I was having lunch in the lounge at school and the
conversation was centering around meatless patties. I mentioned that my
favorite wraps at Scovie’s in Charlevoix are the Veggie Burger Burrito and the
Oriental Chicken Salad Wrap without chicken.
“Oh, are
you a Vegetarian?” my co-worker asked.
“No. I just
don’t eat meat.” I responded.
“You’re not
a vegetarian, but you don’t eat meat?”
“I like to
keep my options open.”
I’ve been on this ‘to meat or not to meat’ journey for
several years now. What began as a digestive issue that demanded an extreme
dietary change has evolved into somewhat of a personal choice. I just choose to
not eat meat now. As I navigated my way from vegan to vegetarian, to
not-a-vegetarian, I found out it’s easier for me to not limit myself with
labels. If I’m a vegan or a vegetarian, I can’t eat turkey at Thanksgiving or ham
at Christmas. I can’t eat a bowl of someone else’s chili because it’s nearly
impossible to get all of the little meat bits out (plus that little pile of
meat bits on the napkin are just gross). A bowl of chicken noodle soup isn’t
fun if I have to worry about those tiny shreds of chicken and if I accidently
ingest one, it’s OK because I’m not a vegetarian, am I? I’m not even going to
attempt to pick the ground beef out of my mom’s lasagna. I’m just not. It’s not
happening.
I also
found that being a dinner guest was tricky when I had a label. “What can’t you
eat?” was a common question. I found my hostess trying to come up with a
special menu to accommodate my “dietary restrictions.” I really don’t like it
when people make a fuss over me. I have found I can quietly take the salad, the
potatoes, the roll, and the bread without anyone noticing that I didn’t take
any meat when I’m not a vegetarian. Plus, I’m enjoying the new found freedom
that comes with not being a vegetarian. If I want a bite of bacon, I have one.
If I want to have a rib or chicken wing that Tom just made (he’s a genius with
chicken wings and ribs by the way) I have one. If I want to have a piece of
pepperoni pizza with the pepperoni picked off but I accidently missed a bit
baked in the cheese, I eat that too. I refer to a friend of mine as “My niece
that’s not really my niece” because she’s my sister-in-law’s niece, so close
enough, right? So if you have to call me something, call me “a vegetarian
that’s not really a vegetarian,” or better yet, just call me Dawn.
