Last weekend I’m pretty sure I stumbled across the kryptonite for vegetarians when I set off on a casual shopping expedition with four friends.
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| thanks to Martin Cathrae |
It just so happened that the group consisted of a meal lover, a vegetarian and a vegan, sounds a bit like a pizza order doesn’t it? I won’t divulge my food penchant, well a girl’s got to keep some mystery about her doesn’t she, or so they used to say in the days of hooped skirts and handkerchiefs.
After an hour of window shopping we ventured out of the soulless concrete shopping centre box and back into daylight. Two steps into the car park and my friends came to a stop. They even stopped talking, which usually only happens after the insertion of some sort of substance or liquid, usually the latter.
Maybe it was the glare of the real light, as apposed to the artificial florescent lighting we’d been trapped in for hours, but their eyes widened and moistened….tears?
True it was a lovely winter’s day, but we’d had a few of them this year, so nice as it was, I didn’t think the blue sky warranted tears of joy.
Looking a little closer I noticed their nostrils flaring in an attempt to take in more and more air. Not wanting to miss out I inhaled. The wind had changed, now blowing directly towards us and on that wind a smell that was…. intoxicating.
When we’d arrived at 9am we’d parked downwind from the hardware store. Given the preponderance of DIY renovation show on television at the moment, you’d be forgiven for thinking we were being seduced by the heady promise of colour charts and paint pots.
Sadly no it was far more basic than that. We were in the direct path of the community sausage sizzle, this time raising funds for the WA Migraine Association.
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| thanks to Jo Peattie |
Fearing a relapse, particularly by my vegan friend who’d only recently denounced meat, I quickly turned the group around and propelled them towards the safety of the vegetarian’s car. I knew we’d be safe in there.
Only last week a cat had been trapped inside the car overnight and the resulting odour was so intense that even after a weeks cleaning and three bottles of Chanel’s finest we still had to drive around with all the windows down.
On the silent ride home I was left pondering
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I can understand the reaction of the meat lover, but what about the vegetarian and vegan? Was it simply the recollection of childhood memories, when eating involved inhaling anything put in front of you without needing to contemplate the dietary or political ramifications of each morsel. Or was it simply the irresistible smell of fried onions?
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One thing to be thankful for is that the smell of blistering sausages oozing fat, doesn’t trigger migraine attacks, or there would have been a lot of very disappointed shoppers that day.
