The Musings of a Former Vegetarian

Brianna Wippman

I was a vegetarian for 15 years. It’s crazy to think as I write this, that’s exactly half of my life. When I was ten, I had one of those eye-opening realizations that the chicken on my plate was synonymous with a moving, breathing bird and the animal lover in me had to politely decline.

Over those next 15 years, I tried to figure out what it meant to be vegetarian. I knew I was doing some good in helping the environment and contributing to a more humane treatment of animals. But what I didn’t know was what to eat other than pasta, bean and cheese quesadillas, and more pasta. Vegetables didn’t define my “vegetarianism” as much as “no meat” did.

Ten years into my no meat lifestyle, I moved to Paris and called the city home for four years. At every restaurant or dinner party, I felt out of place. I couldn’t simply order a meal as written on the menu or sample beautiful homemade dishes that smelled so incredible. “Pas de viande, pas de poisson” became my constant refrain: “No meat, no fish.” I would get side glances of confusion and felt that I was disrupting a cultural barrier. It was incomprehensible that I wouldn’t try the canard or foie gras or lapin that my host mom’s mother had worked so hard to prepare. Instead, I was offered a sad plate (by French standards) of crudités, or a frozen veggie burger (that my host mom made fun of but said was the only thing she could find to feed me).

This feeling of unease when turning down food, and more importantly, experiences, only grew when I moved to New York City and landed my first job at Food & Wine magazine. I was thrilled to be starting a career in publishing and even more so at such an esteemed magazine. I felt so lucky — and like an imposter. “I can’t tell my co-workers,” I’d explain to my friends, “being vegetarian is my dirty secret.” And it was. There were endless tastings in the test kitchen with famous chefs and press events where I’d sneakily try to eat around what I could so as not to touch the meat or fish and it just felt wrong.

On a cold night in February, I found myself at an intimate press dinner where the farmers and purveyors spoke about the meal we would be having that night. We were shown a slideshow of the farm and the happy lambs that were able to roam free. I chatted with my neighbors and  before I could even wrap my head around what I was doing, I took a bite of the lamb chops in front of me. It was divine. Melt-in-your mouth divine. And so I had a few more bites. I expected my stomach to revolt but shockingly, it didn’t.  

If I told you I was now a happy omnivore all day every day I’d be lying. There is still a part of me that hesitates when glancing at a menu (I used to ignore the meat and fish sections and still feel paralyzed by all of the choices now available) and sometimes I do question if I’m being true to myself when I don’t know where the meat comes from. I do my best to buy locally and eat at restaurants who source sustainably, but life isn’t perfect and it’s not always possible.

I returned to Paris last year and made it a point to have dinner with my host mom. When I arrived, I saw she had the vegetarian burgers out ready for me, and I boldly and proudly took the fish instead.
Ultimately, I think we can all do with everything in our lives, in moderation. And food is such a valuable, empowering way to create bonds and share experiences.

Looking back, 15 years as a vegetarian wasn’t a mistake, I just apparently really mis(sed)-steak.