Pastrami

As time goes by, I find myself becoming healthier and healthier. My yoga practice grows more consistent. I am transforming my diet. Soda is right out. So are candy bars. I seek out fruits, vegetables and whole grains. I haven’t eaten beef or other red meat for years.

Except yesterday.

I had half of a pastrami dip for lunch.

I do believe that – if we checked – pastrami is technically beef. Sigh.

I knew that. However, my body expressed a craving. I distinctly heard it ask me, “Hey, how ‘bout pastrami for lunch today?”

“What?” I was taken aback.

“Yeah,” My craving gathered force. “There’s that fast food place around the corner from work. Let’s check that out.”

Thus, the afternoon found me sitting in my sunlit car, a half a hunk of dripping sandwich clutched in my fist, the waxy yellow wrap spread across my legs as a makeshift table.

I contemplated the salty, greasy, hot, thin pink slices before me. Slathered with bright yellow mustard and paired with crisp green pickles, I held not just a sandwich, but art in my hand. I thought about the poor cows who had given their lives, probably in cruel and horrible ways so that I could have this food. I thought about the chemicals and additives processed into this meat. I wondered if this indigestible mass would linger in my innards for months.

I admitted how undeniably delicious it was.

Yesterday morning I had spent a good 15 minutes online, admiring gorgeous photos of fresh vegan vegetable dishes.

Nevertheless, here I was, enjoying every drippy, juicy bite and embracing my inner carnivore. In fact, what grossed me out more than anything was the gummy white roll the sandwich was on. I wished that I had asked for whole wheat, or at least rye. I wound up taking the nutrition-drained bread off and throwing it away.

Then I picked up each warm pink sliver with my fingers and devoured them.

(written 1-15-08)