I haven't had many of my old meat-eating lifestyle cravings, to be honest. But sometimes I dream of this amazing turkey club sandwich from The Whiskey Republic when chef Jonathan Beres was the head of the kitchen. You guys, I'm talking basically butter-fried sourdough, freshly sliced turkey, Irish Cheddar, butter lettuce, beautiful tomatoes, and sweet potato French Fries. I almost cried this morning just thinking about it. I was weak, but I prevailed.
There's a certain week, when you're a female, that despite restriction and common sense, you want to eat all of the bad foods. For me, it's mozzarella sticks, turkey clubs, and 3 Muskateers bars. I settled today for a Boca Chick'n patty, which I then topped with a slice of Daiya Provolone (which, I've gotta say, tastes 700% better than it smells) with Frank's brand mild wing sauce. Later on, I finished off about half of a cup of some SoDelicious Coconut Milk Ice Cream. It was So. Delicious.
But then, I went to work. I work at two different restaurants, one which provokes me to eat all of the things moreso than the other. Without naming names, I've tasted and since thought of the Chicken Parmesan with Pink Vodka sauce. Holy God and Jesus and everything religious, I want it. But I won't eat it. There's literally not a single vegan item in job #2 unless you count the complimentary salad or bread. In the weeks before going completely vegan, I enjoyed the Cream of Mushroom and Cream of Broccoli soup and Egglant Parmesan with pink vodka sauce. Those days are over.
Today I packed myself a few stalks of celery with peanut butter, and a small bag of cereal flakes; both of which were either half-eaten by ravenous co-workers or thrown out towards the end of shift cleaning. I'm just lucky my amazing boyfriend picked me up some French Fries on his way home so I could melt some vegan cheese on them and pretend it's all just been a dream.
And before you say anything, yes. It helped.
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