my own, and the choices are often not the greatest. Below, I've compiled a list of a few disasters that regularly befall the vegetarian restaurant diner. You can probably think of lots more.

1. There's nothing on the menu I can eat. I can't begin to count the number of times this has happened to me. Nor can I describe the sense of horror and panic in sitting down with a group of people and finding nothing (I mean nothing!) on the menu without meat in it. It usually means that one is relegated to the "old standbys" an iceberg lettuce salad and a baked potato. The "old standbys" have saved many a vegetarian from starvation. I once lived on them for a week in Texas.

2. I bet there's nothing on the menu I can eat. This may be the only thing worse than #1 above. It usually happens when you're with a group of people, you're starving, and everyone decides to go to a restaurant with a name like "The Branding Iron" or "Ed's Steak Pit." Not only are you likely to have a miserable meal, but you'll have to spend a couple of hours worrying about it beforehand.

3. My God! There's meat in this! Let's say you find something on the menu that looks all right, and you breathe a sigh of relief and order it. You're still not out of the woods. Restaurants seem to delight in subtly slipping meat into almost everything, especially when it isn't mentioned on the menu. This, of course, is most common in Chinese eateries where shreds of beef are hidden beneath the bamboo shoots and pork invades the egg rolls. But it happens in many other restaurants too. I've found chicken broth in pasta primavera, beef gravy on top of fettuccine Alfredo, and lots of Italian restaurants that put pepperoni in their salads.

4. The "Local Color" Syndrome. It can be said that restaurants in sophisticated big cities will be more likely to have good food for a vegetarian than restaurants in small towns or rural areas. While I've found this to generally be the case, it isn't always true. I've had wonderful vegetarian food in Wyoming and North Carolina and found absolutely terrible, uncreative (and very expensive) restaurants in Los Angeles and New York.

An almost foolproof way I've found to weed out a huge number of undesirable restaurants is to avoid any place that hints of having any measure of "local color." This category of restaurants obviously includes steak places in the Midwest and seafood restaurants along the coasts. But it also includes every restaurant that serves "American Cuisine," has the word "grill" in its name, or has been in the "same location for 20 years." And it includes almost every place with red carpeting and black vinyl chairs. In short, if the "locals love it," a vegetarian won't.

No matter what "local color" restaurant you go into, you'll get the same waitress. Her name is Marge, and she's worked there since she was 17 (she's about 50 now). Marge is pretty saucy and prides herself on being a "colorful character." She thinks vegetarians are communists (see #5 below).

Since you won't see anything vegetarian on the menu, you'll have to ask Marge what vegetables are available. She will curtly respond, "We don't have any vegetables," and will try to make your evening miserable from that point on. She won't even smile when she brings you the "old standbys."

5. Everybody hates me. As if the hazards set forth above aren't enough for the restaurant-going vegetarian, there is one more: by the end of the meal everyone will hate you. Even if you're lucky enough not to get Marge for a waitress, whomever you do get may be just as bad. You can't really blame the country's waiters and waitresses. After all, they've been trained to think their restaurant's prime rib is the absolute height of gastronomic perfection. And even if the vegetarian isn't directly insulting the food, he or she probably is creating some additional work.

If the people you are eating with aren't vegetarians, don't expect them to love you either. They'll be almost as embarrassed as you are when you ask if the soup of the day is made with a chicken stock or if the manicotti sauce has meat in it. While the vegetarian is desperately trying to find something to eat, everyone else at the table will be wondering to themselves why a simple thing like ordering dinner has to be made into such a production.

Sometimes it all gets to be so discouraging that I feel like eating at home the rest of my life, and packing a brown bag whenever I have to travel. But it's usually when I'm at my most demoralized that I get some encouragement—like the time in Wyoming that I found a whole list of fresh vegetables on a steak house menu, or the seafood restaurant in Florida that had wonderful black bean soup without the meat stock. Sometimes it's just a nice waiter who will take pity on me and go out of his way to see that I get fed. When something like that happens, I think maybe, on the whole, restaurants aren't so bad after all.