AUDIO QUACK (SKIP INTRO 2:12)
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I was on a flight heading back from Australia. It was dinner time, and my vegan meal arrived, hand-delivered by the flight attendant. I tore open the silver foil and began wolfing down my specially made chickpea stew. As I ate, I could sense the glares from the other passengers as they waited impatiently for the food trolley to deliver their dinner.
The woman next to me leaned over.
“Are you vegan?” she asked.
“Plant-based.” I corrected her with a mouthful.
“Oh.” She leaned back with her eyebrows raised. I could already tell she thought I was an arse. “Is that for the animals?”
I hated this question, so I shrugged it off. “Yeah, for the animals and the environment and stuff….”
“The environment, hey?” She said, raising her eyebrows once more. This time, at the window, where you could see the aeroplane’s engine blasting away above the ocean.
What am I supposed to row from Australia?!
Veganism is the belief that no animals should be exploited, harmed or killed for human use. I am not a vegan. My wardrobe is filled with cute leather boots and suede jackets. I dollop honey on my toast. And I slaughter the occasional bug. I do, though, follow a vegan diet, which means; no meat, no fish, no eggs, no dairy…. and no friends.
I’m exaggerating. I have friends. Promise. Even my parents still talk to me after coming out as “vegan” six years ago. However, I’m the first to admit that on paper, I’m awkward and annoying.
When I go to restaurants, I find my presence alone stresses out my fellow diners. As soon as we sit down, they will scan the menu.
“Is there anything you can eat?” They will ask in a panicked voice. It’s 2024. We’re in Soho at the height of the plant-based trend – there is always something to eat. Even the restaurant, Burger and Lobster, has a plant-based lobster. I mean burger. They have a plant-based burger.
Sometimes, my fellow diners will ask if I’ll be offended if they order something meaty, as if they think I’m going to throw red paint on them and scream out “MURDERER.”
Admittedly, being perceived as the Shark in Finding Nemo feels nice. Fish are friends, not food. But I’m not one for a protest. They could eat a whole hog roast for all I care. Besides, we all assume the pork was once a friendly pig like Babe, but it could have been an evil pig like Napoleon in Animal Farm. Turning him into sausages doesn’t seem such a bad thing.
Once my fellow diners are reassured that I will not ruin their meal. It’s time to apologise to the waiters, who will have to tell the chef that I will be adapting their signature dish to a bland bowl of nothing.
“Could I have the chicken Caesar salad without the chicken, cheese and oh, the Caesar sauce. No, I’m not allergic to animals. I’m just a wonderful person. Thanks.”
Dating is a whole other thing because being vegan automatically puts you in the high-maintenance bracket. I already know my future mother-in-law, wherever she may be, will roll her eyes before she even meets me.
“NO Mummy, you can’t cook your signature aromatic milk-braised wild boar, because Mary is a vegan.”
“Oh, Douglas, you do pick them, don’t you?”
(*Life goal to marry a man who still refers to his mother as mummy at the age of 42).
Because of the stigma, I tend to reveal my vegan diet subtly to a man, in the same way you would subtly tell them you get cold sores.
Once, I spoke to a man on Hinge who liked cooking, and he would send me picture after picture of huge plates of meat. He would talk about romantic days ahead when he would cook for me. After a week of this chat, I realised I had to come clean.
Me: I have a confession.
Me: It may be a deal-breaker.
Me: I didn’t mean to do it, but…
Hinge Man #3445: You’re vegan, right?
Me: Maybe.
Hinge Man #3445 sends a voice note. He is laughing. “I f**** knew it.”
I never did meet Hinge Man #3445….
The only time I strayed from the diet was when some bloke cooked me fresh egg ravioli pasta from a box. I wanted him to fall in love with me, so I ate it. Now, whenever I preach about being an independent woman who lets no man tell me what to do, my friends remind me.
“Yeah, but there was that time you ate fresh egg ravioli from a box to please a man.”
Occasionally, someone asks if I miss any foods.
Yes, is the answer.
I miss bacon sandwiches. I miss throwing and catching Maltesers in my mouth. Sucking the ears of Lindt chocolate rabbits. Dippy eggs. Mum’s roast chicken. Pineapple gummy bears. Crispy duck smothered in soy sauce and wrapped up in floury pancakes. Ben and Jerry’s Caramel Chew Chew. That cheese at Christmas with the cranberries in it…..
So why am I bumbling this awkward plant-based path?
I wish I had facts to convince you to join me. (WE CAN BE ANNOYING TOGETHER). But all I can remember from the top of my head is that pigs are more intelligent than a two-year-old human. When I said this to my Mum, she said, “Eurgh, two-year-olds are a nightmare.” It was not the response I was hoping for. Like I said, I’ve never been good at protesting.
At some point, I watched documentaries, read books, followed some Bali influencers, and became convinced that a vegan diet was good for the planet, my health, and the animals, so it felt like a win-win…win.
Now, six years on, I’m still alive and have gotten used to being annoying. I’m also now used to getting my meals before the other passengers on the plane. So, I can’t turn back now.
However, I have found out, quite depressingly, that the Bali influencers lied – You still age on a vegan diet.
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