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Vegetarian at a barbecue

Lindy swap

Vegetarian at a barbecue. There's always one.

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Vegetarian at a barbecue.  There's always one.  Especially here in the Pacific Northwest land of bleeding hearts. 

I'm pretty sure most Washington state residents would rather save a tree than cut one down to build a homeless shelter.

As a matter of fact, you do know that Washington state government agencies care more about salmon than they do your child's education, right?  True story.

For whatever reason, some make it a life choice not to eat animals.  Bandito Betty and I once watched the documentary FOOD, Inc. and were impacted enough to become vegetarians. Our bout with vegetarianism lasted about six months before we succumbed to Mr. DeRosa's award-winning smoked filet mignon. As to what agency gave him this "award," let's just say it's a private one that empowers him to make me more delicious steak dinners.

I applaud the vegetarians of the universe, and their teeth probably thank them for not making them do the job they were made to do: chew meat. Regardless, I chose to partake in many dead animals, so a summer barbecue is right up my alley - vegetarian attendees and all.

To make our vegetarian in this story more relatable, I'll give her the name of "Lindy."  This is a totally made up name. There is no one I know that I'd like to publicly make fun of in a food-themed column who has the name "Lindy".

Before the party, Lindy asks partygoers what dish they will be bringing, and insinuates that a meatless option would be preferred (wink!). This makes for an awkward menu planning session as friends hesitate between making their crucial decision between salads "Bacon and Mayo Delight" and "Organic Quinoa with Tempeh."

Most opt for the meatless salad because let's be honest, Lindy and her vegetarian winks are darn cute.

Lindy brings to the barbecue her soy patty or tofurki hot dog or whatever godawful corn-based chicken nugget hunk of frozen block she found at Trader Joe's, in a separate plastic Ziploc bag.  She gingerly hands it to Bubba, the honorary grill master (Don't you dare touch his f---ing grill!) and says, "If you could please cook this on a separate area of the grill where no meat has touched, that'd be great (wink!)."

Later at the barbecue, as friends are piling their wobbly Chinet plates with cowboy beans that include only the finest ground beef and cow spit, Lindy stirs various tupperware bowls and asks, "Sooooo ... doesthishaveanymeatinit?"  Friends grit their teeth and bite their tongues, yet still remain gracious, because: they remember the Lindy wink. Damn you, Lindy!

Lindys usually bring their carnivore significant others (let's hope) who can rally around the toothpick tray with you and exchange inappropriate jokes while scraping the cow fat from between your teeth. They're good for conversation, and to hand you a beer before taking the honorary lap around Bubba while asking, "Hey, you need any help there on the grill? No? OK, haha, yeah looks like you got it there. Can I get you a beer?"

Look, having a Lindy at the barbecue is OK, I suppose. I mean, she's pretty nice and having to bring a vegetarian salad option to the barbecue only means that there's more bacon for your breakfast the next day. And by breakfast I mean midnight snack.

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