My flatmate Simone was a vegetarian and loved to lecture me about how I was murdering animals every time I came home from work and cooked a steak or lamb chop for my dinner.
I had nothing against vegetarians — I had been one myself for many years after a food poisoning incident involving suspect beef — but what really irritated me was that, five minutes after she’d finished berating me for my “senseless cruelty”, she’d be tucking in to a meal of chicken or fish. According to her, birds and fish weren’t real animals. I couldn’t believe her hypocrisy!
One day I decided to hold a dinner party and invite all my closest friends. I invited Simone, too, and assured her that there would be at least one chicken dish for her to eat.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly as I prepared for the dinner; Simone even helped with the vegetables as I basted a lamb, my pièce de résistance, carefully preparing the marinade and mixing the stuffing until it was just right. By the time my guests arrived, I was confident it would be a lovely evening of delicious food and cheerful conversation. I had no idea how wrong I could be!
As soon as I had cut and served the lamb, Simone cleared her throat and stood up. My stomach back flipped as she proceeded to give each of my friends the same lecture she always gave to me, calling them slaughterers, and murderers, and animal haters. Several of my friends, who in fact loved animals very much, got very upset at this and left, while all the rest of us could do was pick at our food unhappily after Simone had finished her tirade. The party was ruined.
I couldn’t believe that Simone could be such a hypocrite. As she finished her chicken with satisfaction, I knew it was time to teach her a lesson!
A week or so later I was in the supermarket and I noticed that pork mince was on special. The thought struck me that it looked not unlike chicken mince. The plan for my revenge was hatched: I was going to prepare a meal of pork for Simone, and pass it off as chicken!
It wasn’t unusual for us to cook for each other, so when I offered to cook for my flatmate that night she was delighted and must have assumed I had forgiven her for the dinner party fiasco.
I very carefully mixed pork mince with some chicken mince so the consistency wouldn’t be so different, and then added a variety of herbs and seasonings and a coating of bread crumbs to disguise the taste.
As she ate the rissoles, I waited anxiously for Simone to discover my trickery, but she simply declared them to be the best rissoles she had ever eaten, and begged me to make them again. I was more than happy to oblige!
I didn’t take offence the next time Simone hassled me about eating meat. I simply offered to cook her my famous rissoles, revelling in the secret knowledge that Simone really was a proper carnivore, and she didn’t even know it!
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