Gustation rebellion
The day I went vegetarian, I ate meat twice. I’d been out to dinner the night before, a last hurrah at a dining event by Cazador at Coco’s Cantina, and I had a leftover box of pulled-hare pasta. It smelt so gamey it was almost sickening; so obviously a once-alive thing. It was about the worst thing I could have eaten to show how seriously I was taking this lifestyle change. I also had a chicken matzo ball soup from The Fed because it’s my favourite and I wanted it.
Attempting vegetarianism is FOMO, three times a day. So far, I hate it. Every day, I think about how much I hate it, this self-imposed ring-fencing of joy. There’s this place by my office that makes the yummiest pork ramen I’ve ever eaten. It’s smoky and rich, packed with umami and incredible depth of flavour; I
