Unlikely Vegetarian

Where I come from, vegetarians are a rare breed. There’s usually bacon in the green beans. Or in any kind of beans for that matter. And chicken broth gets put in everything. So my conversion to vegetarianism nearly three years ago caused quite a stir. I have family members who say they’re praying for me. Apparently, my cooking skills have gone to pot, and grilling out lost its fun factor for my husband because I’m not eating and bragging on the steak anymore.

Strangely enough, my favorite “vegetables” growing up were french fries and baked potatoes. In fact, these were the only “vegetables” I would eat, aside from the occasional leaf or two of boiled cabbage I managed to swallow to keep my mom from freaking about about my eating habits. I tried Chinese stir-fry when I was 16–I picked out the chicken and cashews and left the rest. I was probably in my 20s when I first tasted broccoli and in my late 20s before I actually ate any part of a salad besides the croutons, cheese and dressing. It wasn’t my parents’ fault–we always had a garden, and vegetables were served with every meal. I just refused to eat them.

Sometime between age 25 and 41, I learned to like, even love, vegetables–except for tomatoes, but I’m not sure they even count. It’s all a blur now but somewhere along the way, I acquired a taste for squash, spinach, legumes, mushrooms, green beans and even the dreaded English peas that made me gag once at the family dinner table. I really sort of turned vegetarian, as opposed to making a conscious choice.

One day, I was trying to eat chicken. All I could think about was a little white chicken losing its head for me to have a fried chicken salad. Then came my disenchantment with other meat dishes that aren’t called by their animal names, such as hamburgers, bacon and filet mignon. Finally, I confronted my love for barbeque ribs. With the chicken, I knew–hey, this is chicken leg, chicken breast, chicken thigh or chicken finger (but that’s another story). Heck, I didn’t even know which animal’s ribs I was actually eating. I’m disgusted now that I ever ordered and consumed a half-rack of some mystery animal’s ribs. So, my journey into vegetarianism was pretty much cold-turkey, so to speak.

Ironically, I live in a cabin in the country surrounded on three sides by my husband’s cattle farm. The cute dalmatian-colored bull we affectionately referred to as Buck now resides in our freezer. No, he wasn’t fed hormones and he didn’t grow up in unethical conditions, but I bottle fed him, for goodness sake. Now my family expects me to cook him.

Yes, I am an unlikely vegetarian. And one who’s considering going vegan. Can’t wait for the prayer chain that move’s gonna start. Since I can’t convince my family to give up meat, I tried to raise my dog as a vegetarian. My husband caught on and fed Sebastian steak. So much for that thwarted attempt to make a small difference. But I did manage a smidgen of success in one area: I’ve started preparing two meatless meals a week for my family. So far, no one has mounted a rebellion.

Your fellow word lover and friend to animals,

The Rookie Writer

(Photo compliments of: Suat Eman/ Free Digital Photos)