I have been reminded of another story from our breakfast out.
Waiter: And what would the young lady like this morning?
Jane: Eggs, please.
Waiter: And how would you like them?
Jane: (pointing to nothing) Like this.
The waiter, to his credit, knew she was referring to the photo in the (closed) menu.
Waiter: (writing in his pad of paper) Scrambled. OK. And would you like bacon, ham, or sausage with your eggs?
Jane: (without a pause) Sausage.
Erin and I caught each others' glance across the table. The message was clear: does Jane know what she just ordered?
We don't eat meat, (Well.... Erin, Jane, and I eat fish and eggs. Henry calls us a bunch of carnivores.) but we've always tried not to make a big deal of it. I don't particularly care what you eat. I'm not in charge of your body. When we had kids, we decided they could eat whatever they like. But, since Erin and I are in charge of making the meals, we don't eat meat. If the kids go to a birthday party and there are hot dogs, they can decide themselves if they're going to eat them.
The plates came. Jane's was already covered in her favourite foods: eggs, potatoes, and toast. And... these things.
Erin cut the sausages into bite-sized pieces while Jane ate the rest of her food.
Jane speared one with her fork and placed it in her mouth.
Jane: (eyes wide) It's good. (chewing, eyes wider) It's really good.
She cleaned her plate, raving about how much she loves "this place."
Jane: (to Erin) Next time, can I just order sausage?