National Vegetarian Week 2024, October 1 to 7 – https://vegsoc.org/

FOR 50 years I have been a member of a global group who follow a self-imposed diet.

But while today nobody blinks when you say you are a vegetarian, it wasn’t until fairly recently my “…if it had a mother, don’t it eat” lifestyle broke out of the confines of hippies, Fabians and Hare Krishnas.

You’d be surprised how many blank looks I got as a young man. There were friends’ parents who’d sigh and make assumptions about my family’s eccentricities.

There were teenage peers who thought it showed a lack of masculinity or suggested an alternative sexual orientation.

There were incredulous foodies and chefs who couldn’t understand I was one of “those”.

Visiting friends out of London, not that many years ago, led a call to be made to a restaurant two weeks in advance to warn they were coming with (whisper it) “…a person who neither eats meat nor fish”.

You can imagine the quiet headshakes.

The cook made me an omelette.

The days of the single menu option have gone. You can eat in all manner of exclusive and partially meat-free places.

Even hardcore, raw meat grills cater for refuseniks. But this is not always a positive.

Believe it or not, vegetarians are remarkably unfussy customers.

For way too long we’ve been told there’s one thing available (you weirdo), take it or leave it.

It takes getting used to, and a long-time vegetarian can get overwhelmed by a raft of choices. Take me to veggie chain Mildreds, and be prepared to wait a long time as I look at combinations.

So why do I impose this upon myself?

There are three major reasons people don’t eat meat.

Some do it for their health, they will give you facts about the length of our guts and the shape of our teeth and that the human body did not evolve to eat meat, about lower cholesterol, better blood pressure, less chance of certain cancers…

Then there is the ethics of killing creatures, and how they are farmed.

Finally, it is about how we manage our planet efficiently so every creature can thrive and we can provide healthy lifestyles for everyone.

But my life as a vegetarian started too early for me to know about any of these things. It happened by mistake, and 50 years on, I like it.

I come from a big family. My parents fostered children as well as had four of their own. We didn’t have meat each day. Instead, we had a Sunday chicken.

Dan Carrier

Being the youngest, and a fussy eater, my at first non-vocal refusal of a slice of the roast was greeted eagerly by siblings who got an extra mouthful.

They helpfully declared I was a vegetarian before I had myself.

The appearance of veggie Aunt Jane from Australia, my mother’s emigre sister, made it cool. Then there was the link between the rabbit hutch and plate.

Family pet Ribbon came from a neighbour who bred rabbits, and after giving us Ribbon to cuddle for the rest of her little life, they took us to their deep freeze to choose a couple of Ribbon’s relatives for our pot.

Having had it explained in blood- spurting, gut-ripping, gory detail by a food-hungry, meat-eating older brother helped.

I love my food and my diet. It adds an angle to what is on the plate, calling for creativity.

I get excited about dishes. The day my (sadly now vegan) brother-in-law made a whipped goats cheese souffle on home-baked biscuits remains a cherished memory. I think about it more often than I probably should.

I haven’t inflicted my diet on my children. I can gut a fish, prepare a chicken, beat a steak or fry bacon for my boys. It’s their choice. I am not squeamish.

I don’t mind blood and guts, and can compartmentalise Ribbon from the body on the chopping board. But there is one frustration. I can’t have a taste to check seasonings.

My decision has never directly saved the life of a farm animal, nor added a minute to my life either, but the ethics sit comfortably with me and in the grand scheme of things there’ll be many an omnivore who doesn’t enjoy their dinner as much as I do.

I must make one request: never offer me anything made by fake meat brands.

They are a crime against dining, tasteless and drab. They are also foul enough in texture to make it preferable to hunt and kill a bunny with my bare hands.