(A thousand points to the three people who get the Monty Python reference…)
I can’t explain why, but I have a visceral reaction to the phrase “Meatless Monday.” I hear it all the time, from people who treat the idea of not eating meat one day a week as a novel, health- and eco-conscious idea that was invented in the past five years or so. Black bean burgers, soy cheese pizza, and all sorts of complicated compilations of leafy greens are touted as some amazingly hip idea.
Now might be a good time to out myself… I’m a cradle Catholic. Married another cradle Catholic. And we made four more Catholics in their cradles. I’m not here to talk about being the Catholic mother– I can direct you to other blogs that are definitely of that bent if you prefer– but sometimes people get sensitive about such things. So I’ll pause here if you decide to leave.
You’re still here? Oh, good.
My family is pretty big on the meatless thing, and we have been for quite some time; in fact, the hubs has been adhering to the suggestion all his life. And it is a suggestion; no one is going to hell for a hamburger.
Some of you might be thinking, “Yeah whatevs, I knew about the Friday Lent whatchamacallit.” But I’m talking about Every. Friday. All. Year. (I’m a little lax during the Easter season, though.) In case you didn’t know, this practice was pretty much a given prior to 1962. It was never taken off the books, so to speak, and the hubs grew up with the practice. I don’t mind keeping it up. So when I hear about Meatless Monday, my response is: “Fish on Friday!”
Fish is not for everyone. My husband grew up on pizza and macaroni & cheese every Friday. That’s just not how I roll. Tonight’s dinner was tuna burgers. They went over with the kids much better than I had expected. (They were like crab cakes, but with canned tuna. I’m not forcing my kids to eat rare ahi steaks!)
I may never get over the Meatless Monday fad; but here’s hoping my family is always okay with the Meatless Friday tradition.