I don't feel tricked at all. The way I look at it now, is that the only work I'll have will be directing a half dozen, or so, young unsuspecting guys to do all the work, and I'll be sitting back in my chair and drinking beer and eating (and complain about sloppy service). It should be interesting, and fun. This, I think, may be a pilot for a bigger one later, and then, maybe, a yearly affair. Think we should invite PETA?
My daughter, 18 now, is a vegan. Used to take her to festivals, camp out, etc. When shw was about seven, we split a pound of bacon for breakfast, and used the grease to make french toast. She loved it, so I don't know where I went wrong. Oh yeah, that was the same year she saw her first zydeco band and asked me who was playing the chest piano. Oh, the good old days
I've heard accordions referred to as "chest organs." I usually reply, "Whu? My heart? eEh?!"
Steve, you done just fine raising your daughter. I remember when I was 18, (circa 1982) I was Mr. Art-school-graphicdesigner-reggae-newwavepunkrocker and by golly I thought the world was all wrong. So I rebelled. I got my left ear pierced and wore a little gold stud. That'll show the world!
Same goes for vegetarians/vegans. It's a way to rebel and stand out from the NORM. In addition, most vegetarians either adopt the "goth" look, or the "hippie/rasta/granola" look, to further their "rebelation."
Very few of 'em do it for the "health" benefit. Seriously. It may sound like a GREAT colon-cleansing idea! But honestly, most of my vegetarian friends need to drop some pounds. They aren't vegans, mind you. They are cheese-loving, chocolate eating, bread, butter and egg frying "vegetarians." I love vegetarian cuisine, tempeh and tofu tastes great, but I gotta balance that with some real protein fortified critters. And that's just the whole thing, really. Plain and simple, veg-people put animals above themselves and any other humans.
Going down this path makes you spend a lot of time blocking grocery store aisles reading ingredient panels and driving restaurant waitstaff bonkers with detailed questions about "do you use lard? Is there chicken stock in this rice?" And sending back lots of entrees because there was an errant bacon bit on the salad or the scrambled eggs were cooked too close to the sausage.
I'm heading home to cook me up a garden burger piled high with maple-smoked bacon.