I found this bunch not only full of fresh leafy goodness but also dew-eyed dreams of a better tomorrow. Now don't get me wrong, the world of butterflies and rainbows is all well and good when you're really really high on marijuana - or "ganja" as the Rastafarian white boy calls it (cuz he's just keeping it real, yo!) - but eventually you're going to come crashing down to Planet Earth. You're going to find yourself amongst the meth freaks and pill poppers and the usual zoo critters in suits doing everything they can, despite their neurosis-driven rage and fear, to keep it together.

And in that world, butterflies and rainbows don't mean shit.

My dining companion and I started our raw meal with the "live" soup of the day. It was a yellow squash confection mixed in a blender with a variety of unnamed spices until pureed to a consistency just this side of sludge. We both remarked that it tasted vaguely familiar but neither of us could put our finger on what exactly that taste was.

Needless to say if the soup was heated up and poured over rice and Tandoori chicken it would be very much at home in any decent Indian food restaurant. That was the taste we couldn't place.

We passed on the so-called pizza - described on the menu as being built upon a 'crawst' foundation of sunflower and pumpkin seeds, zucchini, celery and Celtic sea salt with fresh veggies - because I'm hardly willing to pay nine dollars for a real pizza, the kind with dough and cheese and a steaming heap of meat, much less some vegan's utopian ideal of what a pizza should be.

Nor do I eat anything with 'crawst' in it - on principle alone.

I had the tomato and cucumber salad with an olive oil and lemon juice dressing. It wasn't half bad but I was concerned whether or not the vegetables were organically grown - until I found a cucumber rind in my salad with a sticker still on it which read: Nature's Nectar - Certified Organic.

I ate the paper sticker so I'd at least get some fiber in my diet.

My dining companion had the mixed greens salad and summed up her opinion of it nicely when she commented, "This is probably the worst salad I've ever had."

I tasted a forkful and quickly knew that washing greens just isn't the raw food way.

It was then I realized that the word organic is just a shorter way of saying, "tastes like dirt."

We left the café shortly thereafter and on the way home, some twenty minutes later, my dining companion commented, "I'm still tasting grit."

To wash the grit down we then drove through a fast food restaurant and both ordered a big greasy cheeseburger. Our arteries were eternally grateful.

The cheeseburger got me riled and I was soon shouting, "I can kick any vegetarian's ass with one arm tied behind my back! I am strong! I am carnivore, hear me roar!"

The blood was pumping hot through my veins and, at that moment, I felt alive and so very raw.