I Aspire To Aspire (To Be a Vegan)
I aspire to be a vegan. I love animals and hate the thought of their suffering at the hands of the factory farm industry just so I can enjoy a cheap burger or a fancy Benedict. So I aspire to be a vegan. But I wonder if it’s ever going to happen. While I might be able to give up meat 99% of the time… some day in the far future… I’m not sure I could ever give up eggs and dairy. (Now’s a good time to mention my ice cream problem. It’s real. Very real.)
During the work week, I try to be a vegetarian. When my boyfriend J and I cook at home, that’s easy. When we eat out at Asian restaurants, that’s easy, too. But eating vegetarian (much less vegan) at European or American restaurants is very, very challenging for me. Unlike most Asian cuisine in which the meat is very often the smallest component of a dish, in Western cuisine it is more often than not the largest, or at least the center around which all the other ingredients are composed. In almost all of my favorite Western dishes, meat or cheese or egg is the star ingredient.
But I keep on trying to find vegetarian and vegan alternatives that will satisfy. Every so often, I wake up late Sunday morning (or early afternoon, if I’m lucky!) with a hankering for vegan brunch, a meal that will nourish my body while feeding my soul. The truth is I don’t think there is such a thing. It’s an imaginary meal, a mythical one, an edible vegan unicorn. Still, undeterred in my Sunday haze, I turn to Yelp for ratings and J and I head out to try yet another vegan cafe. Because this one, I know, will be the one.
But somewhere between our house and the cafe, my hunger turns my enthusiasm to crankiness, and by the time we park (what seems a mile away) and walk over to the end of the inevitably long line, I’m fully entrenched in a bad mood, determined to be dissatisfied with everything and everyone. Poor J tries valiantly to make the best of it, alternating between trying to make me laugh and just letting me be. I know I’m being difficult. I know I’m being unfair. But I can’t help myself. The anticipated self-deprivation has already cursed the day.
Invariably, little things go wrong. We finally get up to the front of the line only to be thwarted by a pushy queue-crasher who can’t make up her mind. Whatever dish I had decided on during our eternal wait has suddenly sold out. The funky vegan snack that Jay buys to curb our hunger while we wait tastes like saw dust dipped in gravel. Now I’m in full bitch mode. And there’s nothing J can do to get out of the line of fire. Nothing.
And then, finally, our food arrives. We eat in silence. I start to regret acting like such a child. But I remain quiet. Half-way through our dishes, we pause to take a breath. J offers up a taste of his dish. We swap. And then swap back. Our plates are clean. Though there’s no one left in line, we get up to go. The chair is hard and the table too high. The place is not designed for lingerers.
On the drive home, J breaks the silence:
“I appreciate you trying to eat more healthily. I want you to know that. I’ve noticed. And I admire you.”
I’m embarrassed. Since I’ve known J, he’s made a great effort to make healthy choices and to help me do the same. But I’ve resisted. Sometimes openly, sometimes more passive-aggressively. If there’s anything I hate, it’s passive-aggressive behavior. And I’m guilty of it this day.
By forcing myself to go vegan for Sunday brunch―typically the most chill and decadent meal of the week―I was making a point. I was trying to prove that I couldn’t be a vegan, that it was doomed to fail. It was a self-fulfilling prophesy. A passive-aggressive message to J. I’m ashamed of myself. But a very weak “thank you” is all I can muster.
I tell myself that I aspire to be a vegan. I wish I did, I really do. But it’s a lie. I’m not there yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I aspire to aspire to be.
Originally published on www.fogcitybloomer.com.
