My mother uses any family occasion as one in which to indulge her incredible craving for beef of any sort. My father, for moral reasons, is a semi-vegetarian. He won't eat pork or beef since, apparently, pigs have the intellect of the average three-year-old. I say, show me their little hooves spelling their names and I will sincerely believe you, but for now I will just go with it. My mom and Dean and I try our very best to avoid these things as well, but my mother's Dutch heritage sometimes emerges and she just needs to sink her teeth into the nice juicy flesh of a big steak. Hearing that Dean is on the Atkins diet (his version of a semi-annual cleanse), she seized upon the opportunity to procure some nice T-bones. I must say, cows, you may be bad for the environment (though, if excessive flatulence were a problem for people, I know exactly which family member should be slaughtered) and you may wish to live your life in peace, but DANG you are tasty. My dad spent his meal delicately spearing his flaky salmon while the rest of us sunk our teeth into that salty, fatty goodness.
Susannah dug into not one, not two, but three pieces of leftover chicken lasagna. She comes by her hefty thighs honestly. She gets that from her mother.