the squid and the quail

Last night I had a casual office party with the English department. Typically, dining out can be a problem for this herbivore but the teacher in charge kindly offered to call over to the restaurant and make special arrangements. When she asked if I ate fish, I pondered it for a minute before responding that yes, "a little fish is okay". Little did I know that with this phrase I was sealing my fate...

One would assume that an Italian restaurant is relatively safe for vegetarians. The ubiquitous tomato comes to mind. And what about eggplants, mushroom risotto, fragrant pesto? But as the first course was served, I began to assess my closest exit. A plate of sashimi drizzled with pesto was placed in front of me. There was a raw looking shrimp staring back at me on the plate. A colleague assured me that no, it was not a shrimp, but rather: "a shrimp's cousin". Then she giggled.

As I carved my way through the rawness with fork and knife, I mentally asked my guru for a new mantra. "Just get it down" immediately came to mind. At one point, I was complimented on my "dainty" eating. "Just like a surgeon", one colleague remarked.
When it was over, I relaxed somewhat; chased it with a little red wine. To be fair, I'm aquirirng a taste for raw fish. It's just the raw scallop and shrimp's cousin I had difficulty with.

The second course appeared a little more appetizing. At first glance I thought it was a blend of sauteed mushrooms with pasta--yummy. I imagined they were very juicy mushrooms because the pasta was drowning in their thick black liquid. As I brought a giant spoonful to my lips I tasted something quite unexpected. The dark black liquid was not the juice of mushrooms. Surprise! It`s SQUID INK!!! And the mushroom medley? Surprise! I`m chewing on RAW PIECES OF SQUID!
My palate was in shock. I'd been tricked. I felt violated. I gazed around at my co-workers sucking up the pasta. Black ink stained the corners of their mouths, their teeth, their chins. They looked like vacant zombies devouring a nameless victim. I dabbed at my own mouth with a napkin and to my horror, came away with black stains. Obsessively, I tried to rid myself of all evidence.

It all went downhill from there. The next course involved giant crab legs. And the main course was whole, greasy quail that looked like something a cat had dragged home and put on a plate. Because I was a "vegetarian" I was exempt from eating the quail. Instead, a giant slab of grilled salmon with a fried egg on top was placed before me. As I picked up my fork and knife for the last round, I shook my head, and thought: Hey George, the ocean called. They're running out of fish.