Vegan Restaurant

For our Media Writing project, I am going to create a vegan restaurant/coffee shop to be opened in Nashua, NH. Having just learned of the trendy eating habits of vegans about two years ago, I thought a restaurant that services people with stricter eating habits would be a great idea. I have yet to come up with a name for my business, but it is definitely in the works! I do, however, have some ideas to make this restaurant unique and unlike any other of its kind.

Many people don't fully understand what vegan-ism is. It is a diet about 11% of the US population follows, and has very strict boundaries. Basically, vegans will not eat anything that contains an animal product. This means, no cheese, milk, butter, meat, gravy, eggs, and all other types of animal product. Many will read this and think there is no way they can give up so many foods that they eat everyday, but on the contrary, there are lots of foods that are completely vegan that you just don't know are! Peanut butter, Pop Tarts, Hershey's chocolate syrup, cracker jacks, Fritos, Krispy Kreme Pies, and even bagels are examples of vegan foods.

My cafe will not serve as many vegan snack foods as it will nutritious meals, however. It will be a lunch time cafe, probably only open between 11am and 3pm. It will have a unique menu, (I have been researching vegan meals and recipes) and I want it to appeal to a wide variety of people, not just ones who already follow the vegan movement.

I am also hoping to have specialty days, maybe a poetry reading on Thursdays, or some mellow live music on Friday afternoons. Hopefully this cafe will be able to help people in changing over to a completely vegan diet, but if not just help people understand the benefits of it. I'll have more ideas and hopefully a menu in the works by the next post, but for now I am just brainstorming different ways to make this restaurant really succeed.

I'm twenty years old; twenty-one in three months. I am in my third year of college and have already received an associates degree. I have one year until I earn my bachelors, and I still have absolutely no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

Since I can remember, I have wanted to do many things in life. I wanted to be a painter when I was five, but realized I might as well have been color blind. I didn't have an eye for paint, drawing, or clay, so that was the end of that dream.

When I was a older, I decided I wanted to be a guitarist. Being so young I didn't understand that I actually had to know how to play in order to base my life around it. I have had many other dream jobs as well: horseback rider, professional swimmer, teacher, singer, actor, dancer, fashion designer, and even professional chess player. With so many options in life, I never wanted to limit myself to one career and I still don't want to. Maybe next year when I earn my Bachelors Degree in Communications I'll decide, but until then I'm happy with the uncertainty.

500 words or less

"Bad Posture" by Artist Lisa Rae Winant

Image used by permission of the Artist
12 x 14 / oil on panel

Her hand reached out to touch someone, but her jagged edges were too sharp to let anyone close. Her posture was sunken, afraid to stand straight after being bent and broken all too many times. Green nothing stretched out to her, bringing her back to her heaven of smoky warmth filling her throat, her body, her soul, clogging up the feelings she wished to let out. Breathe. A prying eye leaned over her shoulder exhaling heavily the smell of sharp onions and spice, enveloping her.

“What is it you are looking at?” he roughly stated, all the while being much too close to someone who wanted no one around. No response was given to his words. Charcoal dripped down her eyes washing itself into her pale cheeks. She lights up a cigarette, sparking fire. Breathe. The unwelcome visitor walked away, limping whilst holding a wooden cane, clutching it firmly in his right hand. Pastel surrounded her in a circling motion lifting her up, and driving dust and dirt away.

Each day she waits. Waits. Wondering if by some miracle the something she was waiting for would arrive. Pushing air, she outreaches her hand each time, hit with nothing more than another gust. She waits. The man comes back some days later, leaning over her shoulder again, smelling this time of leather and peppermint.

“What are you looking at, dear?” This time he speaks with compassion. But no answer is spoken. Again the woman watches the gentleman walk off, struggling to gain control of his cane, shaking his head at her. And she waits. Waits. The same array of color surrounds her tightly, wrapping her fragile body into a wave of melodic silence; temping her to fall into its grace. Another cigarette is lit, surging another fire right in front of her sunken eyes.

Moons pass by, and each twilight she grows frailer. The elder approaches again, this time, without a word spoken. He stands next to her, still close enough as he had in past days; close enough to feel the chill of her. He smells of menthol; hard smoky familiarness this time. Extending his arm, he flickers his lighter at her, igniting the cigarette in her hand. She smiles, lightly. And they stand. Not a word passed between them. And they wait together this time. The ocean of air did not surrounded her or consume her this time. Everything is going to be alright. And they wait.