When I lived in London, the best thing about Mad Cow Disease was that the whole of the UK suddenly became vegetarian friendly. When there’s a chance a steak could turn your brain into a sloppy sponge, an asparagus quiche quickly becomes a more attractive option.
I’ve lived in Sydney for ten years, and for such a metropolitan city, Sydney has a surprising lack of choices for vegetarians. I’ve lost count of the times that I’ve gone for a pub meal only to find that the only option is a bowl of chips, which are generally fried in animal fat or smothered in chicken salt.
“A hamburger with the lot, no meat” sounds like the punch-line to a bad joke but it’s usually all I can eat when I’m in country towns.
I’m not sure why Sydney doesn’t cater to vegetarians. If I had to guess I’d say it’s because meat is cheap and plentiful in Australia and it’s part of our national psyche to enjoy a good steak. The nation developed on the sheep’s back, so it seems natural to turn around and eat it.
I’m not a true vegetarian, which does make eating out slightly less arduous than following a strict vegetarian diet (I could never follow any eating plan described as “strict”). I eat fish and seafood, I just don’t eat animals or birds of any sort. The reasons are bourgeois rather than ethical – I don’t like the taste, texture or the way digesting meat makes me feel.
The thought of eating muscles and flesh is as incomprehensible to me as cannibalism probably is to meat-eaters; I’m sure the majority of omnivores couldn’t imagine gnawing on a human thigh, no matter how perfectly marinated in red wine jus.
A lot of omnivores, especially chefs and gastronomers, pity vegetarians as they get so much pleasure from meat – pleasure they think we’re missing out on. They think of deprivation rather than enhancement. I personally think I get more enjoyment from eating vegetables, tofu and legumes than they could ever get from meat.
The combination of rocket, parmesan and pears can make my eyes roll back in my head. Chickpeas with roughly chopped mint, a squeeze of lemon juice and Murray River salt-flakes can induce a temporary loss of speech. I like to think that with a lack of meat my taste-buds have had to evolve to be more sensitive to subtle and delicate flavours.
My biggest gripe about the meat culture in Sydney is the way some Australian men take being vegetarian as a personal attack on their manhood. I dread revealing my proclivities at BBQs as invariably some boofy bloke will make it his mission to show me that I’m wrong about not eating meat.
Now, the said boofy bloke is usually ten kilograms overweight, sweaty and red-faced, and so unfit that he’d be gasping for breath after a walk from the BBQ to the fridge, but he’ll make damn sure I understand that I’m the unhealthy one in denial.
The conversation inevitably follows a template; I will be told that we’ve evolved to be at the top of the food chain and our bodies were designed to eat meat. I’ll be informed that cavemen ate meat and it’s completely natural. Then I’ll be told about how much iron meat has and how I can’t possibly be getting enough vitamins and minerals from vegetables.
I usually sigh at this point because I know what’s coming next. The crowning argument, which every person believes to be original. Here it comes. Hitler was a vegetarian.
Yes, believe it or not, this is something that people really believe could change my dietary decisions. A psychotic megalomanic who died 65 years ago didn’t eat meat, thereby invalidating every single vegetarian’s personal gastronomic choice since then.
It seems pointless to counter that the majority of serial killers (nay, most evil people in the world) were carnivores.
So Sydney, you’re a beautiful city, but you drive me crazy. You have so much bountiful farmland, fresh produce and mild seasons yet you insist that I can only eat chips or a deep-fried cardboard vegeburger. You have a vast melting pot of Asian, Middle Eastern and European immigrants but you still think that chicken is vegetarian. Your men will work the BBQ but they will insist that it has to be meat, and salads are for poofs. And your hamburger-with-the-lot-no-meat will occasionally include bacon.
Written by Cheryl Gledhill
You can write!
Very funny, but made me cringe – I think I may have been that boofy guy once or twice!
Thanks again so much for the site!
Nicely put, Cheryl. While I don’t think I was ever the boofy bloke trying to set you right, I did find vegetarianism weird when I first came across it. A daughter who’s never eaten meat (now 18) and a few years running a restaurant have sorted me out. Now I think I’ve seen every food preference/fetish/medical/religious requirement. And none of them fuss me any more: just tell me what’s important to you and I’ll accommodate it.
I do bridle when (as has happened!) someone describes themselves as “a moral vegetarian”. So they got the response they deserved: “That’s fine, I understand. I’m a moral meat eater.”
One more thing: you may not be aware that there’s a “law” in online discussions that says any argument will ultimately end up with one party invoking Hitler to support their argument.
The protocol is that, as soon as this happens, the discussion ends and the person who mentioned Hitler is automatically deemed to have lost the argument.
Try this on the anti-veg lobby!
Ha, I love the moral meat eater! That’s fantastic.