things people’s fathers will not eat

1. Sprawling on the sofa at the Moonbase, drinking Irish Breakfast tea.

Salome: I read your blog every day while you were away, but I got really upset when you were talking about all the delicious food you’d had, and you said you’d eaten veal.

Rachel: Grass-fed veal.

S: What does that mean, grass-fed veal? What, do they poke grass through the bars of the crate along with the syringes full of antibiotics? I mean, even my Dad knows not to eat veal.

R: I agree with you. Commercial veal farming is the worst. Which is why I haven’t eaten factory veal in years. But grass-fed means grass-fed. In a paddock, full of grass. Like Niman Ranch beef. Which you eat. At Burger Joint. Every chance you get. And wait, didn’t you go to McDonalds last night?

S: I had this whole screed ready to post to my blog, with pictures of suffering calves.

R: I knew you would. I thought of you when I wrote it. That’s why I said grass-fed! I actually considered leaving it out, or saying beef, but I felt I owed Yatima the truth!

S: I ended up not posting it because you were so far away. In case you got mad at me. Failed to see the humor.

R: I’m like that.

S: Yes.

R: And yet I knew you were annoyed. My mental model of you is superb.


R: It was absolutely delicious.

S: Shut up.

R: Melted in my mouth.

S: Shut!

R: Poor ickle wickle calfie.

S: Up!

R: I love animals.


R: They’re tasty.

2. Perched among the boxes at Chateau De Haro, drinking margaritas and eating guacamole in celebration of Cinco de Mayo.

Kathryn: I wish I could take ecstasy with my Dad.

Jeremy: Your Dad doesn’t even eat avocado!

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