Eating Out

A met with an old friend of mine recently. He knew me back in the days when I would mop up lamb fat with a slice of white bread. Although he didn’t outwardly dismiss my new lifestyle, I could tell that he had some concerns. One of them was the fact that he knew I loved going out to restaurants. How was I able to do that now? I told him this was still possible but he didn’t believe me. As far as he was concerned, my dressing up and eating out days were over. The next evening, I found myself in a beautiful little restaurant called Simplicity in Rotherhithe. A place more known for it’s crackling than it’s avocados. I went with my friend Alice, who kindly asked the chef if he would fix me up a salad with any veg he may have in the kitchen. Which he did. And it was lovely! So here I was in a cosy little restaurant with a tasty vibrant dish before me. Ok, so there wasn’t any pork belly in my belly, but I wasn’t concerned about this so why should anyone else be? I think peoples concerns on this subject are more about themselves than me. I had a lovely meal out, and didn’t feel any different to how I used to feel in the past when I ate out. Well that’s not strictly true, I did feel different. I felt better.

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