Not with the bunny in them. My dear friend Octavia has been a vegetarian since she counted her age in the single digits. I won’t go into the horror of how she chose that path, but suffice it to say it was not anything a small child should ever have to experience. She is not vegan; she counts eggs and cheese among her friends. And olive oil.

She was aware of my regime and asked ahead of time what she could feed me. I believe my response was, “Sweetie, you’re a vegetarian. I don’t think you can hurt me.”

Octavia is a force of nature. Her varied interests just tire me out. There are few topics on which she cannot comment (actually I don’t think I’ve found one yet, or if I have she’s done the research and can now comment), so she is quite handy to have as a mentor and friend. Recently we were together working on uploading my e-books to Amazon, a process that, of course, she knew everything about. Like I said, quite handy. And she served me lunch.

Octavia has been eating the same lunch for I believe she said decades. When she’s at home, of course. Bunny sandwiches are not on most menus. She was aware of my regime and asked ahead of time what she could feed me. I believe my response was, “Sweetie, you’re a vegetarian. I don’t think you can hurt me.” Bunny sandwiches it is.

So here’s the recipe:

Iggy’s bread (I believe it was a foccacia) toasted under the broiler, onto which you slather Amora Dijon mustard and layer sliced Soyboy Caribbean tofu topped with a wedge of aged gouda. Broil until the cheese is melty and bubbly. Top with a serious sprinkle of sawdust (her husband Jon’s nickname for a mixture of chia, hemp and flax seeds). A girl’s gotta get her omegas. Then top with a generous helping of tomatoes and romaine lettuce. Eat open faced, or slide another slice of Iggy’s on top. Tasty, healthy, messy as all get out but fun to eat regardless. And while there are certainly bunny-approved veggies on the sandwich the ones in my backyard have never asked for tofu and cheese. Or bread. But I do love the name nonetheless.

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So I decided my thinks-he-might-like-to-be-a-vegetarian husband would enjoy this. I tried it out at home. Grey Poupon had to suffice, as Amora is mail order only. Soyboy isn’t available local to me. I even drove 30 minutes to Providence to get Iggy’s bread at Whole Foods thinking Soyboy would be there as well, but alas, no. I’m going to find a recipe for baked tofu and use that, but in the meantime firm tofu would have to do. I even mixed up the “sawdust”, as Steve’s the one who could use the omegas. I made one addition: a dill pickle slice. I needed to offset the firm tofu flavor with something. Never been a tofu fan. The verdict? He deemed it “pretty delightful”.

This month’s whole edition of Spirituality and Health magazine extols the virtue of a plant-based diet for our health as well as the heath of the planet. I worked for an organization for 14 years whose chairman knew full well that the earth would not be able to feed all of its people in the future on anything but a plant based diet. And I get the animal cruelty issues, the global warming issues caused by grazing animals and the amount of water needed for processing animal based products. So why did God make them taste so good if we’re not supposed to eat them?

Could I ever go the vegan route? Not a chance. Neither could Steve. He’s a big fan of milk. And steak. His attitude is that it’s ok to eat meat once in awhile, just not every day. As far as the health implications are concerned, well, as Loretta Laroche said, “Everybody’s got to die of something.” I can’t imagine being a healthy nonagenarian who hasn’t enjoyed a meal in forty years. No ice cream? Ever? No steakhouse experiences? No sashimi? SHOOT ME NOW. So I hope they figure out the climate thing. Perhaps cows in space? Maybe Octavia knows.

Deborah