The Exclusive Ascension Restaurant.
– with the emphasis on “exclusive – to leave out”
Along with my growing understanding of the interconnected-ness of all things (remember that, according to the big bang theory, everything in our universe is accelerating away from a single point, therefore all matter was initially within that single point), I am now experiencing one of the side-effects of ascension.
It is difficult to “eat out” in our corner of France. The definition of “vegetarian” is ~ a person who eats vegetables. It doesn’t matter if the kitchen prep areas overlap between veg and meat, or even if the vegetables were prepared in meat stock – that’s the definition. I have witnessed a “vegetarian”, on being handed the stew-pot, serve herself with the vegetables from the stew; “they were delicious”. I’m not meaning to disrespect another culture, but I just don’t get it.
The last time that I ate meat, I felt the animal as it passed my heart chakra; fluttering of stressed chicken wings. That was an easy decision to make. “I am now a vegetarian”. I’m not a militant vegetarian. One of our pleasures when holidaying in France was for Jenny to produce steak and Roquefort sauce. (I’m not going to spell-check that sentence because I now feel nauseous.) I respect that others wish to eat certain foods, but please don’t expect that I will be salivating when you offer me cooked flesh. That’s not saliva I’m swallowing, it’s a gag reflex! A good word to pair up with respect is “mutual”.
So much for being vegetarian. Now add “ascension”. So far on my ascension journey, I have been lucky with the symptoms; most of my processing occurs at night, so I don’t have to experience a lot of it. It has meant that at least one of us is able to stand at the check-outs, beside the saucisson, and not throw up. More recently, however, certain foodstuffs have become intolerable to me, making eating out even more of a challenge. Wheat. Gone! No more bread unless I make it. No more patisserie. No pasta.
After the physical intolerance comes the vibrational intolerance. I was delighted to find organic pizza. (Yes, I eat ready-made. However, this is the only cheat-food in the larder, and it only gets cooked if we’re both too shattered to cook from scratch.) But it has wheat, and it has no taste, so what’s happening. Well, just because it’s organic doesn’t mean that it is tasty, and just because it is “good for you” according to the blurb doesn’t mean that it has a matching vibration.
This week the rejects became – Crisps! “Why would you, of all people, have that in the house?” Simple. When I’ve been singing in the French choir, straining the upper limit of my range as the sole tenor, crisps were the antidote to a raspy throat.
I’ve been self-catering this week and one evening I was too tired to think out a sensible meal, never mind stand and prepare/cook it. So I used one of my fallback recipes; omelette. I have been practising this for a few years and I know that it is good because my kitchen mentor likes it – there is no higher praise! Therefore, onions, mushrooms, spices, and eggs, all combine for a praiseworthy dish. Wrong! Just because it’s organic doesn’t mean that it is tasty … etc. (see above)
And most recently, chocolate. I find this last example extremely unfair. I mean, I have spent almost 20 years of research into what is the best chocolate (for me) during our French holidays and since living here. (By the way, UK chocolate barely qualifies as chocolate by comparison.) The resultant winner of this research was from Lidl. 70% organic, dark. I have some in the larder and, guess what – I’m scared to eat it! I used to have one square in an evening, and not every evening. Jenny has had this gift for a long time; being able to receive a warning about foods before buying it. Clairsentience has its benefits, I suppose.
FYI the correct French pronunciation is https://forvo.com/word/chocolatier/#fr