Yesterday Holly and I hung out with Lee and Lisa, who you might remember from the wedding we attended in Nanchong last December (the one with all the roasted 羊肉). Part of hanging out involved heading down to the big vegetable market and buying our week’s supplies of food. Because we know how to show people a good time.
On our way back we also bought three bags of frozen jiaozi (饺子) for dinner, to go with our 豌豆 (it’s possible that’s the wrong character for wan). I love 饺子. Love them to pieces. But I’ve learned that when it comes to prepackaged 饺子 (ie ones that aren’t lovingly created by the hands of SchroederWiebeUnrauPankratzes at Xmas time) vegetarian ones are kind of lousy. So we got a variety of types, all containing meat. We fried them and they were delicious (though we need a better dipping sauce next time).
Peter was eating supper at the same time we were. He’s usually curious about what we’re cooking, asking about techniques and stuff. And he asked about the 饺子, not because he didn’t know what they were, but because “I thought you were vegetarians.” And so Holly explained my curiously arbitrary standards that aren’t very good at being standard at all.
Peter said it turned his image of me completely upside down. I guess that’s good to do sometimes, even if it means I’m not particularly orthodox a vegetarian. I’m not particularly orthodox in any of the rest of my definitions either.