Once upon a yesteryear I was dating this free-range hippie-doodle vegan lass who was constantly pestering me to take her to Annapurna’s, which is a really horrible place where you are forced to graze your meal. She accused me of not wanting to try new things, and that “I might like it if I tried it.”

Now, I’m not the biggest fan of being told I’m inflexible and immutable… my sensitivity, so I get to choose my own words… so I explained to her that she was wrong. She was always wrong, but that’s another tale. She had a tail. And grazed. And her boobs were low on her abdomen and there were four of them. Like a cow.

Anyhow, I told this lovely Holstein lass, “Honey, it’s not that I don’t like grazing for dinner. It’s that I really can’t get into a meal unless an animal has suffered in its preparation. If you could assure me the cook was back in the kitchen punching a cat in the ribs while he was fixing my salad or hay or hay salad, I’d be perfectly happy to try Annapurna’s. Can you assure me of this? No? Laguna Burger it is!”

And I personally lived happily ever after.