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By Mark Gross Metromix Staff

I drove past it last week. I know it exists. Now where the hell ...

Only a week before, the sign for Liquid Earth hung above the large glass window inviting passersby in for a meatless bite. Driving up Aliceanna, down Fleet and back again, my girlfriend and I were at a complete loss. What the hell was going on?

Finally, at 1626 Aliceanna, there was Liquid Earth, and there wasn't its sign. Once inside, I asked about the sign's removal and the owner, Mike Lippy, confirmed, "Damn right! You've got to want to come here." [Editor's note: Since this article was first published, Liquid Earth has indeed obtained a new sign -- a classy blue and green neon.]

I'm not vegetarian. I'm not really into health food. Actually, my work ensures that I end up in countless greasy dives around town. So I wondered, who does want to eat here? What does a vegetarian even look like? And vegans, didn't they choke themselves out when Comet Hale-Bopp passed? I thought I'd check out Liquid Earth for the oddballs I might find there. It could provide excellent story fodder. Besides, once I was finished, I'd go top off with some hot wings for my next assignment.

There was one occupied table in the slender dining room. Music played in the background, including jazz, reggae and, of course, the Grateful Dead. Potted plants and scattered rocks were distributed throughout the wood-grained restaurant, and three women sat near the front window for a leisurely lunch hour.

The rocks, a few piled on each table, are reminders of a natural and organic lifestyle. Mike's wife, Antonette, told us the rocks were all about "bringing the outside in." Customers bring rocks from Colorado or Maine, and others take them away. (Yeah, it's just a rock, but ask before you run off with something that doesn't belong to you.)

While we dined, a young couple sat down a few tables from us, and some guy came in for carryout. I looked at them, and maybe they were vegetarians, but they looked normal. How could my perceptions have been so skewed? I figured vegetarians had sprouts growing from their ears or something.

My girlfriend and I worked on a couple of meatless sandwiches and sipped organic juice, when she dropped this bomb: "Maybe we could be vegetarians for a week or so to purge our system. We should give up drinking, too." That's insane. Purge. There is absolutely, positively, no way in hell I would ever give up, not for a week, not for a day, drinking.

Lunch at Liquid Earth was good, so maybe we can compromise about the meat.

Dish: My girlfriend got a V.T.L.T. (V indicates vegan. T is for tofu, and I bet you guessed the rest.) To carnivores that's a B.L.T., and let me just say to the vegheads out there -- your fakin' bacon doesn't fool me! I know bacon, and I know a cardboard imitation when I taste it. You can't even trick me with that turkey bacon stuff, and that's still meat ... sorta. But, I was a fan of the Nayonnaise (an eggless soymilk alternative to mayo), because regular mayo grosses me out.

I got a Portobello Mushroom Sandwich. The marinated mushroom was large and satisfying, and (obviously not what they're going for) it had me dreaming of veal. Mmm, baby cow.

We shared a juice named Twisster. It had carrots and stuff in it, but it tasted like citrus. It wasn't the thick, goopy health drink we expected, so we both enjoyed it.

Damage: V.T.L.T.: $5.95, Portobello Mushroom Sandwich: $5.95, add side salad: $2 and one Twisster: $4.95. Total Damage: Our total bill was $19.59. You could dine here for less than $10 easily, but be careful with extras like juice.

Decision: Next time you're heading to BK or Mickey D's, reconsider. Liquid Earth is inexpensive, and the food is more forgiving than a half-pound of ultra-processed meat by-product.