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Sometimes a pound of veggies beats a pound of flesh
Friday June 27 2008
By Evangeline Moffat
 
I love animals.
Properly prepared, almost anything can taste delicious.  I’ve dined upon deer, moose, caribou, bear, sheep, goat, pig, cows, rabbit, chicken, duck, goose, turkey, emu, ostrich, frog, eel, squid, octopus and  shark to name the few I can remember.
  And while I’ve never been a fan of liver (unless it’s been turned into a paté), I’ve quite enjoyed tails, heart, tongue, and even  brain without so much as flinching.
As a child, petting the fluffy white bunny that was soon to be stew did not deter my appetite one little bit. Seeing the glassy eyed, lifeless steer hanging upside down in my uncle’s barn did not turn me away from eating him. Or his kin. Helping my mother catch, kill, and pluck chickens never once made me turn away from a well roasted bird.  Not ever.  
For me summer barbecues  have always meant sizzling steaks and marinating pounds of cubed pork for souvlaki (why would you ever add vegetables to your skewers and call it kebab?). No special occasion is complete without a roast, or turkey.  I can walk by a hot dog vendor– after having already eaten a decent lunch– even a very decent lunch, and salivate.  Yes, for street meat.  
I’m an unlikely vegetarian convert.
And yet it’s been two months now since animal, fish or fowl has past my lips and I don’t miss it. In fact, the idea of preparing a slab of flesh for a meal makes my stomach uneasy.  And not in a hungry way.   
For the first three weeks vegetarianism was imposed on me. It was the cost of doing residential yoga training.It was not something I looked forward to.    
My instructor told me that snorkeling with the tropical fish would turn me off eating seafood for life. I swam with the fish, I thought of tartar sauce.   
There were two or three occasions where I could have gone to town for a steak, or a burger but it was made known that that would be less than an ideal thing to do. So I refrained.
I looked forward to the last day there, simply so I could sink my teeth into a juicy, rare, hunk of prime rib or T-bone. A cut so big it would cover my entire plate leaving room for nothing else. But after eating nothing but plant-based products for three weeks, I found I couldn’t do it. My taste buds– or my psyche– had been warped, changed, or possibly developed.  
I ordered black bean dip instead. And chips.
For me it’s been easier to totally give up meat than it ever was to cut down on it— something I attempted many times to do for environmental reasons (it takes less land and fuel to produce a serving of soybeans than a serving of beef), health concerns (plant products contain no cholesterol, saturated fat, hormones or antibiotics) and an innate frugality (dried beans cost less than 20 cents per serving).  
I’ve discovered that tofu doesn’t have to taste or feel like Styrofoam, lentil loaf and mashed potatoes is just as comforting as meatloaf, pasta primavera can satisfy the hungriest teenage boy, burritos don’t need meat and hummus can be a fine main course. So far it’s been easy. I continue because it feels right.  
But there’s no etiquette book for the fledgling vegetarian on being a guest at a barbecue (do I bring my own tofu skewers? Should I make enough for everyone?), how to host a barbecue (mushroom burgers are good but not everyone is going to be delighted by the lack of bovine matter), or how to visit your mother (who’s ego is intricately entwined with your consumption of the meat-based meals she lovingly prepares for you) for a week.  
Little bumps along the legume garden path.  
Evangeline can be reached at
evangline@residentwriter.com
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