I love a good steak. Or burger. Or rack of lamb (who doesn’t?) Or a nice roast beef. Or brisket. Really, I could channel my inner Forrest Gump sidekick, Bubba, and go on for days. But I think you get the picture. The thing is, not everyone does, which often leads to me being served fish. Then the discussion of my carnivorous habits begins, again.
Don’t get me wrong, I love good, fresh fish, and I enjoy eating it, and cooking it, on a regular basis. But I also enjoy a
nice hunk of red meat. FKGuy and I have had the discussion many times, where he decides he needs to eat more fish and be “healthier”. My health fears were quashed last year when I went to my doctor, he perused my blood work, we discussed cholesterol and he said “OK, you are good. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
I replied “So, you mean I should eat a burger for lunch and a steak for dinner?”
My doctor (slash friend-since-we-were-eight) said “Um, no, I don’t think so.” To which I cheerfully replied, “but that is what I have been doing.” He shrugged, rolled his eyes, and gave up on the conversation. But it stuck with me. While I may not eat cow products daily, it does happen with some frequency.
Often when we go out to eat, I have ordered something meaty. When our food comes (and this happened more than once this past weekend) they always come over to me with the fish, and then I have to explain that in fact, the only woman at the table did order the steak. Am I the only woman on earth that orders meat? I don’t think so.
I do get some quizzical looks, however, which leads to a lot of eye rolling on my part, and the inevitable discussion of gender in some capacity (last week it was bra sizes and how they are measured). There have been many occasions in my professional life where I was discriminated against simply for being a woman, but it was never for ordering a steak.
I still get amused (read: annoyed, pissy, snarky…) when I order a bottle of wine at a restaurant and it is brought over, presented, opened and set out to taste for FKGuy, or one of our male friends. Here is a news flash: Just because I have a vagina does not mean that I can’t order a giant steak, or taste wine for spoilage. The sooner everyone gets on board with that, the better.
I admit it, there are times when I just want a salad. No, I take it back. That is a lie. There are times when all I will
allow myself is a salad, like for lunch, when I know I will be having a big, juicy burger for dinner. I am not advocating not eating vegetables, or fruits, or anything else. To each their own. And there are plenty of times when I order the fish. I just don’t want it assumed that I am having the girly/light/less fattening dish because often that is just wrong.
Of course, I go back for all new blood work next week, so that could be a game changer.
