Vegan to Bone Broth in 3.5 Seconds

Last week I went from vegan to bone broth in 3.5 seconds.

I loved everything about being a vegan. Well, pretty much a vegan, if you dismiss the occasional salmon, egg and the too-polite-to-turn-down lamb my friends made for dinner. Or Thanksgiving turkey this past year. 95% vegan nonetheless. Three years ago as I drove across country from Washington, D.C. to move back to California, I had a moment in Texas. As they say, everything is bigger there, and I had to of course have some local Texas meat for dinner as I was driving through. The problem was, it was so much meat. And then I drove by the slaughterhouses on the way to Santa Fe. And it was at that moment on that drive that I made the call. For the next six months, as I was doing a yoga instructor training with my teacher Joan. I would go all in. I would give it up and throw myself into L.A. life in an inside out cleanse to signal my new start. I never predicted that three years later I’d end up sucking the marrow out of the bones in literal Thoreau style.

If the word wasn’t so overused, I’d call myself a foodie. I was more than that. I read cookbooks as plane reading, devouring each detail of a recipe so that I could replicate it and put my own twist on it later. I watched cooking shows for hours on end to unwind after a long day at work. Giada, Ina, even Paula. There was something about taking just the right amount of just the right combination of things and putting them together in such a way that became magic and brought people together in a unison “mmmm” of heaven. Needless to say, I love food. I love everything about it. The way it smells, tastes, the temporary state of a perfect creation that can only be experienced once, and never in the same way by two people.

I love a good dinner party- big ones around long tables with candles, small ones with wine and closeness. My invites contain menus that list the main course, appetizers, dessert and, of course, dinner cocktail. All carefully selected by theme, season, and to accommodate guest preferences.

I love finding new restaurants, especially ones that are just below the radar and use fresh, thoughtful, deliberate ingredients prepared at just the right temperature, combination, cooking duration and love. When I travel, tasting the local food is right up there with seeing the Eiffel Tower. In Italy, I had to try every new gelato flavor I came across, just so I wouldn’t miss out. And for those who have been there, you know what a task that is.

But those days are over. I don’t know when I’ll ever have the chocolate pot de creme from R+D set in perfect pudding density and consistency with whip cream on top and a perfect mint leaf in the corner.

The bone broth was something I came across online a year ago, only I couldn’t stomach the thought of it. I liked being a vegan. Actually, I loved everything about it. I loved the lightness of my body, the nonviolence to animals, the unofficial club that nonmeat eaters are in. This was my way of loving myself more, by honoring my body and taking care of it by giving it nutrients and care.

It happened in three phases of a perfect storm. Though undoubtedly there are some before, after and in between.

First phase: India. Turns out, there is a reason the country has claimed so many bodies it has a common catch phrase of “Delhi Belly.” I always did think my body was superman and could beat the curve. Turns out, I’m human after all. It’s my fault. I drank the water. We stayed at the Grand Hyatt, where they cut my own individual mango just for me at breakfast. It was such a magical place, how could it possibly hurt me? Famous last words of many.

Second phase: marathon training. My knee started to give out from ramping up mileage too close to the race; again thinking I could Superman beat the curve. I was determined to run. I promised myself years ago after a car accident that landed me with a severed tendon and two surgeries that I would do it.

Third phase: marathon day: March 17, 2013. This was my race, this was my year. Though I promised my friend Janice I’d stop at any warning sign, the minute the race started, I knew there was only one way my body knew how to run it: nonstop. And that’s what I did. Right through the quad cramp in mile 20 to finish with a time of 4:39.

It wasn’t the injuries to stomach or leg that did me in, it was how long the healing process took. Without the right nutrients, it took so long that my body readjusted itself to cycle and normalcy of pain and inflammation. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are so many ways to have a healthy vegan diet that many thrive on and sustain through their lives. I just didn’t do it right enough to balance protein and B12 and the right nutrients that are building and healing blocks of the body. I thought that I was loving my body with a vegan diet, but in my misunderstanding of the specifics of body nutrition, I was starving it of truly healing from the inside out.

And so, a year later I found myself in the office of a holistic doctor in Pacific Palisades that my friend Joey recommended. She told me to load up on vitamins A, D3, zinc and up my fish oil intake, in addition to the B12 monthly shots my regular doctor prescribed me to address my deficiency. And…bone broth.

It took me a month to work up the courage. I kept thinking of a passage I read in Gandhi’s autobiography where he was so sick they didn’t think he’d make it. People pleaded with him to drink milk or get some other source of animal protein for strength. But he’s Gandhi, he denied it. And then got better. I’m not Gandhi. I went for the bones.

And so I found myself at the Seafood market asking for a salmon fish head and bones. I figured I’d start with salmon, since I’m used to eating it occasionally already. I didn’t realize the pungent and strong fish taste that would permeate my home and body until I later read the blogs about using white fish for that reason. To add to the experience, I don’t even like it when there’s skin on my fish-much less bones, eyes, gills and other unidentifiable, but unmistakably present pieces. But I braved it and found myself asking across the counter if it could be cut up along the collar and head to bring out the marrow. First step, check. Salmon head.

Step 2 wasn’t as easy as asking someone to do something to it. I had to do it myself. I didn’t have a real pot, but I couldn’t be bothered to wait, or I might lose my nerve. So I used the biggest of my two pans, put the salmon in, covered it with water and called my brother for moral support. There it was in all it’s glory-eye staring up at me, daring me to do it. The first sips were an instant nourishing jolt to my body. I craved it and wanted more. The difficulty arose when I went to eat my soup on the couch with a movie, the way I do with my non-bone broth dishes sometimes. And it spilled. Onto my couch. And then prompted a process of couch cushion cover removal, cleaning and cursing in addition to the bone broth process. This was going to mean more than making broth-it was going to mean changing how I do even the little things.

The chicken broth wasn’t as hard. Though I did have to hound the Whole Foods butchers a few times to save me chicken bones and necks. I’m not sure what they thought of the yoga mat carrying 115 pound girl who seemed obsessed with getting chicken bones, but I was determined. My enthusiasm for chicken bone broth was a result of my salmon choice mishap, but after a few days, I couldn’t do it anymore. There’s only so much chicken you can handle before you need a little something different. I decided that anything that would make me gag wasn’t worth it if I was going to make it for the long haul.

The best one was the beef. At least that’s how I feel right now. A trusty Yelp search led me to a butcher that had grass fed marrow. It was sliced along the bone with the marrow in plain sight. I wouldn’t have to dig it out, wonder where it was or if all of my bone broth efforts were in vain because I wasn’t getting enough marrow. I figured I should throw in some meat too for protein and that if I was going to spend 36-48 hours cooking the broth I should at least have some food out of it too. So they cut me up some ribs along with some neck bones. All of it went into my new Costco oversized Crock Pot that night, believing that this bone broth was going to be a huge step towards my healing and recovery. Two mornings later I opened the lid, only to find the broth had almost all but evaporated down or been absorbed by the meat. There was enough for exactly two bowls. They were tasty, nourishing, and like medicine for my body. And by the afternoon, I called the shop again to see if they had any more marrow bones and knuckles in stock that they could set aside for me.

It has been a journey. But then again, everything is.

I have no idea how long this process will be, if I’m doing the right thing, if I should have stayed vegan and proud, or what the right tool is that my body needs in order to fully heal and thrive.

What I know for sure is that this is part of my path. It is so every bit as much as the happy parts are and just as worthy as the other challenges and experiences and opportunities to embrace, to create love and healing, freedom and liberation. I know that I can’t reject this part of me that has made me more aware, mindful, brave, able to confront life and ease into it at the same time. This is my path, vegan to bone broth and all. I’m not sure where it’ll take me, but I do know that it’s a good path, it’s a true path, and it’s the only one I’ve got.