- Are you vegan?
The man asking is in his thirties, with long dark hair and a tattoo sticking out from under his collar. He is not exactly hostile, but he looks at me with a certain suspicion. Like a predator encircling a wounded animal before deciding whether to go for the kill.
- No, no, I'm not.
I answer, sensing it is what he wants to hear. My assumptions are correct. He quickly extends his hand for a handshake and says:
- Goodman!
He nods towards the stage where a bunch of vegans are having a small seminar and continues.
- They are just too much, too extreme. Right?
I smile and nod at him, tilting my head a bit to be able to hear what my friends are saying on the stage.
One of them humbly claims that he has done his own research and is merely the presenter of the TRUTH! Another explains how she loves animals, all animals, and doesn't distinguish between a cat and a cow; if she can't kill a cat for food, she can't have someone else slaughter a cow for her. A soft-spoken army veteran says he does not wish to take a life if it is not necessary; he does not have a right to terminate a living being just because of his taste buds. They go on sharing their experiences and thoughts for another 30 minutes. That evening most of the standard arguments for veganism is presented in a calm, friendly, and unjudgmental fashion.
My new meat-eating friend pokes me with his elbow and growls:
- And why do they have to shove it down our throats? This is like a Satanist cult! It just makes me want to shut them up!
I'm glad I gave him the acceptable answer. Of course, if this little meat-eating chip monkey would have gotten aggressive, I could totally have taken him down. Back then, I was a meat eater too, with six hours of Krav Maga training; rough and tough, a real predator of the savannah. I was bulked up with animal protein and always had a piece of raw flesh stuck in my teeth. Those days are gone. If any rumbling would happen today, me being a vegan, I would be as good as dead. After giving up animal products, I've lost part of my manhood, I cry a lot, and always end up talking about my feelings. The killer instinct is gone.
Not long after this vegan seminar, I officially went on an entirely plant-based diet. Publicly I claimed that the reason for my decision was my desperate attempt to impress the hot vegan chicks. To some degree, this was true; to most extent, it failed miserably. I would probably have given veganism a go regardless of the buzzing trend.
Back in the good old days, I used to eat a typical Finnish diet consisting of meat, fish, eggs, milk, low-quality sausages, potatoes, and lots of rye bread. But during the previous ten years, I had gradually changed towards a more plant-based diet; the adjustment to go full vegan was not that revolutionary.
My biggest challenge had been to give up dairy products, especially milk. Back in my special force days, I could easily jug down half a gallon of milk and top it off with two cups of yogurt. Meat, especially red meat, I had cut down on almost entirely. Generally, I was going more for quality than quantity. How the meat had been produced had also become increasingly important. I enjoyed my occasional meat treats wholeheartedly. I even timed my decision to publicly go vegan until after my annual visit to my hunter friend. Only after feasting on decaying deer meat for a week was I ready to sell my soul to Satan.
When I was about three weeks into my vegan experiment, I was staying at my friend's house, who is also my vegan mentor. My cravings for meat surprised me; at times, they were almost unbearable. As my host was babbling on in the kitchen about the importance of vitamin B12 and the fantastic taste of nutritional yeast, I was laying on the couch with her dog Figaro in my lap. She, the dog not the host, was an eager cuddler and had squeezed herself in between my legs and was now happily laying in my lap sniffing my armpit.
As I listened to the nutritional sermon echoing from down the hallway, I looked out of the window and could not help but noticing the barbeque grill. I slowly dipped into daydreaming about bacon and cheese, jamón and lamb leg, grilled chicken and smoked flounder, scrambled eggs, and elk roast. Nothing beats that sweet smell of burning fatty flesh. My hand instinctively navigated itself towards the throat of Figaro. She was calm and did not resist; she peacefully made snobbling sounds. Without thinking about it, I repositioned my right leg in order to put Figaro in a perfect position for a bow and arrow choke. My right hand opened up to maximum width around her windpipe as my left hand slowly started stroking the top of her head. I casually compressed my legs against her body. I could feel her heartbeat and her breathing through my chest. She was relaxed and did not seem to sense the impending danger.
- Kim! Are you even listening? Are you drooling?!
I woke up with a jerk from my wonderfully meaty dream as my host walked into the living room. Poor Figaro was as startled as I was by the sudden outburst and commotion and jumped on top of the other couch wildly barking. Maybe she did sense some danger after all?
- Yeah, I, I think I fell asleep...
I said as I dried off the drool from my chin with the sleeve of my t-shirt.
As I walked to the kitchen to get a third serving of that amazing tofu salad, desperately hoping to satisfy my hunger, I smiled to myself. I could not help but think about the vegans who claim that eating meat is not natural for humans. Right then and there I could easily have choked little Figaro while twisting her spine till it cracked. I would have ripped out her liver and eaten it with some fava beans and a nice Chianti without hesitation. Needless to say, my meat cravings were real.
Most of my dog murdering lusts disappeared after a while. Even though Figaro was more cautious around me, we became friends again. I soon got used to the vegan regime and did not really have to fight it. Laziness occasionally got the best of me, and sometimes a piece of cheese got lost into my mouth. But most of the time, I ate home cooked fulfilling vegan dishes, and after eating my first Impossible Burger, I realized that I didn't really need the real stuff any longer. I really could not tell the difference. Delicious!
So, did anything else change during my six months as a vegan? Do I feel healthier? Did the feeling of being morally more superior somehow make me feel better? As my rather militant vegan friend had assured me as soon as I came out from my meat-eating closet.
The last half year has arguably brought with it some health benefits. I've lost some weight, I have had more energy, the tiredness around my eyes is less visible, my rashes behind my knees and around my ankles are almost gone, I've slept better, I've had more sex, (the word "more" is optional here), I got into reading again and cooking and studying. I have even cut down on my original sin of trolling on Facebook! And on top of it all, some of my friends have said that I look younger. Based on this, one could surely say that it was an immeasurably good decision for me to go vegan!
Or was it? I might have exaggerated a bit about the sex part, but other than that, my little story is truthful. But could there be other reasons for this positive health transformation? Maybe I was just once again able to use my placebomanic skills without even realizing it? But that is another story.
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