From “Moo” To Moosewood

People accustomed to eating meat often ask why I became a vegetarian.  If I want to avoid a sustained conversation about my lifestyle choices, I say, “I don’t like meat.”

If they seem genuinely interested and I’m not pressed for time, I expand my answer, “Being a vegetarian is better for me, better for the planet, and better for the animals that I would otherwise be consuming.”

If they press for more information, I elaborate along the following lines.

In my early teens, I read Diet for a Small Planet and learned how inefficient it is to feed the planet by growing grain for animals and then eating the animals.

If we ate the grain, and skipped “the middle man,” we would be able to feed more people, for less money, with less environmental impact, and fewer greenhouse gasses (including massive amounts of methane created by cows).

I decided to become a vegetarian.  Since I have never much liked meat, cutting it from my diet didn’t involve any supreme sacrifice.

Giving up chocolate or pizza would have been far harder.

But my mother refused to let me make such a drastic (to her) lifestyle change at such a young and tender age.  Not while living under her roof!

At home, I ate what everyone else was having.  I would fill my plate with fruits, grains, and veggies before deigning to take a tiny sliver of London Broil or a single meatball.  I learned to fly under the radar without loud pronouncements about what I would or wouldn’t eat.

But when we went out to eat, I got to “vote my conscience.”

When we went to the Lobster Shanty for an elaborate Sunday brunch, the highlight of the meal for the rest of the family was having their steak and eggs cooked to order.

Not Me.  I wanted the buffet items ~ fresh melon, bagels, sliced oranges, waffles, fresh pineapple, pancakes, etc.

After we got settled, the waitress came around and took our orders, “Steak, rare.  Eggs, fried.”  “Steak, medium rare.  Eggs poached.”  And so on.

When she got to me, I would smile and say, “No steak, no eggs.”

My father would look at me, wondering who my real father was, and say, “The steak and eggs are the best part.”

I would look at him, wondering who my real father was, and say, “Order them anyway you want.  I don’t want eggs or steak.”

Sandy, our Great Dane, became the beneficiary of this brunch battle because my uneaten steak went home with us in a doggie bag.

After college, I moved in with my parents for a year before heading to law school.  I came across my copy of Diet for a Small Planet and decided, once again, to cut meat from my diet.

After a few weeks, my mother started worrying that a diet devoid of meat would cause malnutrition.  Since she continued to harp on the magic of meat at every meal, I had a series of blood tests run to alleviate her concerns.

The result?

I was not anemic.  I did not have iron poor blood.  None of the test results revealed even the slightest hint of malnutrition or dietary deficiency.

Huzzah!

Vindicated by the medical profession, I continued to omit meat from meals.

Aah . . . that’s better!

Quote:  I’m not a vegetarian because I love animals . . . I’m a vegetarian because I hate plants.  ~ A. Whitney Brown

Resources:  A Month of Meatless Meals * Moosewood Cookbooks * Vegetarian Resource Group (VRG) *  Care2