Hattie's first steak (in 9 years)

EDIT: 17/08/2010 You can now listen as you read along with my partner in crime and collaboration, Peeteer Smith, narrating in his special way!

I was vegetarian for 9 years. 'What a fucking moron!' I can hear you all chime. Well, I had a boyfriend when I was 16 who fancied himself as a real punk ass motherfucker. Part of his whole image was being vegetarian, which was weird as being a punk he was also violently opinionated and he and his punk friends were amongst the angriest people I've ever met in my life. I'm talking spitting bile and green piss and vinegar - quite the opposite demeanour you would expect from someone who cared so much about animals.

They were the kind of people who'd rather be right than happy, projectile vomiting their views on to anyone and everyone. They'd have a boner for any sort of disagreement so they could do battle with their trusty sword of self-righteousness and be fed by nurtured hatred for anyone who's opinions differed slightly from their own. Don't get me wrong, they were lovely and very caring good people, but the anger was strong in these ones, as was the insatiable need for attention in any form. I fitted right in!

Of course being 16, insecure and a total outsider, this was exciting and I soon became a punk too, telling all the cool kids to fuck off and being so damn different that I didn't give a shit that no one liked me because I was all cool with my misery and anger and self harm. I totally rocked the vegetarian thing and felt a swell of pride at being better than everyone else who still ate meat, secretly denying my body's cries for bacon and vitamins.

A few years on, the punk and his minions took it to the next level (veganism) and pledged for ever more that they'd never have a bank account and that all they'd ever need would be kept in a box under their bed. By then I'd manage to surgically remove my head from my ass to the extent that I had an actual bank account, but I still kind of liked being special and different. The punk thing had gotten old and I decided that I missed washing and didn't really like looking like a lesbian (not that there's anything wrong with that, but its hard to chat to boys when you look like a lesbian). So, resolutely, I stayed veggie.

FOR NINE YEARS.

Looking back I think I really did enjoy the feeling of pseudo-superiority it gave me. It gave me an edge, and made me better than everyone else. I love being paid attention! For those of you who wonder - ALL vegetarians think they're better than you on some level.

Anyway, blah blah blah I finally decided the time had come to return to the dark side. My man had been tantalising me for months by cooking more bacon than is humanly possible to want to eat and wafting it salaciously in my direction. Bacon is the vegetarian's arch nemesis - you do NOT want to be veggie, drunk, and within a square mile of bacon cookin g, as you will most likely lose your resolve.

I had decided the sacred moment had arrived, and we went for dinner at the most rocking amazing restaurant ever - Pizza Express. I was still a little nervous, and ordered a veggie pizza. He offered me one of his pieces of peperoni. Good god, could I really go through wit h this? I stared excited yet nervously at this tiny disc of cured porky delight. It looked incredible.

I gingerly took the meaty talisman which was to kick start my foray into carnivorousness, and cut it carefully into four pieces (those of you who know Pizza Express will vouch for me on just how pathetically small their peperonis are) and daintily snaffled each piece with delight. This is amazing! How could I have been so stupid as to not eat meat for nine fucking years?! Who the fuck knows - all that mattered was that my eyes had been opened and I had returned to the source of all righteousness. And tomorrow, we w ere to dine on steak of amazing!

Man had booked a table at one of London's best steak houses - a fourth storey penthouse restaurant overlooking the Smithfield meat market. Basically, fresh dead cow was sold at 5am in the morning but metres away, taken up to the restaurant, most likely not even refrigerated, and then cooked to perfection that same day. This was not your average steak.

We ordered a 32oz medium rare monster to share and, blood lust in my eyes and mandibles, I demolished a good 24 ounces of it. I shit you n ot, I later entered an acute state of steak induced delirium at the hands of the meat bomb that had exploded into my very being and, sweating profusely, ordered my man to run me a bath at 2am and to 'get me some steak, I must eat STEAK in the BATH!'.

Best night ever.