The Individual, Faith, and Society: Eliz Morcome

LONDON, in the Year of Our Lord Sixteen Hundred and Twenty.

            As we approached the bustling port, the wind teased my hair and played with my fiancée’s cap, almost whisking it right off of his head.  It was always windier by the London port, and as I thought this I pulled my coat more closed with a shiver.  The port was full of color and vibrant with movement and excitement.  Even though I didn’t enjoy the water much, I thoroughly enjoyed the London port.  The smell was intoxicating, a mix of fresh produce and different spices from far-off shores, combined with the fresh salt smell of the water.  Some ships were arriving, massive beasts gliding up to the port, shading a large part of the dock with their hulking forms.  I’ve never felt comfortable aboard a ship.  My fiancée loves to sail and earns a good living traveling to and from other ports exchanging goods.  He has carried all kinds of strange cargo aboard his ship, and sometimes even brings a tasty (or beautiful) trinket back to London for me.  He has attempted to get me to travel with him on what he would call a ‘short’ journey, but simply having lunch aboard the ship has been all that I can stand of the water.  I become quite nauseated any time I am aboard such a vessel and the few times we have decided to have dinner on the ship, I couldn’t eat much.  Edward broke into my thoughts about the port and jarred my fears about his current trip.

            “Stop worrying, love” he said, gripping my hand.  “I know that face, you look as though you swallowed a thorn.”  I swallowed hard at this, and forced a smile.

            “I’m not worried,” I said, squeezing his hand a little in reassurance.  “You’ve been at sea many times since we’ve been together,” I added for good measure.  He smiled, but he seemed to know better because he leaned toward me and whispered:

            “Call us what you will, we are made such by love” (Donne, 2006, p. 608).  At this mention of one of our favorite poet’s works, I returned his smile with a genuine one of my own and replied:

            “We can die by it, if not live by love” (Donne, 2006, p. 608).  Understanding my concern, my adoring fiancée retorted,

            “And if unfit for tombs and hearse/Our legend be, it will be fit for verse” (Donne, 2006, p. 608).  With this, Edward reached around and tickled the back of my neck with his fingertips, eliciting a burst of irrepressible giggles.  We said our goodbyes, and I held back my tears long enough to bid him off.  As he boarded the ship he turned back toward the dock and waved at me, blowing me a kiss.  His ship, the Relic, was also named after a piece by Donne and was fully loaded with cargo to take to Jamaica.  Edward had promised to bring me back either some molasses or possibly some fresh bananas, if he could acquire some.  I stood on the dock until I could no longer see his ship on the horizon, and then I headed toward my family’s tavern in town.  My father, a gentleman from family money, also owned a tavern on the outskirts of west London.

            When I arrived at the tavern, my father sat outside smoking a pipe. 

            “Eliz!” he grinned, thick grey smoke puffing out of each side of his mouth.

            “Hi papa,” I greeted him with a hug.  “I just got back from the docks.”

            “Edward off safely?” my father asked, motioning for me to sit beside him on the smooth walnut bench.  I sat and told my father of our goodbye and how his ship seemed to take off alright, from what I knew of ships.  Our conversation died down and the afternoon waned, beckoning the crickets to begin their nightly symphony.  We each had a serving of vanilla ice cream, and my father sent me home in his carriage.  The entire night, I felt uneasy like I forgot to do something, or like something was wrong.  I prayed to God that night to keep Edward safe, and protected until he could make the journey home to me.  Feeling slightly better, I managed to fall into a light sleep as the wind continued blowing outside.

            The next morning I awoke early and attended church with my family.  Every Sunday we were to attend church, and we had every year for the last seventeen years.  My family is Catholic, and the Church of England services aren’t necessarily my favorite part of my religion.  Because they often are ‘middle ground’ sermons, I don’t always feel moved by them. This happened to be one such sermon, so I glanced around the crowd.  Mostly it was people of my class or higher in the front pews, with the very poor standing in the back of the room.  Everyone (except the poor, of course) was dressed nicely, and many looked as though they were fully enjoying mass.  My mind drifted, thinking of Edward and our shared love of poetry.  I had been taught by a tutor at home with my siblings, and Edward had gone through grammar school, so we were both able to read and sat many times reading together from manuscripts and journals new authors were circulating.  One of my favorites was Ben Jonson’s “Queen and Huntress.”  He writes: “Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,/Now the sun is laid to sleep,/Seated in thy silver chair” (Jonson, 2006, p. 647).  This poem always reminded me of how I would have been had I been able to be a Queen.  I would have enjoyed being a fierce huntress and protector of my people.  I thought of Edward laughing at my dreams of Royal life, and my heart tightens in my chest as though it were in a vice grip. Something’s amiss with him, I can feel it! I couldn’t help thinking as my heart pounded against my ribcage.

*                                                                      *                                                          *

LONDON – The Year of Our Lord, Sixteen Hundred and Twenty One

            Edward never did return, and now I am sitting in the London jail facing a trial for witchcraft (Mack, 2009, p. 181).  After church, I had decided to go home and lie down for a bit.  I was depressed with thoughts of Edward and all the possibilities of harm that could happen to him in Poseidon’s playground.  I had never had this sense of foreboding before over a routine journey, and was certain that this was a terrible portend.  I clothed myself in dark garments as though he had died, and lay upon my bed crying.  My mother, ever the sensitive lady, knocked upon my door and entered my room.  She stood by my chest-of-drawers, staring down at my morbid form. 

            “How fare thee, Eliz?  What vexes thee?” my mother asked, touching the mahogany chest but looking toward me the entire time. 

            “Edward isn’t coming home,” I replied to my mum, through choking sobs.

            “How can you possibly know that?  You can’t!  Only God knows what is going to happen to any of us.  You just keep praying and before you know it Edward will come home.”  That was nearly eight months ago.  Parts of the Relic had been discovered off the coast of Jamaica, but none of the crew had been found.  When my family received the letter about the wreckage, they acted very strange and withdrawn.  The next thing I knew, I was accused of witchcraft and being dragged to jail while my father hugged my mother and she cried at a pitch louder than a foghorn.  Not only was this a dreadful scene and quite embarrassing, but it was also completely unfair as I have always been a faithful Catholic and only pray to God.  It seemed, however, that my adamant rebukes that I was a pious servant of the Lord our God only made me look more guilty, and without remorse for my fiendish ways.  The jail is dreadful, and no place for a woman of my breeding.  There are rats, and many of the people in here have the death* (plague) – I fear it may kill me before the court decides I am guilty and does the same.  I have been in here nearly a week, apparently there had been a recent witch hunt and the jail is filled with people like me.  Most of them are probably innocent.  If they were actually witches, they’d probably be able to get out of confinement!  Often to pass the time, I meditate on the poetry that Edward and I used to enjoy.  George Herbert’s “The Altar” was a poem I would concentrate on for hours, as it seemed to ease my jittering nerves to repeat it: “A broken altar, Lord, thy servant rears,/Made of a heart, and cemented with tears” (Herbert, 2006, p. 660).  My trial is set for next week, and I only hope that my last thought be a happy one, filled with the conviction of my pure and unyielding faith.   

The Limits of Desire: A Dialogue Between Two Authors

Music.  Enter WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE from stage left, carrying a skull.

SHAKESPEARE:  Alas, dear friend. (Addressing audience) I knew him well.

            He was a writer unpaid for his efforts before he fell

            Had the man awarded me his ear,

            He would not be in this state heathen* men fear       *meaning ‘Godless’ here

            Perhaps my friend will listen to me now

            Hark! He comes near!  I will explain to him how

            Desire can cloud even the most virtuous of hearts

            As a frail doe can be shot down with darts.  

                        Enter CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE stage right

MARLOWE: How now, dear Shakespeare!  How fare thee this day?

SHAKESPEARE:  In mourning, Marlowe, a dear friend has passed away.

MARLOWE: Oh how quickly doth come the drama’s final act!

SHAKESPEARE: Indeed, Marlowe, this is undeniable fact.

            He could have prolonged his inevitable fate

            Had he harkened to my pleas and remained at the gate!

            But his desires took over and he approached his doom

            And challenged his fate in the murky gloom

MARLOWE: I’faith, desire can consume a man.

SHAKESPEARE:  What dost thou know of desire?  Explain if thou can.

MARLOWE: I’ve penned characters that have sold their soul to attain such.

            In blood a contract was signed, and at power he did clutch (Marlowe, 2006, p. 472).

            Heavenly redemption was ignored, in favor of his desires

            And now he sits in Hell, consumed with Hades fires.

            Ironic is it not, that in fire he sits;

            When on earth he used the elements to his wits*                   *needs

            Now the fire so hotly laps at his soul

            And twists him in torment as a bug on hot coal.

SHAKESPEARE:  Most villanous!  What power was it that he so deeply desired

            That heaven’s redemptions he rejected for fire?

MARLOWE:  Knowledge was one thing that Faustus loved most

            And sold his soul to Lucifer so that grapes he could boast (Marlowe, 2006, p. 487).

SHAKESPARE:  Grapes?  But ho!  Thou dost surely mean couilles! (Youswear.com, 2008). 

            A man would not sell his soul for fruit in this day!

MARLOWE:  Ha! Ha! Dear Shakespeare, you are ever the Feste.

            With a wit such as yours, and wondrous jest! 

            But alas, he did such, for control and other power

            But might have made like impression in picking the Duchess a flower.

            His desires did rule him and redemption will never be found

            But for my audiences round the world, this lesson is sound.

            Be content with thyself and control do not seek

            And all the bounty of heaven thy soul shall then reap.

            And if thou must commit sin, from thy Lord do not turn

            For if you do surely in fire you’ll burn.

SHAKESPEARE:  How rightly put, good sir!

            My heart and mind thou hast stirred. 

            Methinks I have often depicted as much

            Of desire through characters that focus on such

            Though sometimes a virtue that leads men to great feats

            Other times it consumes and makes of them minced meat

            Surely you recall my drama called Hamlet

            In which depicted is one man with whom desires ran the gamut.     

            A main theme in that work, was desire most consuming

            Both for revenge and for love did Hamlet spend time pursuing

MARLOWE: Recall that goodly tale I do, of course

            Hamlet discovered his father’s death had been forced

            By poison he’d been kilt, and Hamlet then vowed

            To exact his revenge on this “murder most foul” (Shakespeare, 2007, p. 111). 

SHAKESPEARE:  Your memory is steel, and you repeat the tale most well

            But desire for revenge was not the only tale my pen did tell

            The fair maiden Ophelia my grieved Hamlet also did desire

            But taste not of that fruit did Hamlet when he learned she had conspired

            And thusly lost his want of women and had but one want left

            Planning to take from his uncle the very thing that he did theft

MARLOWE:  But what of Ophelia, ah me! Such a terrible shame

            Drowned in water, without a soul to blame

SHAKESPEARE:  In life there is death, old friend – we both know as much

            Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.

            In Hamlet’s desire he met with his fate

            Just like my friend here who chose not to stay by the gate

            But if my pen hath said anything, of this it doth speak true

            Desires can threaten to rip a man in two

MARLOWE:  In madness does the man unfulfilled find peace

            And a man will go delirious with desire for that which he seeks

SHAKESPEARE:  You speak the truth, good sir

            And my thirst dost do stir.

            Let us drink to this end. 

                                                SHAKESPEARE pulls out red wine and two glasses

MARLOWE:  In vino veritas, I shall drink to that my friend!

            Cheers!  [they toast]

SHAKESPEARE:  Good Marlowe sir, please share with me your mind

            Canst not desire be both cruel as well as kind?

            Your drama concerning Faustus seems to only comment negatively

            On desires most hidden that one obtains unchivalrously. 

            But what of love-poems and noble deeds foretold

            Where men whose desires disposed them to act brave and bold?

MARLOWE:  You make a fine point, on kindness as well

            Your Hamlet’s desires for Ophelia do tell

            Of love and of courtship most heartfelt

            With poetry and passion before her Hamlet knelt

            But trickery thy name is woman!  She did him deceive

            And caused him to lose his desire for any Eve.

            So what of this kindness you say is involved?

            Around deceit and control most desires revolve!

SHAKESPEARE:  Oh ho! You may be right.  But I’faith I must restate

            That desire can have some purity to its fate

            For if what thou desires most would come unto thee

            Without harm to one’s status or morality

             Then he who obtains it most surely is blessed

            And hath God’s good graces beating fiercely in his breast.

MARLOWE:  But dost thou suppose desire can be expressed

            By more than one person, an entire society no less?

SHAKESPEARE:  Tales reveal the desires of many, and what one person loathes

            Another wants most desperately to behold. 

            And often the desires expressed on the stage

            Prevent men from acting out their passions in rage.

            To live vicariously through the drama revealed

            Allows one to satisfy oneself and be healed

MARLOWE:  How cleverly dost thou speaketh thy mind!

            In kindness indeed some desires must find

            And certainly a society may desire as a collective

            And by rallying together many times may be effective

            But if these hidden desires stay buried

            Inside the chambers of the hearts of the many

            The stage is a great place to examine these thoughts

            And must be for some a means to achieve what was sought. 

SHAKESPEARE:  Now you understand, my good man

            My position on the matter at hand

            Importance must be placed on things that are achievable

            But to dream lofty dreams is a feat highly conceivable

            And should one decide to pursue some desire

            With dignity and grace may one look to aspire

            If under the sod and the moss we shall rust

            Then we must live our lives before turning to dust

MARLOWE:  So wouldst thou say desire is a part of life

            Even though often its pursuit meets with strife?

SHAKESPEARE:  Aye, a part of life desire is indeed.

            Which is why to inspiration in my stories did it lead.

            To help my fellow man, relax and explore

            The deep recesses of the minds of my audience, I do implore

            I require that they put off their masks for my show

            And watch the scene as if they were there, in a window

            Though the public may perceive in my words whatever they may

            My theme of desire is in ink to stay

            And Hamlet is proof that desire can be shared

            And his different desires show of what things he cared

                                                                        SHAKESPEARE AND MARLOWE face crowd.

MARLOWE:  Take heed of our words, gentle friends, and enjoy

SHAKESPEARE:  Creations of writers and artists as far back as Troy

MARLOWE: Because these pieces are expressions of the self

SHAKESPEARE: And one can explore them with no guilt in health

MARLOWE: But if thou dost cling to desire

SHAKESPEARE: Be lawful and just and do not conspire

MARLOWE:  For fate will come knocking one day at your door

BOTH: And fate is life’s reflection upon those who are no more.

                                                Lights fade to black.

References

Marlowe, C. (2006).  Doctor Faustus.  In Reidhead, J. (Ed.) The Norton anthology of English literature (8th ed., Vol. A). pp. 461 - 493 New York, NY: W. W. Norton.

Shakespeare, W. (2007).  Hamlet.  In Dolven, J. M. (Ed.) Barnes & Noble Shakespeare.  New York, NY: Barnes & Noble Inc.

Youswear.com. (2008). Retrieved on March 24, 2012 from http://www.youswear.com/index.asp?language=French

Killer Tofu

When I first came across Alecia McClain, she shocked me right off the bat.  She came into the room at a friend of mine's house, with platinum-blonde cornrows in her hair swinging down behind her back.  I looked at her open, friendly face and instantly wanted to get to know her. Her funky, rebellious hair inspired me, making me feel creative. She was wearing bold, bright colors that it seemed no one else would dare to wear.  She almost appeared to be a peacock among a bunch of pigeons, as everyone else there now seemed to be wearing dull tones in comparison.  That night we got into our first of many deep conversations.  We hung out for most of the evening, and when the night crept toward dawn and people were getting ready to leave, I made sure to get her cell number.     

Alecia and I became fast friends after that night. We started hanging out regularly and discovered a mutual love of music and the HBO show Sex and the City.   The first time I had dinner at her house she whipped up her favorite pasta recipe.  It smelled extra delicious when it was cooking because Alecia grows her own herbs so they were incredibly fresh and fragrant.  We sat around her table when it was done cooking, chatting and digging in to the meal.  It was then I noticed the wriggly little chunk of white stuff in the pasta.  I shrank away from the plate in horror. 

“Alecia…?” I stammered, poking at the white chunk with my fork.

“Hmm?” she mumbled behind a mouthful of pasta.

“What is this…do you put eggs in your pasta?  I mean, whatever this is it looks gross!”

“I don’t put eggs in my pasta, silly!” Alecia laughed as she leaned in to see what I was poking at with my fork.  “Oh, that’s just the tofu.  I add it as filler instead of meat.”

“Tofu?  What, are you trying to poison me or something?”  I half-joked, pushing the tofu aside on the plate.  “I won’t be eating that stuff, no way no how.”

“Suit yourself, sweetie, but you should really be more open-minded about things.  You might find out that you like something you didn’t think you would.”  I had made up my mind though.  I wouldn’t be eating the egg/tofu surprise any time soon.  As I pushed the strange food to the side on my plate, I watched her as she happily dug in to hers.  She didn’t keel over or anything but I still wasn’t completely convinced that that wriggly stuff wasn’t poison.

A few weeks later, Alecia attempted to get me to consume another unappetizing-looking dish.  This time it was falafel, a Greek dish, and it looked like little balls of bread with onion stuck in it.  We were rooting around in her cabinets and fridge, trying to find something the both of us would eat. 

“How about this?” she asked, pulling out the falafel.  It looked hard and tasteless.  This seemed to be a theme with vegetarians.  Why does everything vegetarian appear to be tasteless?  I wondered to myself, simultaneously shaking my head no.  “Oh, but its sooo good!” Alecia gushed, her blue eyes shining. 

“Good?” I replied sarcastically.  “You mean it has a taste?”

“Of course it has a taste,” she said.  “I also put this Tahini dressing on it that adds some extra intensity to the flavor.  Here, sister, give it a taste,” she added, digging in the fridge and pulling out a bottle of creamy-looking dressing.  She undid the lid and held it out to me.  I put a little on my finger and tasted it.

“Ugh!”  I spat it out.  It was horrible.  I had never tasted anything so awful in my life.  I was expecting creamy goodness, maybe a little ranch-like.  Oh no.  This stuff tasted tangy like tartar sauce and had chunks of something (maybe veggies) floating around in it.  Definitely more dumpster-chic than gourmet flavored, at least to my palate.  “No way, Allie,” I said.  “You are crazy if you think I am going to eat that!”

“Ok, ok.  We’ll find something else,” she replied, looking disappointed in my lack of worldliness.  We dug around in her cabinets some more and wound up finding a dish both of us could agree on.  Pulling out as many veggies as we could find, we fixed a fresh garden salad with lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, black olives and Feta cheese.

“Ah, Feta cheese.  Now this is something Greek I can sink my teeth into,” I said behind a mouthful of salad.  Salad, I decided, is the only vegetarian dish I can stomach.

  About a month after the terrible Tahini, Alecia lost her license.  She was forced to take a cab or hitch a ride with friends everywhere she went.  She was working long hours, and was very worn out.  Getting to work and school had become a burden, and so had her weekly grocery shopping.  I had brought her to the local Kroger's a couple of times to shop for food, and during one of those trips I noticed she did not purchase any meat at all.  Instead, as we walked around the fluorescent-lit market, she loaded up the grocery cart with fresh organic vegetables, and meatless burgers.   She also added lentils, tofu, potatoes, organic milk and cage free eggs, which are collected from free range chickens.  This was the strangest grocery cart I had ever seen.

"Where's the beef?"  I joked under my breath, sounding like that commercial from the eighties.  I thought about my mother.  If she laid eyes on this grocery cart she would lecture Alecia about being unhealthy and the lack of protein being purchased.  We walked out to my car, our feet crunching on the pavement, and began loading the groceries into my trunk.  All the while I kept wondering to myself about the meatless menu.  I casually mentioned she had purchased no meat, to which she answered,

"I never do.  I am a vegetarian."  In the car on the way to her house, Alecia told me that she grew up eating meat, but had become a vegetarian about five years ago.  She saw the abundance of food that our nation has, and was aware of the cruel way some animals are forced to suffer for our pleasure.  She told me, "Baby cows are sometimes not even allowed to stand.  That is how they make veal tender."  The thought disgusted her, and I could see that disgust written on her face as I pulled the car into her driveway.  I had to admit that this negligence of animals wasn’t a huge source of pride for me as a meat-consumer.  I felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of all the animals cooped up in cages with no room.

Alecia fished in her pocket for her keys as I balanced the bags in my arms.  She turned the key in the lock and we stepped into her foyer, greeted by the happy sounds of her two cats, Jembae and Pave.  The kitties purred and rubbed up against our legs as we took our shoes off and brought the bags to the counter.  I helped Alecia unload her groceries, and she trailed off, absentmindedly putting away her produce. Her house smelled like Nag Champa incense: a real thick, musky smell that reminded me of an old Grateful Dead shop.  She finished putting the groceries away, and pulled out a cookbook.  She flipped through the book, which was obviously vegetarian, though I didn’t catch a glimpse of the title, and passed it to me as she pointed at a page.  "There are some great recipes in here, like this one," she told me.  I looked at the recipe, called "Awesome Eggplant Rollatine."   It looked interesting, to say the least.  The ingredients were eggplant stuffed with cheese and spinach, topped with marinara.  I noted that it didn't seem too hard to cook, or too time consuming.  At least it didn’t have any poisonous looking tofu stuffed into it.  I handed her the book back, thinking to myself I would much rather have a steak. As she took it from me, her slender arm with its bohemian bangles jingled in the quiet house.

I asked Alecia if she ever felt sick from not eating meat, since she had eaten meat in the past.  She thought for a moment, chewing her bottom lip.  "No," she told me, "I haven't ever felt sick, unless I catch a whiff of someone cooking meat."  This was interesting to me, because I thought meat was an essential part of every diet, not to mention that when it cooks it smells delicious to me.  In fact to me, there is nothing better than the smell of bacon cooking in the morning.  I told her so.  She seemed to dismiss my worry for her health, adding that "I intake an adequate source of protein from many items including beans and lentils.  I also eat iron-fortified foods, like cereals.  You shouldn't worry so much, you know.  It's bad for your soul."

"Well, what about vitamin B-12?" I asked her.  "I took a nutrition class, and according to nutritionists you can only get that vitamin from animal products," I finished smugly.  No way would she have a fancy-pants answer for that one!  But she did.  She agreed that yes, animal products are the main source of the vitamin, but that she is a lacto-ovo vegetarian.  I must have looked puzzled, because she added that what lacto-ovo vegetarian means is that she consumes dairy and eggs.  Of course the dairy and eggs she does consume are organic and cage free, but they still provide an excellent source of that vitamin.  I was dismayed by the fact that I knew very little about vegetarians.  I wondered what other kinds of vegetarians there are. 

A couple months later, Alecia and I were about to fix dinner again.  She was trying to get me to eat that tofu stuff because she was convinced that I would like it for some reason.  I was seriously against the entire idea.

“It looks tasteless!  I bet it’s a tasteless poison!”  I said.  We were standing in her tiny kitchen in her apartment, looking through a recipe book for something vegetarian that I could stand.  “That way no one has any idea until it’s too late!” I cried, being purposefully overdramatic.  I made a bunch of gagging noises and fell to her floor in a mock death. 

  “It’s not poison, I swear!” she laughed, gesticulating wildly at me as if her excited arm movements were the key to getting me to give in.

“I don’t know…” I replied, looking at the recipe she planned to cook.  It was Thai Tofu, with peanut and ginger flavors. It looked disgusting.  I didn’t think I would be able to actually endure eating the whole thing.  “Some of it may go to waste if I don’t like it, ya know,” I said as she waited for my final decision.

“That’s fine,” she replied, her eyes lighting up. I don’t honestly believe at this point she would have taken no as an answer.  She was too excited to open this new door for me. She got to work immediately in the kitchen, heating up a skillet and chopping up ingredients.

While she was in the kitchen I wandered into her living room.  I sank down onto the carpet in front of her entertainment stand and began searching through her collection of CD’s.  Ween, Tortoise, Grateful Dead...she had all the great albums.  I selected one I knew both of us would get into, “Midwest Band Does OK” by Umphree’s McGee.  The music came on and I floated away with it, getting lost in the intense guitar solos and ingenious walking bass lines.  Soon I could hear the skillet working and could smell ginger wafting through the window cut into the wall between her kitchen and living room.  The music was so good I barely noticed when the sounds of cooking had stopped.

  It didn't take her long to finish preparing the meal, and when she was done and set the dish in front of me my eyes bulged.  The tofu again looked a bit like eggs to me, except even more wobbly and uncertain on the plate.  Because of the peanut and Thai sauces, it had a weird orange color to it.  I did not want to try it at all, until I got a whiff of it.  The aroma was magnificent, and consumed my senses.  I looked over at my vegetarian friend, who was eating and carrying on about an episode of her favorite show, Lost.  She was sitting cross-legged on a floor cushion, and eating off of her dining room table, which was low-set and round.  Her face was clearly happy, and she was honestly enjoying this tofu dish she had prepared.  I noticed her skin and hair, which both had healthy shine.   

Picking up my fork, I tried to stab a bit of the tofu with it.  It skidded across the plate as if on wheels.  The orange sauce dripped from the piece as I lifted it to my mouth.  Alecia looked at me, clearly amused.  This was not the first time she had cooked tofu for an omnivore, and she seemed delighted in the fact that I was a bit deterred by the looks of it. After all, I remembered the poisonous pasta she had cooked for me earlier in the year.   I put the piece of tofu into my mouth, chewing it slowly, noticing that the texture indeed was like egg.  But what surprised me the most was that the flavor was intense, yet not overwhelming.  In fact, it was pretty darn good.  I’m not saying I would run away and join the vegetarian-pride parade, but the whole tofu experience changed my perspective on vegetarian meals.  At least now I know I can eat at Alecia’s without worrying about her trying to poison me with these strange new dishes!