My lunch with Sarah was hard to swallow

 My friend Sarah and I apparently have differing opinions about what it means to "go out for lunch." We're going somewhere healthy!" she squealed excitedly, hoping to sweep me up in her mood. Forget a broom. This would require a bulldozer. Having eaten the odd salad or two in my time, I resigned myself to a lackluster lunch. This isn't about the food, I said to myself, it's about the fellowship. Good thing, too, since there wasn't anything at this restaurant that actually resembled food. Sadly situated close to another eating establishment named "Smash Burger," Sarah quickly dashed my hopes that the delectable smells of the parking lot were not even remotely associated to the he11-h*le I was about the enter.

I fearfully approached the sorta-resembles-food bar. I was a foreigner in this strange land. I scanned

the menu, desperate to find something that I recognized as edible. "Jonathan didn't mind the food," Sarah said encouragingly, "He was just sad that he left still feeling hungry." I spun to face her. "Jonathan knew about this place and didn't WARN me?" I said, momentarily forgetting to use my indoor voice. The vegans, hippies, and people from California all frowned at me. I have never felt more betrayed. Years ago, after hearing Sarah's diabolical plan to establish a television-free home with her new husband, I stealthily and without remorse, based her entire bridal shower around garnering enough funds for a large-screen TV for Jonathan. And this is how he thanks me?

"What are those," I asked, pointing at what I hoped was pasta. "Rice noodles," my meal assembler told me. "Will I like those?" I asked Sarah hopefully. She looked doubtful. I spotted mushrooms on the menu and went for it. I knew I was in trouble when the assembler first apologized for being out of whatever weird type of lettuce goes with my "steamed bowl." "My what?" I asked. "You ordered a steamed bowl," she told me as the people from California rolled their eyes. She asked me to make a substitution from the selection of fifty lettuces they had. I didn't think I had any strong feelings about lettuce until she moved toward the arugula. No! I hate arugula!

The only things that I recognized in my steamed bowl were the mushrooms and slivered almonds. The assembler energetically grated things into the mixture, added something called lemongrass and tipped in squares of tofu which I unfortunately kept confusing with the mushrooms as I alternated between eating with a fork and a spoon. Neither utensil provided adequate coverage. "Tell the truth," I asked the assembler, "you guys have a secret Pepsi machine in the back room, don't you?" Neither she nor the vegans were amused but, at this point, I was desperate. I ordered beet lemonade and courageously took a sip. "Mmmm...beety," I said to Sarah as she dug into her dung-colored/textured soup with vigor.

To get my mind off my "meal," I looked around the restaurant, horrified to see that parents brought children here. There are no chicken fingers on this menu. Trust me. I looked. Then I noticed the sizable line of people waiting to spend a LOT of money on food that looks as though it has been regurgitated. I choked on my beet lemonade as I fell into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Sarah paused in her consumption of her taupe...or maybe gray...colored slop...er, I mean soup and told me that after three bites, I could be done. We then skipped over to the recycling center to sort our garbage (and yes...I am making a clear reference to my steamed bowl) because part of the fun of spending a ridiculous amount of money on our meal is the pleasure we derive in cleaning up after ourselves while simultaneously saving the planet. Actually, Sarah spent a ridiculous amount of money because I threw a rather immature fit and refused to buy my own meal. We exited the restaurant, refreshed and renewed, having treated our tummies like the temples they are. I then proceeded to desecrate my temple by heading to the nearest convenient mart to buy the biggest Pepsi that I could find.