Her food-related peculiarities were sometimes astonishing in their absurdity, yet held a certain charm and were always amusing. At least, if you're only observing them as opposed to being the one relegated to living out the confining culinary proclivities.
She was a meat eater, this one, but such inclinations were not to be fulfilled without first being safely contained by a battery of safeguards. The meat eating was bound to certain strict rules. She was nutritiously desirous of meat's nourishing protein-based benefits. But only so long as it did not in any way resemble its original animal form.
A hamburger, for example, was a viable dining option, but not a filet or a steak, nor even a steak sandwich. Too closely resembling their original animal state. Ground beef, though, was all good, as it fell safely outside the confining codicils and mandates. Shredded beef tacos were helplessly disallowed.
Similarly, scrambled eggs were a definite go, but not a hard boiled egg. Again with the resemblance restriction. Egg salad was authorized, though with the requirement that the egg be sufficiently sliced and diced beyond any possible recognition.
Then there were the chicken and pork, but you get the idea. Pork chops are a no, but yes to liverwurst, should she, somehow, have a desire to consume such a thing. Chicken on the bone is a no, as is a drumstick, the chicken leg, not the musical instrument accessory, but a chicken taco from any fast-food restaurant presented nothing in the way of a gastronomic hurdle.
Additionally, during the meal, a person was disallowed from asking a question bringing attention to the fact of the flesh.
'How is the sandwich,' was a legitimate and allowable probe.
'How is the tuna sandwich,' was illegitimate. Such a precise query raising awareness of the animal comprising the sandwich would result in putting it down, a polite wiping of the mouth, terminally concluding the sandwich, then retreating to the side dishes, conscientiously making not a stink over the unknown party foul. Unknown, because really, who possibly could know these ridiculously intricate dining rules. She was absolutely not in the habit of pregaming her dining partners on the rules of the meal.
Furthermore, she would eat tuna at almost any opportunity, was her hankering so highly charged for this fish, but not a delicious tuna steak. A robustly mixed tuna salad was a yes, while a tin of tuna was not possible because the tasty skeins of the tuna cuttings were too close to original form, went the recurring limitations to be allowed passage through the strictly discerning gullet.
A work around was that she might request assistance from a friend or guest, if their visitation was properly timed to coordinate with the consumption of a can of tuna. The friend might be officiously asked to open a tin, drain the undesirable tuna juice in which it was packed, then "thoroughly mix the tuna so that it no longer looks anything like it was, a fish. Mash it up until it looks like it could be cat food. Then please empty it into that bowl," pointing to a bowl she had reached down from the cabinet while issuing the careful and important preparation instructions, "Then just leave it on the counter. I'll take it from there. And really, thank you. You don't understand the extent of your help."
So went the culinary matrix and fog of her daily nutritional existence. Seemingly always something that needed to be maneuvered or a food conundrum to clear.
Ridiculous and completely endearing, but there would be no complaint emanate from her. She'd come to peace with the conditions and cumbersome self-imposed rules. She accepted them and went forward through this caloric complexity with the untroubled nonchalance of acceptance won over many years of fastidious practice rather than strategically tacking back to establish a tiny beachhead from which to regain lost ground. There would be no challenging the considerable friction, the kind of thing from which almost anyone else was oblivious and free.
To most people it was simply food. It comes from animals, yes, and if we were not supposed to eat animals, they might contend, then they would not be made of meat. To which she would add her own flair, if we are supposed to eat animals, then they would not be made to look like animals.
[I dined not long ago with a friend and his wife when a meat-eating hang-up was revealed. Meat served in a format too closely resembling its natural state decreased the eating desirability to nil. Good-natured guffawing and an irresistible Q&A revealed much of the above. Anyway, that meal's discourse was a wonderful and fantastic inspirational treat. -wdk]
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