Unless you were raised devoutly Catholic, as I was, you probably cannot fully appreciate the sacrilegious nature of my Friday night meal. David Rakoff an irreligious Jew once said that he never felt more Jewish than when he was eating bacon.
I had a steak on Good Friday and couldn’t have felt less Catholic. Good Friday, is the Friday-est of all Fridays. You couldn’t eat meat on Fridays when I was a child and Fridays in Lent were more potent, meatless-wise, than any other Fridays, and well, Good Friday, I can’t tell you how utterly meatless they were supposed to be. You couldn’t even say the words “hot dog.” Just kidding, but only barely.
Once when I was a kid, like 8 years old I accidentally made and ate a liver sausage sandwich on a Friday, not even a Friday in Lent. When I realized what I had done I was abject. I didn’t go to communion until I was able to confess my mortal sin. I felt that I was excluded from God’s love and was afraid that I might die before I got to confession the next week and then I would be in hell for eternity. You can see how things started to unwind for me religion-wise shortly after that.
I any event, my steak was delicious. (as opposed to the miserable one I’d attempted to eat a few weeks ago.) And I am not concerned about going to hell anymore. At least not because I ate meat. There may be a few and sundry other reasons. But that’s another post.
