I completely lose it when a vegan comes over for dinner
Adeline loves food, a lot of it and often, both at home and out. That usually goes well, but sometimes it doesn’t. This time: a vegan is coming over for dinner. Panic.
My other half looks at me somewhat desperately: no dairy and no eggs either? As if he wants to say: what does a person eat then? At that moment, another message comes in: “Oh yes, I also don’t eat wheat, by the way. But you don’t have to take that into account, because I can also just bring something myself.”
Help, a vegan is coming over for dinner
Hell no, of course. If there’s one thing someone at my house doesn’t have to do, it’s bring their own food (except on New Year’s Eve, but that’s a tradition dating back to the one time we were sitting around without a kitchen waiting for our new one, when friends suddenly brought their own deep fryers). Vegan it is, coming right up. A wheat-free baker, obviously, because this is the point at which my complete and utter madness begins.
Don’t evangelize
I’m not the type of person who finds vegetarians or vegans annoying or difficult. I myself am far from averse to mopping and wiping at Loetje with a slice of white bread through the gravy (simply divine, godly and supernaturally delicious), but everyone should be allowed to like what they like. As long as you don’t try to evangelize me into raw food and low-gluten eating, I’ll pull everything out of the pantry or vegetable drawer for you and even eat along with you, right down to the wheat-free rolls and nachos (which actually exist). My archive of vegan recipes opens up, rattling and clattering and sputtering until I manage to pull out something suitable that the vega(n) will enjoy.
The new ground meat
That creamy green asparagus soup when you’re really only stopping by for coffee, but then the coffee accidentally turns into lunch? No, no, it’s made with a splash of Alpro cooking cream, so you can eat it too. Read: totally made with forethought the day before. And here’s an ordinary but perfectly silky hummus, a special Lebanese hummus and voilà, a sun-dried tomato hummus. It’s exceptionally delicious with the amazing popcorn falafel, or with the spicy falafel, because the chickpea is, of course, basically the new ground meat.
Here, have another one of the ten types of nuts, or one of the hundred types of raw vegetables I’ve spent the past three hours cutting into bite-sized dipping sticks. And above all, don’t forget the pile of grilled aubergines and grilled courgettes, finished with a sprinkling of pine nuts, yes. You’ll also get some fluffy vegan banana bread afterwards. Does it taste good?
My little green button
When the vegan-vegetarian in question sits down at the table, I stop just short of telling them that I eat plant-based butter on bread every day, that my yoghurt is made from soy and that I really don’t eat only (something made from) animals. Even though I don’t need to, because I’ll repeat it: I’m not vega(n) myself. Anything to make sure they feel completely normal, as someone who eats meat and fish. Why do I do this? I honestly have no idea. It’s as if someone presses my little green button and I spew out all kinds of greenery. Or maybe I’m trying to compensate for the unpleasant people who already start sighing at a nut allergy or the word tofu.
In a murky past, I even had a neighbour who didn’t want to see her food in my pans or on my chopping board, because I used them for meat and fish. The horror and the terror—what kind of inhuman person was I? Looking back, I still wonder why I didn’t smack her out of my kitchen with that board or pan; it’s a miracle. But apparently that’s not who I am—something to do with a little green button and a need to prove myself.
Read also:
- When your waiter turns out to be a bukkake enthusiast
- The grossest dining scene in a restaurant ever
- Confession: I’m buying my house based on thuisbezorgd.nl
