RIP Vegetarianism
In the middle of 2010, I ended 15 years of vegetarianism and bought a fillet of salmon. The final catalyst was getting really sick earlier in the year (I’m talking ended up in the hospital and got to see inside my organs sick—the heart is awesome), but it was something I’d been thinking about for a few years. I’d spent 15 years in a lifestyle that was decided by a 14 year old, and I didn’t believe for a second that I was able to think objectively, as an adult, about why I was a vegetarian.
When I was really young, we had a rule that you couldn’t leave the table until dinner was finished. This usually worked out well as the Cosby Show was on at 6:30pm and, provided something going horribly awry, I’d get to watch my favourite show. The only cogs came on the nights we were served beef. The rest of my family finished eating like usual, but I’d stay at the table until well past 7:00pm, sometimes long enough to hear the closing credits of whatever show ended at 7:30pm. For some reason, I just couldn’t swallow. I’d chew, chew, chew, and nothing. It was assumed I was a fussy eater, but I was physically unable to swallow.
I was a very lonely child, and always felt a strong connection to my dogs. At 14, I had the dubious honour of being the only family member to have witnessed both of our previous dogs die (one had a seizure, and the other was a hit and run). I always had a hard time dealing with my pets being gone, and always felt tremendous guilt—especially for the second one, Cindel, who I promised would make it as she struggled for her last breaths.
As I got older and more aware of what I was actually eating, it became increasingly difficult for me to separate what was on the plate from the animals I liked more than my human friends. I brought up the idea of vegetarianism to my Mom, a former 60s flower child, and she told me that if I wanted to do it, she’d fully support me and do it too. I was about 95% sure I wanted to stop eating meat, but I wasn’t able to make such a lifestyle change. Then that Simpsons episode where Lisa goes vegetarian came on—I figured I could leave that last 5% to coincidence, and I stopped eating meat.
My high school cafeteria was terrible. Worse than Sodexo terrible. The only decent thing they served was chicken nuggets, but they were rare and I never had enough money when they were available. Well, the day after deciding to go vegetarian, I had two dollars in my pocket and instinctively went to see what they were serving—chicken nuggets! I felt a rush of joy immediately followed by this pit in my stomach because I knew I wasn’t going to eat them. That was the last time I craved meat for a long, long time.
Being 14, shy, and vegetarian means a lot of shit from the people around you. I still ate milk and eggs, and it was a game to try logic’ing me into eating meat. In response I developed a very thick skin and a very vulgar response involving menstruation. I also became the self-righteous asshole most people think of when they hear “vegetarian.” It wasn’t just that I stopped eating meat, but I had to tell everyone why they had to stop, too.
Luckily, that phase didn’t even outlast high school, and I mellowed out considerably. I took that attitude that I didn’t care what you ate, just don’t force your opinions on me and don’t kiss me without brushing your teeth. I still got shit from the people around me, but I couldn’t think of a good reason to care anymore.
My Mom was never a foodie. There were a few dishes she made that were great, but it was mostly bland and healthy. We were a very poor family, so edible and nutritious food on the table was remarkable. But I was also a diabetic, meaning that I equated food with obligatory medicines, and I developed a very unhealthy relationship with eating. Meals were grams of carbohydrates, not flavour. The blander the better, because I could just shove it down my throat and go on with my life.
As I got older, I learned how to cook so I could make things taste the way I wanted to—generally tasteless. I knew how to cook better than most of my friends (in University I had a friend who would buy whatever ingredients I asked for just so I’d cook meals he could eat), but unless I was cooking for someone else, my food was 100% utilitarian. I knew technique and I loved the act of cooking, but I had no passion and still hated eating.
About five years go, something changed. I have no idea what happened, but I remember Mom coming to visit and watching in awe as I licked a plate of spaghetti clean. She’d never seen me voluntarily finish a plate, let alone enjoy it to the point that I wanted more. I still didn’t like eating, but I’d grown to respect taste.
I also started watching a lot of cooking shows, particularly the ones like Iron Chef and Good Eats where they focused on ingredients. I’d sit wide-eyed as the chefs butchered whole pigs, served raw fish, and killed shellfish moments before cooking it. When Anthony Bourdain ate that still-beating cobra heart, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. It wasn’t that it made me hungry, but I was fascinated about how the non-dietarily restricted ate and composed meals. Meat-eating friends asked how I was able to watch the stuff without feeling sick—more than once I was asked to turn programs off so they could eat in peace.
One of the moments I always dreaded was when people found out I was a vegetarian and would respond with “oh, me too!” I knew that nine times out of ten, I was not going to get along with this person. For the life of me I can’t think of a single vegetarian friend, and no one I’ve considered a best friend is vegetarian. The sad truth is that most vegetarians are the judgemental asshole I used to be, unable to see past their own nose. I’d see adults acting the way I did as a confused 15 year old, and I just could not understand.
Vegetarianism is supposed to be thinking about what you’re eating, not arbitrary decisions. If you don’t want to put it in your body, don’t put it in your body. If the things you don’t want to put in your body happen to be meat, fish, and poultry, then you’re a vegetarian and that’s that. The label is supposed to come after you’ve made the decision, not before. If you’re judging what other people are eating, you’ve probably missed the point.
I was growing increasingly fascinated with the non-vegetarian world. When I’d eat out with friends, I’d do my best to make them order the most difficult to pronounce and raw things on the menu because I wanted to know what it tasted like, but I still didn’t want to eat it. I’d gleefully defend anyone being attacked by the aforementioned self-righteous asshole vegetarian. In general, I was a confused mess and mostly still am. While I still hated the act of eating, my new respect of ingredients and love of cooking meant I was eating really good, and really tasty meals. But I also knew I was judging what I was eating without reason, and that’s not OK.
Much like Lisa was a convenient push to vegetarianism, getting sick was the push I needed to move away from it. The years of curiosity combined with grasping at any straw that might make me feel better left me with the decision that I was going to try fish. I had no emotional attachment to fish, and I wanted to try it. For about a month I thought about it daily, trying to rationalize my decision or get some sort of clarity, but nothing came. The last 15 years had completely destroyed any chance I had of making an adult decision about vegetarianism.
So one day I pulled the trigger and headed down to Whole Foods. I still don’t know why I chose Whole Foods, I only go there when I want something ridiculous like truffle butter, but there I was walking to the fish counter. At the last second I freaked out and was overcome with an awful paranoia that I was about be be “caught” and ejected from some imaginary guild of vegetarians. They’d never let me back if I tried fish! So I calmed myself down and forced a single pre-wrapped fillet from the self-serve area in to my basket, then headed for the cash.
I got home and, like I always do when I want to cook something unfamiliar, looked up how Alton Brown does it. I got out a cast iron pan, seared the flesh side, flipped, and threw it in the oven to finish. I had absolutely no frame of reference for how it was supposed to look or taste, and I ended up with an over-cooked dry mess. But, more importantly, I didn’t feel any guilt. My stomach hurt a bit as it got used to this new protein, but otherwise I felt fine. Better than fine really, because I knew this was the start of something new.
The next day I headed down the the Granville Island Market and marched up to a fish counter. One thing I’d always wanted to try was cheeks, and in front of me was a whole tray of halibut cheeks. I bought a couple, asked the guy behind the counter how to cook them, and went home to eat. They were delicious, and I didn’t even overcook them! The Granville Island Market’s become my inner child’s candy store, and every time I go there I try to find something I haven’t had before. If the person ahead of me turns their nose, I take that as a sign I should buy whatever they’re looking at. My enthusiastic curiosity gets rewarded with excellent cooking tips, good prices, and the knowledge that most places will sell you smoked salmon trimmings that cost about four times less than their lox cousins, and taste about four times better.
Health-wise, I gained weight for the first time since I was a teenager. My formerly carb-heavy diet switched to protein-based, and I felt better because my meals were better-rounded. Not miraculous I FEEL AMAZING! better, but just enough to know that I made the right decision. I still haven’t gone past fish, but I don’t feel any need to right now and I’m OK with that. My dislike of eating is now in constant battle with the mad desire to try any and all fish that I haven’t tried before. Somedays I even eat because I want to eat, not because I have to.
Just last month, Mom (still a vegetarian) was asking about my health and what effect fish might have had on it. I knew she wasn’t feeling great and was wondering if she should also start eating fish, but I also knew she didn’t want to. When she became a vegetarian it wasn’t just to support me, but also to relive a previous lifestyle that she had to abandon due to financial issues and responsibilities to her children. I knew that I could easily begin to start convincing her to eat fish, but I didn’t.
The reality is that eating fish didn’t make my health better at all—I’ll be seeing another specialist, and inside another organ, in April. I was of the mind that eating fish is a good thing, and I found myself at that intersection between self-righteous asshole and human being again. But I knew that if it wasn’t her decision, it wasn’t going to be a good decision. Over the past years, I’ve gotten her into cooking almost as much as I am, but the difference is that she thoroughly enjoys eating vegetarian food and actually constructs nutritionally responsible meals. She won’t judge you for eating meat, but she has absolutely no curiosity about how it might fit into her life; so I told her the truth.
There was a disappointment that I couldn’t offer a miracle cure, but there was also a joy that I wasn’t offering something she didn’t really want. Then we went for dinner; I had grilled salmon, she had salad with a cheese side, and it was all delicious.
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