As a rule, I don't really like to eat meat, and it's partly because it doesn't agree with me. I used to have a policy, though, that I would eat meat if someone made something for me, like when I went to visit someone and they made something special with meat in it. Then I would eat it because I was usually hungry, and also they made it special for me.
I did that until I went to Brian's cousin's house and had the chicken enchiladas she made. I was horribly sick to my stomach for over a day after that. Then, I swore, "Never again! I'm not eating meat to be polite! I'll kill myself this way! FORGET IT!"
About a year after that episode we went to visit Brian's grandpa in Pueblo. He was happy to see us. He set up a lovely picnic table for us out back, under the trees. It was a hot summers day. A warm, dry, Pueblo breeze was blowing. He was wearing a little old pair of shorts and his skin was tan as leather. I think he wore a shirt, special like, for the occasion. He came out of the house smiling, carrying a tray of none other than enchiladas*- beef, this time.
Well, shoot. He was like eighty years old or more. He went to all the trouble. He clearly went to a lot of trouble, being eighty-something. I mean, when you're eighty-something, I imagine just being alive is a lot of trouble. So enchiladas- well- I had to eat them.
I ate them. They were just about the best enchiladas I ever had. (Or maybe they were burritos. Who can say?) We played cards for a while in the backyard there - Hearts- and he whipped us both, if I remember right.
I just found out he died last night. That was the last time I saw him.
* Brian says they were burritos. That's not my memory of it at all, but we both agree that they were beef.