I feared this recipe for a long time. Heather had been threatening to make it for several weeks, and each time I had been able to deflect her loaf-making frenzy.
But finally, on a night when I was tired and disoriented, she convinced me to put my feet up and read while she made the vegan nut roast for dinner. After a few hours in the oven the nut roast emerged an altogether different loaf. By the time it was done, it was less a nut roast than a simmering nut stew.
Heather took a bite, and I followed. I feined a smile for several seconds as I tried to ignore the flavor, but Heather rescued me with her angry admission that she hated it, and it was ok for me to hate it too. Forcing myself to swallow, I spilled out my hatred and said "I hate it. It's terrible and I never want it again,"
I scooped the wet loaf into a bag, where it sat, warm and disturbingly pliant to the touch. It hit the bottom of the dumpster with a thud and the unmistakable sound of thick nut roast escaping onto the floor. Now Heather and I are over the whole ordeal, although occassionally I wake up in a sweat, fearing I'll hear the sound of a mushy appendage squooshing against our window, begging us to give it a second chance.
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I feared this recipe for a long time. Heather had been threatening to make it for several...