But is it chicken?

Just between you and me – tofu has always given me the willies. However, as my options were running low, I decided we needed to embrace it. After watching the PBS special in which the food industry was revealed for the corrupt, inhumane industry that it is, I made the bold proclamation that we no longer would be filling our mouths with something that - not all that long ago – was screaming for their lives. This was a declaration that I felt good about, especially as I've been wrestling with the subject for quite awhile. Watching countless hogs in the documentary, squeezed together on the “killing floor” squealing for their lives just clinched it. With newly researched facts in our heads and the graphic images still in our minds, we headed to the bookstore in pursuit of a meatless cookbook. One with big colorful pictures – lots and lots of pictures.

One tofu burger fiasco later and my kids are beginning to voice their concerns. The first bite did my 17 year old son in on the spot. Watching him, I would have thought he had just taken a bite out of a lemon, not a mild, almost lacking in flavor, tofu burger. And my daughter, who upon hearing the highly audible protests of her older brother, decided that she too, didn’t want anything to do with tofu. She even added with certainty, “I don’t even like the name!”

Granted, I’m not the best cook. I can bake one hell of a cookie, but as for cooking – not so much. This became wildly apparent the other night. Marching back into the house yesterday, arms loaded with overstuffed bags from the health food store, I formulated my plan. No longer would I be telling the kids what they were eating.

This was a plan that stood a very good chance of success, had my kids been the less inquisitive type. Instead, they eyed their plates with scrutiny, and then eyed me with suspicion. Sticking out his long finger toward the faux chicken sandwich sitting on his plate, my son said,”What is it?”

This is when my plan fell apart.

I chuckled lightly, buying myself some time to think, “It’s… its chicken. Really, good chicken.” The problem is, I don’t lie to my kids – and they know it. As soon as I offer a squirmy answer, they both know something fishy is going on, or in this case, soybeany (sorry, I couldn’t resist).

Much to my relief, dinner did taste good. Most likely because it came already prepared. My daughter gobbled her sandwich happily, and her brother dropped an empty plate into the sink a short time after. Apparently, he must not have bitten into any unexplainable hard thingies (as he calls them).

If only I were a gifted cook. But I’m not. I’m just a girl who was raised on meat and potatoes who, over the last decade, is slowly turning vegetarian. Except for fish – I know, that doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t to me either.  But life doesn’t make sense, and quite honestly there are times when I don’t think I could possibly eat one more almond, bean or cube of cheese.

Sane