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My son and daughter-in-law are vegans. Serious vegans! I know it’s better for the planet and ethical to respect all living things, but it’s a challenge for this grandmother and long-time accomplished cook to adapt. Before the term “foodie” was even invented, in my 20s I was a passionate and inventive chef and diner. My inspiration: the recipes of Julia Child — yes, with all that butter and chicken and beef!
At 70, I am still at happiest when I am creating in my kitchen. What I have always strived to do as a mom is to lovingly serve my kids their favorite dishes, which happen to be packed with dairy and meat. Showing that I care with food is my language of love.
My father became a vegetarian and gave up fats when he discovered he had heart disease. One Thanksgiving, my sister and I caught him slyly heaping a mountain of buttered mashed potatoes onto his plate. We scolded him a bit, and he replied, miffed, “It’s a diet and not a religion.” I quoted that to my son and daughter-in-law thinking the wisdom of their beloved grandfather would mean something to them, but they said, “We don’t feel that way.”
They are proud of their shared faith and devotion to veganism, supporting one another with their steadfast abstention. Their commitment to not killing or abusing animals is now part of who they are. Not just a casual leaning — they are as strict as Orthodox Jews, who separate meat and dairy with two kitchens.
To me they are depriving themselves of some of the great cultural experiences in life — the exotic recipes from around the globe adventurous omnivores devour. More importantly, they are depriving themselves of my great home cooking! Oh, how I want to dish up my specialties; lasagna with home-made pasta layered with creamy bechamel, my chocolate mousse cake, my flan. They even turn up their noses to the fresh eggs from my happy pet hens.
It breaks my heart, and I confess — it hurts my feelings. I feel rejected when they won’t let me nurture them with the foods I know I prepare to perfection. But, when I think about it, I know that’s wrong — it’s just their choice of how to be better human beings and I should be proud of them for that.
I raised our children to be thoughtful, sensitive people so of course they don’t want to kill animals unnecessarily. Reared on meat and potatoes and rich pasta dishes, our generation didn't use words like “sustainable” when it came to meals. My parents encouraged us, made us, eat what we were served. My vegan kids remind me that now, in my elder years, I should adhere to their program.
I was taught that it was good manners, at home and when going out, to appreciate whatever landed on my plate, and to thank the server. Beyond my own children, when I invite guests over the responses almost always come with some dietary restrictions. My mother would have restricted our TV time if we complained about the food. She’d say, “This isn’t a restaurant!” I wonder how she would have fared with the gluten-free, vegetarian, vegan and pescatarian guests we host these days.
I’m trying to evolve, though frankly, as a host, I haven’t embraced the new culture of pick-and-choose eating.
However, I have learned to get a specific grocery list from my daughter-in-law and stock the fridge with fake meat, lots of tofu and all sorts of ingredients that behave like eggs, melt like butter and resemble bacon. It is expensive!
When I visit them in New York City, I treat them to their favorite vegan restaurants. And I do admit the top vegan chefs make amazingly delicious food. But after a half-century of cooking anything and everything, my way, catering to my much-loved vegans is exhausting.
My son gets annoyed with me if I serve what I think complies with his rules, and the offering turns out to be a mistake. He turns over the cracker box and finds a tiny line about “homogenized whey," an obscure dairy product. “Now I don’t trust you," he says when my lax understanding of the vegan religion has been outed. “I’m not a scientist,” I protest. “Who could see that tiny print so far down the list?”
I’m making slow progress. For the last holiday dinner, I baked a nut-and-mushroom-stuffed zucchini encased in a squash, trussed together like the turkey. Preparing it felt like love to me and seeing them eat it heartily made my heart soar. Then, the couple gave me glowing praise for my vegan almond cake. Even some of the non-vegans stole slices of this dessert.
For my son’s recent surprise visit, I quickly conjured up a chocolate cake thinking I had figured out how to make vegan substitutions. It was a hilarious disaster. Too much oil turned it into a charred, pock-holed, burnt pancake. We all laughed, and he warmly thanked me for trying and recommended his favorite cookbook, PETA's Mastering the Art of Vegan Cooking.
While I will continue to vegan-ize my culinary skills, I will never understand how anyone can live without roast beef and runny French cheeses.
Are any of you vegans or vegetarians? Let us know in the comments below.
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