Just recently, my boyfriend(remember Dodging Badger Blake?) gave me a postcard. It features men holding various meat products in the face of another man who is grimacing in horror. The caption reads, “Deprogramming a vegetarian in Montana.”

The man looking on in horror is me.I am a vegetarian (not a man). And believe me, it isn’t easy (being a vegetarian). Though most restaurants offer one or two vegetarian alternatives, my choices in Montana are definitely limited. Iceburg salads reign supreme on my limited dining-out menu, and though Iceburg lettuce is lovely in its zero-calorie-ness, its watery crispness is seldom satisfying.

And I’m the worst kind of vegetarian. I’m picky. Forget mushrooms, onions, or anything from the squash family. They’re squishy. As Whoopi Goldberg says of eggs, “They’re rude in your mouth.” And tofu? No way. To me it’s like flavorless warm jello.

When I tell people that I’m a vegetarian, oftentimes the first question I receive is, “But you eat fish, right?” Yes, because fish is the other vegetable, I say. The next question I get concerns my reason for being a vegetarian.

The truth is, I’ve never liked animal flesh of any kind. My dislike of meat started with fish. My mother, raised by a strict Anglican, always served fish (sticks) with cold, purple beets on Fridays. I could deal with baked fish better because I could mash it into my potatoes and gulp it down quickly, but there was a particularly ugly incident with a baked clam that found its way into the garbage can after an enforced sit at the dinner table until I had “cleaned” my plate.

Later on, beef, chicken, and pork made their way on to my “yick” parade of menu items. None of it tasted good tome. Once I got to college, I pretty much stayed away from all meat, and thirteen years later, I’m still a vegetarian.

The weird thing about being avegetarian is that people assume I must be a healthy eater. On airplanes, I’m often given a veggie pita and a box of raisins, but everyone else gets a cookie. Huh? I eat the same amount of junk as everyone else (Kettle Chips, Ben and Jerry’s, etc), but because I’m vegetarian, apparently I want the box of raisins. Now hear this:  I want the cookie. Every time.

So I’ve had a time of it so far in Dillon where beef tops most every menu.  When I pick through an order of nachos, pushing the beef and chicken to Blake’s side, I know it would be easier if I were a carnivore.

However, what I’ve found is that I’m substituting the protein portion of my restaurant meals with liquor. What Dillon may lack in vegetarian options it more than makes up for in bars.

On Labor Day weekend, I had the opportunity to visit most every bar on Sunday night when the open container laws were suspended, and I could run from bar to bar with my drinks. A vodka here, a rum there, and a good time was had by all. Who needs vegetarian meals when a stiff drink (or three) and breakfast at the Longhorn at 1am is available?

So for now, I’m beans-and-ricing it at home but drinking it up in town. So Dillon bartenders, when you see me headed your way, make mine a double with a cherry. I’m making up for lost nutrients.