Brains. Brains. Brains. When it comes to zombies, it’s all anyone can think about. Oh, no, the evil, insatiable zombie is going to eat my brain!
Of course this is a perfectly natural response. For much of history, zombie outbreaks have meant the end of civilization as we know it and the beginning of a full-scale, adrenaline-driven, fight-or-flight existence in which the slightest hesitance could mean a bloody lobotomy and certain death. But the image of roving bands of zombies lumbering down the street with dura mater sticking to their chins is so indelibly fixed in our collective mind that we can’t see the forest for the meninges. The h1Z1 variant Y zombie isn’t that zombie. Yes, with the incontrovertible habit of his species, he eats brains, but he doesn’t eat your brain. He eats the brains of cows and chickens and pigs—animals you yourself eat with startling regularity. That doesn’t make you a monster, does it?
The difference, of course, is the ick factor, the arbitrary designation of grossness to parts of the animal your culture doesn’t consider appropriate for human consumption. But offal isn’t always awful. In many parts of the world, it’s considered a delicacy. The French, for example, love cervelle de veau, calf’s brains sautéed with beurre noir and capers, and Indonesians enjoy gulai otak, beef brains simmered in a coconut milk curry. The problem of zombies, it turns out, isn’t a lack of taste so much as a lack of condiments.
Dating a zombie doesn’t mean you have to partake of brains when out on a date. You should never compromise your own beliefs just to impress a cute zomb. (The self-administered lobotomy, like mankind itself, is so last millennium.) But you should try to refrain from being judgy about it. A healthy relationship requires a healthy dose of respect. So if your boyzomb likes brains for breakfast, lunch and dinner, cut him some slack—and maybe wipe his chin.