So Jess, what do you think you’ll order? I can’t decide between the Pasta Primavera and the Spinach Tortellini if they can do it without cheese. It’s amazing how the cheese industry is inextricably linked to the veal industry because cows have to be pregnant in order to lactate. Crazy, right? It’s like one slice of seemingly benign cheese is the equivalent of eating a sweet baby cow. Wow.
Anyway, why don’t you get the Lobster Fra Diavolo? You love eating lobsters, right? And look at that: it’s topped with Parmigiano-Reggiano, which I guess is a kind of cheese? How funny! It’s like, I was just talking about cheese and now you’re gonna eat some. Life is so funny! Well, it’s not funny if you’re a baby cow, but if you’re a person — especially a person who doesn’t care about the direct consequences of his actions — life can be funny.
It was so nice of you to take me out to dinner for my birthday! You’re always so thoughtful. I remember, last year, when you took me to that fancy new pizza joint on Bleecker. I absolutely loved my cheese-less broccoli aioli pizza. And I think you ordered something called the Meat Lover’s Pie, which seems kind of excessive, don’t you think? “Meat Lovers”? Such a weird name. They should just call it, “Biggest Carnage In The Modern Era Lover’s Pie.” But anyway, you seemed to just devour it without a second thought! And I guess you could use the extra protein because you’re so naturally gaunt, which I’m totally jealous of!
I’m also totally envious of the way you’re able to, like, live your life without worrying about anything. For me, it’s always like, “Ahh! How do my actions affect others!?!?”
I’m always so bogged down in weighing how my behavior impacts other creatures and the planet! It’s exhausting! But you seem totally carefree. Not just in your eating habits but also the way you treat the elderly and your total disinterest in the less fortunate! I’m so jealous of you!
On second thought, I may just get a side salad if they can hold the tomatoes, which aren’t in season and are probably shipped in from Mexico, aka picked by people with limited opportunities for labor organization. So crazy how, twenty years after the Zapatista uprising, so many people live without basic human rights. But I totally don’t want to bring you down! Not on my birthday! I have to keep you in a good mood! You need to write your jokes! What you do is so important!
So: Fra Diavolo! It sounds so exotic, doesn’t it? I guess it’s Italian for “From the Devil”? How interesting. I wonder if that’s because of the way the lobsters are killed? So strange, right? I actually have this recurring nightmare where I’m forced to cook a lobster and I can hear it screaming from the pot, which is something that actually happens. It’s so terrifying and I usually wake up in a cold sweat. Has that ever happened to you? I remember when you called me crying when you had that dream that Jenny was cheating on you but then we found out that she wasn’t cheating on you but you broke up with her anyway because you couldn’t get past how “dream-Jenny” had betrayed you. I love that you’re able to stick your convictions so steadfastly. It’s like, most people would be able to see that what you were doing was so hurtful and misguided but you are so strong and I love that!
You know, now that I’m really looking at the full menu, I might just stick with bread and olive oil. Everything here just feels so compromised by cruelty. But you still get the lobster. You’re skin and bones. And it looks like the Fra Diavolo comes with two lobster tails. Which is so interesting. I guess that means they just hack off the tails of the living creatures after they’re boiled alive? Fascinating! I wonder what they do with the rest of their bodies. They probably don’t feel the need to use the whole body like the Native Americans wisely did before European Imperialists decimated not only their population but the ethical traditions that they had imposed upon their land.
Actually. You know what? I’m probably not even going to eat the bread and oil. You can never trust the way oil is extracted and white bread just turns into sugar, which you probably love judging by your acne, which you so boldly don’t care about.
But you eat, please! You eat! It’s my birthday!
And maybe you should get a side of pork meatballs, which are made from pigs, which are as smart as dogs — like your little dog, who’s probably in the tiny crate that you haven’t properly cleaned. And you should also get a Coke to wash down your big meal — probably shipped in from a Colombian bottling plant which tortures and kills its workers when they try to organize. Happy birthday to me!