I am not a vegetarian because I love animals; I am a vegetarian

Host: The bistro was half-empty, its last patrons huddled in laughter over dimly lit tables. The scent of roasted garlic, butter, and freshly ground pepper hung in the air like a symphony of temptation. Outside, rain tapped gently on the windows, tracing streaks of silver down the glass.

At a corner table, Jack sat with his arms folded, staring at a plate of vibrant greens that looked more decorative than edible. Across from him, Jeeny speared a roasted carrot with quiet amusement, her face glowing with the smug serenity of someone morally certain about their meal choices.

Between them sat a shared salad — untouched, suspiciously green, and clearly the center of debate.

Host: The evening had the texture of philosophy disguised as dinner — soft light, sharper minds, and the low hum of a culinary argument waiting to boil.

Jack: [poking the lettuce] “You call this food, Jeeny? This looks like the inside of a florist’s bin.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “That’s because it’s alive. Your food usually requires an obituary.”

Jack: “That’s because my food once had a personality.”

Jeeny: [grinning] “And a heartbeat.”

Jack: [raising an eyebrow] “You sound like one of those people who think chewing kale makes them spiritually superior.”

Jeeny: “No. It just makes me less complicit.”

Jack: “Complicit in what?”

Jeeny: “The system. The cruelty. The waste.”

Jack: [leaning back, smirking] “You’re quoting the menu now.”

Jeeny: [calmly] “No. I’m quoting my conscience.”

Host: The rain grew heavier outside, the window fogging like a secret trying to stay unspoken.

Jack: [takes a bite of steak] “You know, A. Whitney Brown once said, ‘I’m not a vegetarian because I love animals; I’m a vegetarian because I hate plants.’ Maybe that’s the only honest answer I’ve ever heard.”

Jeeny: [laughing] “Of course you’d side with sarcasm.”

Jack: “Sarcasm’s the last refuge of realists. Everyone else is too busy moralizing their diet.”

Jeeny: “You mean caring?”

Jack: “No, branding. People treat eating habits like belief systems — veganism, carnivorism, gluten-free salvation.”

Jeeny: “You don’t think it’s ethical to care about the impact of what you eat?”

Jack: [shrugs] “Ethics are great until hunger walks in.”

Jeeny: [smiling knowingly] “You always reduce morality to appetite.”

Jack: “Because appetite’s the most honest thing we have.”

Host: The waiter passed by, refilling glasses of wine, leaving behind the faint perfume of grapes and doubt.

Jeeny: “You know, it’s funny. You talk about honesty, but meat-eating’s the most dishonest act there is. We distance ourselves from what we consume. We eat comfort, not consequence.”

Jack: [leans in] “And vegetarians romanticize their restraint. You trade guilt for superiority. It’s the same theater — just better lighting.”

Jeeny: [raising an eyebrow] “You think compassion’s performance?”

Jack: “I think all morality is. We just choose the audience.”

Jeeny: [quietly] “That’s cynical.”

Jack: [softly] “That’s observation.”

Host: The restaurant’s chatter softened, the rain harmonizing with the clinking of cutlery — a rhythm of small, polite wars fought over dinner.

Jeeny: [after a pause] “Do you ever wonder why sarcasm bothers me?”

Jack: “Because it’s a mirror you didn’t ask to look into.”

Jeeny: “No. Because it hides fear. You joke about everything, but what you’re really afraid of is caring.”

Jack: [leaning back] “Caring makes people naive.”

Jeeny: “No. It makes them brave.”

Jack: [pauses, smirking faintly] “You’ve clearly never tried to survive in the world without armor.”

Jeeny: “Armor doesn’t protect, Jack. It isolates.”

Jack: [after a pause] “You make that sound like a sermon.”

Jeeny: “It’s dinner. Everything becomes a sermon with enough wine.”

Host: The light from the candle flickered between them, casting two shadows — one guarded, one open, both human.

Jack: “So tell me, Jeeny. If compassion is your compass, where does humor fit in?”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Right beside humility. Without humor, you turn into a zealot. Without humility, you turn into you.”

Jack: [mock offense] “I’ll take zealot over saint.”

Jeeny: “You’re neither. You’re just… comfortably guilty.”

Jack: [chuckling] “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Jeeny: “It’s an observation.”

Jack: [gesturing at her salad] “So, all this — the quinoa, the moral fiber — it’s really about conscience?”

Jeeny: “It’s about alignment. Living in a way that feels kind.”

Jack: [softly] “Even if kindness starves flavor?”

Jeeny: “Kindness never starves anything worth keeping.”

Host: A thunderclap rolled outside, briefly illuminating the room — a reminder that even nature argues beautifully.

Jack: “You know what I admire about you?”

Jeeny: [smirking] “That I can eat spinach without crying?”

Jack: “That you believe in something so fiercely, even when it makes you miserable.”

Jeeny: [gently] “And you? You hide behind pleasure so you don’t have to believe in anything at all.”

Jack: [quietly] “Maybe believing makes people hungrier.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the point.”

Jack: [smiles faintly] “You ever notice how you make conviction sound poetic, and I make it sound like indigestion?”

Jeeny: “That’s because I digest truth better than you.”

Host: The waiter cleared their plates, leaving behind only crumbs and contradiction — the real ingredients of philosophy.

Jeeny: [sighs] “You know, I don’t think this conversation’s really about food.”

Jack: [nodding] “No. It’s about how we justify what we consume.”

Jeeny: “And what consumes us in return.”

Jack: “So what are you saying? That I’m heartless?”

Jeeny: [softly] “No. Just that you hide your tenderness behind cynicism. You feel deeply — you just don’t want anyone to see it.”

Jack: [smiling faintly] “Maybe because tenderness doesn’t photograph well.”

Jeeny: [after a pause] “Neither does hypocrisy. But we’re both trying our best.”

Host: The rain eased, and the city lights outside reflected in the glass — like stars trying to remember what they used to mean.

Jack: [finishing his wine] “You know, maybe Brown was right. Being a vegetarian because you hate plants — it’s the only honest stance in a dishonest world.”

Jeeny: [smiling knowingly] “Or maybe he was just reminding us that irony is our last defense against hypocrisy.”

Jack: “You mean laughter saves the soul?”

Jeeny: “At least it keeps it human.”

Jack: [after a pause] “Then cheers to that.”

Jeeny: [raising her glass] “To humor. The only sustainable diet left.”

Host: Their glasses clinked softly, the sound crisp and fleeting, like the thin peace between conviction and compromise.

Because as A. Whitney Brown said,
“I am not a vegetarian because I love animals; I am a vegetarian because I hate plants.”

And as Jack and Jeeny left the restaurant under the soft rain,
they realized that humor is the bridge between belief and contradiction —
the way we confess our hypocrisies while laughing enough to forgive them.

Host: The rain fell steady and kind,
washing the streets clean,
leaving behind the scent of food, irony, and humanity —
all three delicious in their own flawed way.