Vegan Restaurants: Why Do They Hate America? An Undercover Exposé

“No, anything but this assignment.  ANYTHING BUT THIS ASSIGNMENT!”


As journalists, we take our duty to the public very seriously.  This nation has over 300 million residents, and not all of them understand the American nature of chugging a beer after dropping a hot dog into it (we call it dog bombing, and it requires a relaxed esophagus and a particular blindness to shame.)  So sometimes, we have to rub elbows with those that operate outside our rules.  Those that shun hot dogs, hamburgers, steak even.  To really get inside the heads of those that spurn these things that are so inherently American, we needed to do a little investigative journalism.  Much like Nellie Bly risked torture to uncover the evils of the mental health system in the 1800’s, Gunter Wallraff spent two years to uncover the human rights violation against immigrants in Germany, and Larry David smuggled himself onto the set of Hannah Montana to discover Billy Ray Cyrus’ evil sex dungeon, our investigators were required to go above and beyond the call of duty.

That’s right.  We sent someone into the Dragon’s Lair.  We sent someone…to a vegan restaurant.

Truly…the thing of our nightmares

And now, for the shocking truth behind a restaurant that dares not to serve meat…eggs…or cheese, here is the report from our Undercover reporter, whose name has been redacted so that his family would not leave him upon discovering he had consumed food that never took advantage of an animal at any point in it’s preparation.  Here is his shocking tale.

Okay, I’m just gonna say this right off the bat.  Fuck you guys.  You guys suck.  I don’t care if I drew the short straw, do you understand how emotionally traumatic it is to hear the words, “[Redacted], looks like you have to go to the Vegan restaurant”?  It’s awful.  Just the worst feeling.  Ugh.  Anyway, let’s get on with this shit.

This place bills itself as a “Vegan Restaurant and Detoxification center.”  At first I thought that might be okay, yeah I’m eating like, grass feces, but at least I’ll be doing it with junkies.  But guess what?  Yeah, that’s right, it isn’t that kind of detoxing.  It was like “getting all the evil toxins of delicious delicious fucking steak GODDAMN it what am I doing here” kind of detox.  So this tiny wrinkled woman, who I guess owns the place, pushes this DVD for her restaurant at me.

Seriously, what the shit is that?  What kind of restaurants have DVDs to give you at the door?  Hooters doesn’t, and that’s something people might actually spend money on. [Editors note.  Yes.  Yes it absolutely is something people spend money on]  Though there was this smiling woman on the front of the DVD, and she was actually kind of attractive.  So it wasn’t all bad. Until I realized that it was the same woman as the one who gave me the damn DVD.  So, I just spent fifteen minutes distracting myself by ogling a 65 year old woman who has been airbrushed into oblivion.  Fuck you guys.

Of course the back says that the DVD case is “100% recycled paper.”  I’m sure everyone at the office reading this right now all just, in unison, screamed, “FUCK NATURE.”  I tried to put that thing into my computer’s blu-ray player when I got home, and the damn thing set on fire.  The entire computer.  That’s totally going on my expense report by the way, assholes.

So, to start off I get a stiff drink.  One thing that I at least support is that they recognize that the only way you can survive a vegan dinner is if you can get something American inside your system.  In my case, I got bourbon with some bitters.  After I take my first tentative sip, I decide to look at the menu.  I must have blacked out because the next thing I see when I look at my drink is this.

That fucker was FILLED to the BRIM too…

Then, they bring out the bread and butter.  Well, at least I can start out with something normal.  The waiter looks over at my empty glass and asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, the drink was great, I think, thanks Brian” I replied.  He hasn’t said his name, the guy just looks like a Brian.

“Oh, my name is Josh, sir.”

“So Brian, where’s the butter from?  Wisconsin butter?  Or is it like, goat’s butter because you guys are vegan?”

“My name is Josh, sir.  And this is a vegan restaurant, the bread and butter are made with no milk or eggs.”

Oh dear God.

But it looked so…NORMAL

Of the two pieces of bread placed on my plate, one is made with oats.  I spread the spotted mockery of butter onto the grainy bread, taking a tentative bite.  I guess I now know what it’s like to deep throat the Quaker Oats guy.  The “butter” just sits there on the bread the rest of the meal, mocking me.  Why doesn’t it melt?  WHY DOESN’T IT MELT!?


I need another drink.  Gin please.

Shit, how does that keep happening?

So, the first thing put in front of me is French Onion Soup.  Now, that doesn’t normally need meat, right?  There’s just the cheese on top.  Oh shit wait.  It’s normally beef stock.  This is…mushroom stock with… oh God.  Oh…oh God…

What the hell is on top of that?  It says it’s “Cheese crostini” which sounds Italian.  It also sounds like a goddamn lie! That is NOT cheese!  Brian just told me that they don’t do cheese, I don’t know why, I guess they don’t want to hurt the poor widdle bacteria in the goddamn curds and whey I don’t know! All I know is that this tastes like biting into a goddamned mushroom smoothie, and the “cheese” is caked into the “bread” on top so badly that I can’t get it off.  Believe me, I tried, just looking at it offends my American sensibilities.

After I take my first bite, I forget the ending of Die Hard [editors note:  Hans Gruber falls off the top of the building and dies.  Hard.  It’s awesome]. When I finish it, I forget what that thing is that…the guys…concussions?  [editors note:  Football.  He’s forgotten football…what have we done?]

What…what’s next?  Uh, oh god, time for some…Chorizo Sliders.  Why do they insist of calling things meat when they’re not meat?

Hey..that…that kind of looks like a burger.  It smells like it’s…spicy at least?  Let’s take a bite.

Oh god, it just crumbled, crumbled in my hands!  What have I done?  This must be how Senators feel when they slap a hooker and she stops moving.  It wasn’t supposed to go down like this!

Oh God!  It’s everywhere.  What have I done?  Meat…meat doesn’t do this.  Meat wants to stay together.  They call them sliders because they just slide down, in one piece!  [editor’s note:  That’s not how sliders work] I learned how to unhinge my jaw so I could eat  Sliders the proper American way, dammit, what is this travesty in front of me?  [editor’s note:  Okay, that’s DEFINITELY not how you eat sliders.  I think {REDACTED} is going through some pretty serious meat withdrawal]  Did I just try to eat this “burger,” or did I sexually assault a bag of cumin?  [editor’s note, we’re not gonna make a joke about his word choice with the spice that he named, but…heh]. I…I just miss meat dammit.

When you wander in the dessert, as you begin to die of thirst, the mirage of the sun reflecting off the hot sand looks like water.  Like the coolest, most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen.  The type of water people would kill each other to get the bottling rights for.  No matter how fast you run, it stays the same distance away.  What I’m saying is, I want meat so bad, I thought this picture up here was a mouse.  It’s dark, it looks like it has a tail.  I’ve never eaten mouse, I’ve never dreamed of wanting to eat mouse, but when I thought it was mouse, I was so happy.  Until I took a bite.


And then, “Crab” cakes.

What does the Atlantic Ocean look like?  Where do majestic lobsters wait to be captured and sold for a massive markup?  What do the Great Plains look like?  A soft blue sky smiling upon the grazing cattle, waiting to be blasted in the head with an air hose like a victim of Anton Chigurh.  Why do they live for us?  Why do they die for us?  [editor’s note:  I think we’re losing him…]

I, uh, I thought that the green thing with the “crab” “cakes” was like a squid or something.  You know, a being that once lived, that had impulses, that breathed.  And I wanted to eat the ever loving shit out of it.  It was a goddamn plant.  If I get out of this, tell my family that I love them, and tell them to pick up smoking in the woods as a hobby.  I need nature to burn for what they’ve done to me.

I’ve been looking around to try to find some insects, a fly or something, anything that has a life, just so I can eat it.  I’m getting desperate.  But there are no insects.  I was suspicious why it was so clean here, but now I know.  Nothing can live in the absence of life.  Trying to survive in a Vegan restaurant is like taking your helmet off in space.  You can’t do it.  I know this now.  It’s the only thing I do know.  It’s like in that movie, Vegan Planet [editor’s note:  That’s not a movie] when the great American comedy actor Ham Porkbacon [editor: That’s just a combination of the most delicious meats available] said, “Vegan steak?  Steak that!”  [editor’s note:  ….]  I need another drink…something to remind me of America, something I had as a child in Istanbul [editor’s note:  You’re from Philadelphia, man!  Dude…]  A Manhattan, named after the Louis of Soissons, [editor’s note:  He’s hanging in there.  Manhattans are made out of Bourbon, and Louis of Soissons’ name was”Louis de Bourbon.”  He’s holding on by threads, but he’s holding on…]

Oh son of a bitch!

Just one more thing, the, uh…”chicken legs” and I can go back to my soy farm, put on my favorite Norah Jones album (as if I can pick just one!) and take care of my dozen foster cats [editor’s note:  I think he meant to say ‘apartment,’ ‘AC-DC’  and…’zero foster cats’]  Hey, this…I mean, it’s stringy, but it looks sort of like meat, right?



OH GODDAMN IT!  There’s little STICKS where the BONES are supposed to be!?  What is going on here!?  That makes it SO much WORSE!  When I see a chicken, I think of horns, the way their three arms form the letter “Z” when they walk, how they taste like nothing else on this world [editor’s note:  Wrong, wrong, all of it, wrong, EVERYTHING tastes like chicken!]

Where do we go from here?  How do we survive trauma?  When we suffer through the most trying times of our life, do we bury it down and pretend it never happened, like Steven Seagal when his family is murdered [editor’s note: Oh dear] or do we face it head on, fight our demons, and become a little stronger by the end of it, like a whale in the slaughterhouse [editor’s note:  Don’t have a clue what point he’s trying to make, but whale meat does sound delicious right now, doesn’t it?] I just hope to forget.  I hope that this will fade away like a half forgotten dream.

Sticks and stones can break our bones, but they can also break our will

I stumble out the door.  I don’t think I paid.  I don’t care.  Brian’s yelling something about me walking out on a two hundred dollar bill.  “Shut the fuck up, Brian!” I scream.  “My name’s Josh,” the wind seems to whisper.  I run through the streets, impervious to the rain, like I’m trying to profess my love in that one Kevin Smith film, Dogma [editor’s note:  It’s Chasing Amy, but he remembers who Kevin Smith was, which is a good sign.]  Then, in the distance, I see a glimmer of a memory.  Like something from a past life.  An Angel, all red and white and blue, calling my name.  “REDACTED,” she calls.  “Come home.”

Like a runner ending a marathon, I move without thinking, my legs stumbling, one clumsy limb at a time.  I…I think I hear music.  It’s beautiful.

I’m home.  Oh, thank you.  I’m home.

[editor’s note:  REDACTED is now in our infirmary, recovering from his ordeal.  He has an IV hooked up feeding him the highest quality corn-fed Iowa beef, bacon, fried chicken, and hot dogs in what our doctors call “Liquid America.”  Our prayers are with this brave soldier, and we at AFFotD will be forever grateful for his sacrifice.  God bless, REDACTED.  God bless.]

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