The perfect meal when your temp’s 104
As you may have read in a previous blog entry, my mother has suddenly become interested in talking about my veganism as a valid lifestyle and not as an exotic disease or a weird fad. (After thirteen years, it’s a pretty resilient fad.) The other day, my mother took this zealous spirit to her local hospital in Salisbury, England, where she’s one of the patient liaisons, who talk to doctors and hospital managers and make sure the patients are getting the best service.
My mother’s always found the food they serve in this hospital indigestible. Leaving aside this is hospital food, and the hospital in question is in England, the food is unusually lumpy and hard on the sick folks who have to eat it. Mother’s quest is to make it easier to swallow, literally and metaphorically. Anyway, on her last visit as a liaison, she noted with pleasure that they’d made some adjustments to the menu. But then she noticed something else.
“What about a vegan option?” she asked. Blank faces. “My son’s a vegan, and there really should be a vegan option.” Some mumbling ensued, and then someone said that there weren’t many requests for vegan options. That wasn’t good enough for my mother. “Well, it should be an option,” she said.
And so it will be: whether anybody wants it or not. It’s almost enough to make me want to get sick, to see what they offer. Almost.