In Which Nic Attempts To Find Beef

Hopefully by this point you are well aware of the vegetarian fiasco; if not, let me summarize it here. I love meat. Chicken, pork, mutton, fish – I love all kinds. But there is a special place in my heart for that most wondrous, most tasteful, most delicious of all meats: beef.

Unfortunately, I now find myself in a country where such meat does not exist. Well, it does, technically – cows are everywhere here, even oftentimes lying peacefully in the middle of major roadways, but not only is it considered a grievous sin to kill a cow, it would also be quite unhealthy, as these cows feed on garbage and whatever weeds may pop up on roads or between parts of the sidewalk. Most of them barely seem able to survive, and you find many a cow that is nothing but meat and bones – mostly bones. It’s a sad situation – an animal with no natural predators, forced to live a life of scrounging, and barely eking out its own survival.

However, I should note at this point that the cows do run free, that there is a large amount of poverty and hunger in Delhi, and that I have not seen nor heard of a single Delhi cow being killed. It’s a testament to the dedication and resolve of India that such a noble religious practice is upheld even under great duress. However, as I have discussed with people many times here, the cow owes its entire existence to two polar beliefs – those of the Hindu people, who believe in treating cows with the highest respect, deference, and freedom possible, and the belief that cows may be bred for milk and for slaughter. Were it not for the latter, cows would probably only exist in India. Add in a loss of the former, and they might not exist at all.

Anyway, the moral of the story here is not actually the moral of the story, but rather, that I like beef. And so it was that on the day Megan got out of the hospital, I got a call at around 5:30 pm telling me she was on her way out, and was just waiting for the driver, who would probably be a while. Now, unbeknowndest to me, when a girl says that she is waiting for a ride home and may not be there for another hour and a half, what she means is that she is already home and wants you to spend the next two hours doing whatever you might want to do. So due to a slight miscommunication, I had the next two hours to myself, to do whatever it was that I might want.

What I wanted to do was the following: one week before I had been in a mall not far from the office. The mall was 4 stories and a basement, and a full lap around the bottom story might be a circuit of about half a mile or more. Now in this gargantuan mall there were many things – a movie theater, some hairdressers, a shop devoted entirely to ties…but on the top floor, almost glistening in its American grandeur, was a TGI Fridays.

On that fateful day one week before, I asked to look at a menu. What I had seen there was wonderful – chicken wings so juicy they would make your eyes pop. Strips of bacon on practically anything. And near the back, 6 burgers, including the oh-so-famous Jack Daniels Burger. There was beef, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it for a whole 7 days.

So of course, when I have an opportunity to eat by myself, the last thing I want to do is put it to waste (and Megan is a vegetarian and doesn’t want to eat any American food while we’re here anyway, so no use convincing her to come along). Anyway, within 15 minutes I was dropped off at the doorstep of Great India Place. Two security checks, a bag check, and about 5 minutes of traveling later, I arrive at TGI Fridays, eager to sate my weeklong obsession.

I walk in and don’t even look at the menu. “A Jack Daniels Burger and a coke, no ice,” I say (and for all those of you who are looking at me like I’m a wimp, I should point out my previous post about ice here being DANGEROUS). And I sit there, thinking that this restaurant is entirely too American and that I don’t want to be here at all except for that delicious, mouthwatering taste that is soon going to appear before me.

It comes, and before you can say PETA, I take a nice big bite out of it…

…and almost spit it back out.

Yes, that’s right – in my eagerness for a hamburger I had made a grave, grave mistake. Not looking in detail at the menu, and not realizing that TGI Fridays can only be so American, I had ordered a hamburger and received…

…a lambburger.

Disgusted with my stupidity and with my burger, I quickly scarfed down what I could (with a heavy dose of Coke) and left the premises, never to return. Oops.