Hold the Meat: an introduction

I was born in Hawaii. That is both how I got my ridiculous name and how I became a life-long vegetarian. I don’t really know the details (mainly because I don’t want to), but the basic story is that my dad was a hippie who may or may not have at one time believed he was Jesus, and as such, decided that it was wrong to kill animals. And then I was born.

Look, growing up with a name like Kona is bad enough. Growing up in Virginia with a name like Kona and never being able to eat the same school lunch that all the other kids eat (except on pizza day), was … unpleasant. I was always separate from everyone else and to be blunt, people thought I was a freak.

The thing is, they weren’t wrong. There was the time, after all, in fourth grade that I came to school with  my neck and face covered in red blotches because I had gone out to dinner with my family the night before and my pasta had meat sauce on it. That’s the thing about growing up as a vegetarian — if you don’t have meat introduced to you gradually starting at a young age, your system flat-out cannot handle it.

I hated being a vegetarian when I was younger. We all know that the ultimate goal of primary education isn’t learning how to read or memorizing your multiplication tables: it’s to fit in, and for that, being a vegetarian sucked. After a while, I got used to the incredulous, “but what do you eat?” questions coming from friends and parents alike. As late as high school, I would have well-meaning people say things to me like, “it’s okay, it’s just fish,” or, “Big Macs don’t actually have any meat in them, so you can have one,” or, “but what about fried chicken? It’s so good.”

To this day, I’m still self-conscious about the whole vegetarian thing.  When people either get overly concerned, “Do you mind if I eat this hamburger in front of you?” or confrontational, “What do you eat? Lettuce? That’s alive too, you know.” I just smile politely and tell them that I was raised that way and I don’t care what they do, and that I don’t have some personal agenda I’m trying to push. Well, except for one.

While restaurants have gotten a lot better in recent years about putting vegetarian options on their menu (gone are the days of, “I’ll have a side salad, and, uh, the vegetable of the day”), generally speaking there are only two or three things I can choose from at any given place. This is generally fine for me, and I appreciate my pasta or my portobello mushroom sandwich, or whatever. But what drives me absolutely up the wall is when people who can have anything they want off of the entire menu, get the same damn thing every time. That’s when I get irritated.

I try so hard not to be an annoying vegetarian, only to be the person at the restaurant saying, “oh, you have steak all the time. Ooh! How about stuffed chicken breast? Get that!” Clearly, I’m  a joy to be around. Because, really. If I have no legs, I don’t want to see your fat ass cruising in a Hoveround because you’re tired of walking. Try the seafood!

In upcoming columns, I’ll talk more about growing up as a vegetarian and tackle some important debates, such as why Boca burgers suck compared to Morningstar Farms veggie burgers, talk more about meat substitutions and Veggie Versions of favorite recipes, and maybe, just maybe, answer the elusive question of “what do I eat.” (Hint: not Big Macs).

Clacked by Kona Gallagher
on Mar 06, 2009 @ 14:46 EST5EDT