“Aww, bloody hell, the takeaway is outta whiting. Looks like we’ll be having prawns, unless you fancy calamari or a roasted chook.”
“I could go for a bug, if you’ve got those.”
“Nah, you don’t want ’em here. Morton Bay’s where you go for bugs.”
“Ah, okay, prawns are fine. I don’t eat chook.”
“You don’t eat chook?”
“No, I don’t eat meat.”
“Don’t eat meat? Are you mental? Who doesn’t eat meat?”
“A vegetarian.”
“A what? How do you survive?”
“Eating fruits, veggies, grains, yoghurt, cheese.”
“How do you eat those without meat? And isn’t fish a meat?”
“Some schools of thought don’t classify it as a ‘meat’ because it isn’t raised on land. It’s not my first choice for protein, but it’s the lesser of evils on the menu board over there.”
“I don’t get why you’d want to torture yourself like that. Most blokes over here would reckon you’re a wanker if you can’t enjoy a nice rack of lamb or crusted steak pie.”
“Blokes can reckon all they want, I suppose. Doesn’t bother me.”
“I suppose firing up the ol’ barbie tonight won’t do you much good.”
“I can grill veggies.”
“Vegetables? Are you taking the piss?”
“Not at all. I grill vegetables all the time at home. Squash, Portabello mushrooms, asparagus, kale.”
“Gee, mate, I reckon you have some strange ways of living in America. If you can call that living.”
“Aww, well, that’s the beauty of visiting different places. Gives me a chance to see how the rest of the world lives.”
“And where do you reckon Australia lands in where you’ve been?”
“I can’t really compare it against those places. Australia’s always been dear to me. It’s my second home.”
“A home away from home. Well said, mate.”
