It's been more than five years since I went vegetarian. Again.
It started as a "test drive," something to get my husband, George, on board without scaring him senseless. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I'd last the cold winter months without pasta carbonara, my comfort food of choice. But it turns out that the smell of bacon — and sometimes hot wing sauce freshly tossed over fried chicken bits — is all I ever wanted out of the meat game. I don't miss it. Really. Okay, besides the smell.
Instead, I'm building a repertoire of vegetarian recipes that my (still) carnivorous husband and I can happily share for dinner. George is starting to enjoy his vegetables, something he avoided at all costs. (When I met him, he ate packaged salads drenched in ranch and the occasional side potato that flanked his steak. Mmmm.)
It's been a weird, potholed road, but we're still riding it. You're welcome to tag along.
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I'm a domestic nerd/freelancer designer and writer building a life in suburban Denver with my husband, two babies, a French bulldog, and a basement cat.
