One of probably the most traumatic moments of my life was once I was forced to eat a ball of bean sprouts. These weren't mung beans: They were thicker and squirmed menacingly from their crunchy yellow seeds, looking like imploding Tribbles from the classic Star Trek episode. They also gave off sulphur fumes that made all the children gag. But there was no escape.
“You must not leave the table until you have eaten this,” my uncle explained. It was 1979. My family had just immigrated to California and was staying with him and my aunt. That evening he was answerable for feeding me, my siblings, and his own children because my mother and her sister – the same old and really achieved cooks – were away. If the smell was bad, swallowing it was even worse. “We ate this during the war,” he said sternly. That made us feel even worse: the considered all of the ravenous children in Japanese-occupied Asia who had nothing else on the menu.
I've at all times been more of a carnivore, and people sprouts didn't persuade me to offer up chops and steaks. In the years that followed, a generation of vegan and vegetarian activists didn't take kindly to me either. They meant well with their catalogues of dietary facts and statistics about saving the planet. But they often ended up getting shrill, talking all the way down to meat-eaters as if we were pre-sapiens, after which offering us literal mush. “Would it kill you to eat vegetables?” they said. I replied, “Maybe not, but the thing you're putting on my plate might.”
So I used to be intrigued by a brand new initiative in Denmark to advertise vegetables amongst a population that prefers meat and fish (and fried Camembert!). Fascinatingly, as my Bloomberg News colleague Sanne Wass says in her deliciously researched story, the literature distributed by the Plant Fund avoids words like “vegetarian” and “vegan”—and no numerical or statistical targets have been set. Instead, the $100 million in government funding is being put into encouragement and incentive, and the difficult art of convincing those that eating just a little more greens will actually improve their dining experience. No one is asking you to offer up meat—you’re just asking so as to add variety to your food plan. As Sanne says, “Getting people in high-income countries to eat less meat has been singled out as one of the most important ways to help the planet. Giving up beef for a single meal can cut a person’s carbon footprint for that day by almost half.”
This casual, taste-focused approach to vegetables is completely preferable to the doctrinaire approach. The example of India springs to mind, where religious groups try to force vegan menus on children in public schools, regardless that they’re already among the many worst-nourished on this planet. An egg is probably the most effective solution to provide protein to growing children, but that’s banned in lots of parts of the country. Ironically, India also has the biggest cattle population on this planet since the animal is taken into account sacred and allowed to roam freely anywhere. Cows account for a big proportion of the 14.5% of worldwide greenhouse gas emissions attributable to livestock.
In Denmark, the Plant Fund is using food festivals and cooking classes to bring more vegetables to the national dinner table. Some of Denmark's best-known and critically acclaimed restaurants are on the forefront here, most notably Rene Redzepi's Noma (which hosts a vegetable season yearly, which I'll be having fun with again in a number of weeks) and Geranium, which Sanne mentions in her article. But perhaps crucial restaurant within the slow shift to vegetables is Blue Hill at Stone Barns in New York. I used to hate carrots until chef Dan Barber served me a single, tiny carrot from his farm within the upstate. It was like candy—a sweetness all its own, and in contrast to some other carrot I'd ever eaten. That was about 20 years ago. I still approach carrots with some trepidation, but not with outright aversion—and I'm at all times thrilled when Barber sends them my way. Blue Hill also raises (and serves) its own animals. But the vegetables are incredibly good.
London has cutting-edge vegetarian restaurants too. I had the prospect to try the dishes at Plates, a brand new eatery from Kirk Haworth, who was named “Champion of Champions” in the newest edition of the BBC's Great British Menu. The menu is just not vegan, but almost entirely plant-based (with a homemade ricotta being the closest nod to animal protein). Even the butter, which comes with an incredible layered bread, is created from spirulina algae. It's green, but totally convincing. The restaurant has only just opened, but has been fully booked for months.
I won't hand over meat, but my love of vegetables should grow, to paraphrase Andrew Marvell. If chefs focus their talents on plants, more of my meals might be vegetarian – without me feeling like I'm missing out on pleasure. I can have my steak and eat it too. Just less often.
image credit : www.mercurynews.com