change

“I’m not going to eat that kind of garbage anymore,” I said.

Later that day, I wrapped my neck in a scratchy scarf and stumbled against the wind to find a French Toast doughnut.

“I’m going be more considerate and compassionate,” I said.

Then, I laughed at the moron who couldn’t open the back door on the bus.

Change is hard.

I want to be a super-fit gentleman. I do. But, sometimes, I want a doughnut more.

Am I villain?

I hope not.

They usually lose.

Changing is scary. Isn’t it? It’s frightening to think that maybe the things I’ve been doing are wrong. It’s frightening to think that maybe I’m not really that awesome.

Change can be bad. What if I change to be nicer and it feels inauthentic? What if I change to be fitter and every day becomes a battle I fight for someone else?

Maybe those are excuses.

Change can be good. What if I change to be nicer and it feels inspiring. What if I change to be fitter and every day becomes a party for myself?

Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

Obby Khan made a big change and that worked out for him. In 2012 he (temporarily) retired from professional football and opened Shawarma Khan.

Big change.

He recently revived Shawarma Khan‘s Burger Week burger. Mondays and Tuesdays only.

Here’s what I had at Shawarma Khan:

Shawarma Khan Burger: Beef, lamb & falafel patty, caramelized onions, creamy Havarti cheese, hummus, beet & pickled turnip relish, homemade garlic sauce, mix field greens and a thinly sliced tomato. $13.00

Impressions: That’s the creamiest Havarti that’s ever slid into my mouth. That’s the sweetest garlic sauce that’s ever flowed, in tiny translucent rivers, over my hands and into my mouth and over my burger and onto my desk. That’s one of the best burgs I’ve bitten.

What made it? The patty. The star. The thing that makes this thing a burger. The part-beef, part-lamb, part-falafel patty is ridiculous. So many parts. It has a crispy crust and tender middle. It’s slightly spicy and totally dense.

Please, Obby, don’t change this.

After 18 years of being Winnipeg’s “anarchist icon,” cooperatively managed vegan café Mondragon closed its doors for good last Sunday.

You can read the Winnipeg Free Press`s story about it’s closure here.

Not into that? Then don’t click it.

Four years ago, I wouldn’t have.

“Vegan?” I’d ask. “No thanks.”

“No meat, no way. Just not my thing.”

One day I decided to brave the meatless meal. I went to Mondragon and ordered a BLT, in which the ‘B’ was actually fried tofu made to look like bacon.

Turns out fried tofu made to look like bacon can taste a lot like bacon.

The sandwich was incredible.

Mondragon had changed my mind.

I mean, I wasn’t about to give up steaks just yet, but I was willing to try some other vegan food.

And that’s Mondragon’s specialty: opening people up to different points of view.

The colorful cafe in the Exchange District was not only a place to sit down for fried tofu made to look like bacon that tasted a lot like bacon. It was also an alternative bookstore and a venue for politically-charged organization and discussion. It exemplified the value of a non-hierarchical workplace in which all staff were equal.

It made a habit of opening people up to new things, new ways of thinking, new ways of living.

It was a remarkable local café.