No meat for you! Post writer Christina Amoroso (seen here at Candle 79 in Manhattan) was surprised by the benefits — weight loss, clear skin and no headaches. (Imogen Brown)
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I love meat. In a typical workweek, I eat burgers or pork dumplings for lunch and chicken fajitas for dinner. Sunday afternoons are for cooking up a pot of Bolognese. My carnivorous ways can even be traced back to the womb: While my mother was pregnant with me, one of her regular cravings was steak and potatoes.
So when I decided to go vegan for two weeks, it raised a few eyebrows. To me, it seemed like the ultimate challenge: On a bet, I went vegetarian for a week in early February and I wanted to take it a step further. And as a self-professed foodie, there’s no better way to gain a new appreciation for fruit and vegetables. But could I really go meat-, egg- and dairy-free?
Veganism has lately become an It word in Hollywood, with boldfacers like Natalie Portman and Mike Tyson embracing the diet. Self-proclaimed meat lover Jessica Simpson was spotted leaving a vegan restaurant in New York City a few weeks ago with her fiance, football star Eric Johnson, who’s vegan. And recently, 378 Oprah staffers took up the Queen of Talk’s challenge to go vegan for a week — and lost a collective 444 pounds.
Even the rogue Bronx Zoo cobra has a vested interest in veganism: On Monday, its fake Twitter account posted, “Anyone know of a good vegan restaurant near Union Square?”
The USDA is also jumping on the bandwagon: In January, it released updated guidelines which recommended a “shift . . . toward a more plant-based diet.”
On the first day of my life as a vegan, I had to change my coffee habit. I’ve always been a half and half devotee, shunning alternatives such as soy or almond milk. Messing with my beloved beverage was a horrifying thought, so I tasted a little bit of Silk on its own before adding it to my coffee. To my surprise, it was smooth and slightly sweet.
“I can get on board with this,” I told my roommate, who was amused by my initial fear of the soy bean. When I got to the office later, I heated up some instant oatmeal and threw in some dried berries for breakfast. “This experiment is going to be a piece of dairy-free cake,” I thought. “I can do this.”
After work, I hit BabyCakes, a Lower East Side vegan bakery, which whips up gluten-free desserts containing no refined sugar or animal products — and when I sampled the store’s vanilla cupcake with agave nectar frosting, it tasted just as decadent as the ones at my typical cupcake joint, Crumbs.
Overall, though, dining in New York is great when you’re an omnivore — but not if you’re a vegan. Options are limited, and waiters are hostile to any inquiries. On day three, I was able to find vegetarian dishes (potstickers and a veggie burger) at a restaurant on Long Island, but I had to ask the waitress — apologetically — if there were eggs or dairy in either.
She gave me a perplexed look, said, “Umm . . . I’ll check for you,” and retreated to the kitchen. Even though I was in luck, she obviously didn’t fully understand what vegan means: The french fries she served me were sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.
A few days later, I interrogated a waiter at Fig & Olive about whether their bread contained eggs. (Service was noticeably spotty for the rest of our meal, and I wondered if he was trying to placate me when he said the carrot soup wasn’t made with chicken stock or a cream base.)
The torture didn’t end there. At a restaurant opening on the Upper West Side, I had to sidestep the hors d’oeuvres — which included medium-rare mini-burgers — and satisfy myself with a mostly liquid dinner of Old Fashioneds and a handful of sweet and spicy cashews, which, I found out later, were roasted in duck fat. (Oops.) And at a family dinner with only four days left to go, I had to forgo corned beef and baked ziti and rely on a meal of potatoes and green beans instead.
But with one day left in the experiment, I came to a shocking realization: I wasn’t having much trouble being vegan anymore. My journey was painful at first, with visions of hamburgers dancing in my head. Now, I felt healthier: Despite the fact I didn’t hit the treadmill and was too busy for my twice-weekly Zumba, Masala Bhangra and yoga classes, I dropped about four pounds. I felt more alert than before, my almost-daily afternoon headaches disappeared and my extremely sensitive, breakout-prone skin magically cleared itself up.
There were mental changes, too: My thinking shifted from what I couldn’t eat to all the wonderful, new things I normally wouldn’t dream of trying — such as a Moroccan-spiced chickpea cake at Upper East Side vegan eatery Candle 79, and sliced seitan in a ginger marinade at Greenwich Village vegetarian restaurant Gobo. (Both restaurants have more than one location.)
Although I’m not ready to commit to a life of veganism — or even vegetarianism (as soon as the experiment was over I gorged on DBGB’s burger trio with relish) — I’ve been enjoying a more meat-free existence. I’ve ditched the lunchtime burgers for whole-wheat pasta, and I’ve learned to embrace the joys of cooking black bean and corn stew. (And because my grocery bills are lower, my bank account appreciates it, too.)
A more open mind and a few pounds lost? I’ll take it.