I dipped the spoon in deep for a dollop of chocolate ice cream, brought it to my lips, and slurped it off the cold metal.
Damn. It had been too long.
A year had gone by since August 2013 when I stopped eating dairy and eggs, transitioning from mere vegetarian to full-on vegan.
Veganism: a life of plant-based everything, fortified by the occasional ration of vitamin B12. In this existence, most restaurant menus are lists of food I cannot eat. When I finally make an order, I might have to ask the chef to hold the cheese or creamy mayo sauce. To dine with new acquaintances is to step into a barrage of questions like, “Why would you want to stop eating bacon?” and “Do you feel sorry for the plants you eat?”
But hey, even we austere, pleasure-hating vegetable eaters need the occasional moment of release.
The ice cream is a marvelous substance, a halfway point between frozen crystals and syrup. It enters cold, and then melts down to sweet treacle, triggering the pleasure receptors usually reserved for carnal knowledge. Carnal, carne, meat.
I should mention that the stuff I was eating was also made with coconut cream, not dairy. It was completely vegan.
Maybe you thought this was going to be some weepy blog post about how I gave up my vegan diet, about how I just missed animal products too much and had to give in?
Sorry, assholes. I’m in this for the long haul.
But why? Why would I cut away these fundamentals like cheese or eggs from my diet? Why deny myself?
The simplest way I can answer this question is that I am trying to take and need less from this world. Some day I want to believe I give as much as I take, but for the past years I’ve felt like I’ve taken more than I can justify. Until I start paying back the debt that I owe, the best that I can do is cut my spending.
Veganism costs less for the planet than eating animal products because animals have to eat 10 pounds of food in order to yield one pound of meat, dairy or eggs. In other words, meat takes roughly 10 times the amount of energy to produce as other food.
I’m not making that up. Check any biology textbook. Google the Trophic Pyramid.
I’ve driven through the corn and soybean monoculture that defines the American Midwest, mile upon mile of desolate brown fields in May, soon to grow up and get their rations of pesticide and fertilizer. Some of that land goes to the corn on the cob I buy at checkout, some to soy burgers for vegans; most of it goes into the feeding trough of fattened livestock.
I’ve seen western landscapes torn up and eroded beneath the hooves of grazing livestock, their shit running into every creek. Meanwhile, the headlines buzz about ranchers shooting wolves and other native species so that they can protect the bottom line. I spent months tending chickens at a farm in New Mexico, feeding them enormous sacks of corn and wheat so they could yield a fraction of that nutritional value in eggs. None of these experiences have given me warm, fuzzy feeling about the livestock industry.
I’ve heard arguments about how meat, eggs, etc. can all be more sustainable. Maybe innovations like methane digesters and responsible grazing practices can bring down the environmental costs of these products. On the other hand, most meat doesn’t come this way. I don’t want to spend my time picking and choosing which hamburger caused slightly less pollution when I know that I can make a stronger statements by cutting hamburgers out of my diet right away. Rather than wait for the agriculture conglomerates to build a sustainable utopia of responsibly harvested meat, I’d prefer to cut their products out of my diet.
And hunting? I’m not foolish enough to declare that all hunting is wrong. Nor can I deny that many hunters develop a connection to nature by studying their game (not all the guys I saw cruising along the New Mexico roads with guns waiting so they could shoot things from the convenience of their pick up trucks.) As a personal decision, however, I still don’t like the idea of pulling a trigger on a living being unless it was absolutely necessary for my survival. The same argument goes for eating animals in general. If I don’t need to kill animals to live, why should I do it?
Am I compromising my health doing this? This sickly, malnourished vegan pulled off a 2:38 PR marathon this year. I built it on the most demanding running regiment that I’d subjected myself to.
I have regular bowel movements, feel good most days and get the food I need to continue to fuel a physically demanding kayak-guiding job.
Even if I’ve got my good health, others might ask whether I am depriving my soul of some excellent fare.
Actually, the more months that I stay vegan, the less I miss the old diet. Bacon strips and provolone slices don’t dance the Macarena in my head at night. I don’t clutch myself in the throes of hamburger withdrawal or gnash my teeth over the pizza I’m not eating.
There are inconveniences, mostly when it comes to visiting others’ places or sometimes going to a restaurant (most of the time, I can make it work out alright.)
I find such inconveniences necessary, even reassuring. They give my convictions meaning. I’d rather not be pampered all the time. Life can’t always be coconut ice cream and that’s OK. Too many Americans worship convenience and self-indulgence, spurred on by relentless advertising. They see the slow-mo close-up of cheese melting over ground beef in a TGI Fridays commercial while some unseen fat guy narrates: “Here it is. You want it. It’s your right to have it. This is what makes you free.”
I prefer the freedom to know that I don’t need something, rather than to always have it, and become dependent.
The question “why would you do that?” as it pertains to veganism, is really “why would you commit the heresy of depriving yourself of a pleasure?” I am arrogant enough to believe my convictions are worth more than the fact that something tastes good.
Whether or not I’ve made a sacrifice this past year, most of the time, I don’t imagine that I’m depriving myself.
I’ve doubled down on my stir-fries, relish every morning that I wake up with peanut butter oatmeal. I know that I still have some bad eating habits, and there are other decisions that I could make about food (and a lot of other things) in order to improve my impact on the environment. I’ve heard plenty of arguments that go something like, “You care enough to be vegan, BUT…” which actually teach me something about responsible food.
In fairness to the doubters, I also once thought that a vegan diet would be prohibitively demanding. As someone who once loved all things cheesy and (even further back) a good burger, I can understand why others would think that there is no way no how that they could cut animal products out of their diets.
I discovered how simple and satisfying the vegan diet could be by starting to eat like a vegan. For the skeptics, the best I can say is, ‘try it.’ You might find that it’s easier than you think.