LactoOvoVegetarian

When I first became a vegetarian, my uncle, the farmer, sniffed scornfully. My God-fearing grandmother stung me with a whithering look and then picked up her prayerbook. My brother cajolingly threatened to baste my pet rabbit for Thanksgiving, incessantly throwing down clever lines like "How's Hare...[insert dramatic pause and stifled boy giggle]...taste?"

That was a very long time ago—1991 to be exact. Back then, vegeburgers were a fancy futuristic food being scrutinized and sampled in far-off California, leaving me to scavenge for roots and berries in America's heartland. I spent years picking out shrimp bits at Asian restaurants that insisted the veggie-fried rice was meat-free. No matter what I ordered or where, my meals always came with a side of anxiety. Exasperated, I stuck to diners where I could get salad, fries and weak coffee. Occasionally, I headed into the city to dine anxiety-free at the Chicago Diner, a wholly vegetarian/vegan establishment—undeniably the vegetarian Mecca. On the backside of the restaurant's business cards, diners could peruse such meat-eating stats as how many chickens the average American would consume in a lifetime. I pondered these inconceivable numbers while carefully toothpicking grilled seitan from my teeth. Yes, that was a long time ago.

Today, I can ramble around the Western World without so much as a preparatory package of meat-free anything. Vegetarian fare is abundant. The food-giving public has caught up to the vegetarian way of life. Sure, there's the occasional hiccup that occurs when I let my guard down too much, like the time I ordered a cinnamon roll at a hole-in-the-wall diner on Payne Avenue. It was delivered with 2 generous slices of thick bacon garnishing the top. Lesson learned: Assume nothing.

These days, however, that sort of thing is truly an anomaly. There are more vegetarian choices out there than I can shake a stick at. Last night, in fact, we grilled plump fauxsage and smacked our lips approvingly as we licked spicy dijon mustard from our fingers. Packaged meat-free foods* are worlds different than they used to be, too. Carnivore friends have sworn that fake meat products (e.g., chorizo) are actually better than the real thing. Once we even sneaked tofu into a key-lime pie—completely unbeknownst to my brother who warns us regularly that he'll die instantly if tofu ever breaches his body. He continues to live in ignorance [insert girl chuckle and mischievous wink].

*Excludes Tofurky, a most disgusting concoction.