Well I’m done. I ate only plants for two whole weeks. I must admit I did cheat on two occasions. I unknowingly ate a cookie with some sort of processed egg product in it. I read the package after the cookie was eaten. I felt bad about that. Then I ate a veggie burger with lots of veggies on it at a vegetarian restaurant only to realize half way through that garlic mayo isn’t vegan. I finished the burger and went home. I felt bad about that one too.
Here’s what I learned.
Eating vegan doesn’t make me lose weight; it actually made me gain a little. It doesn’t help me get out of bed in the morning as some have claimed. It doesn’t improve my energy level, it doesn’t give me superpowers like that guy in Scott Pilgrim, and after two weeks I was still totally craving the dead bloody flesh of my fellow semi-sentient earthlings, my genetic brothers and sisters. It didn’t really change my life at all except that shopping for food is really annoying. One thing has changed now that It’s over though.
Meat is now poison for me.
That’s right. After two weeks off the stuff, every time I have tried to eat meat it rots my guts and uses all my bog roll. This veganism experiment, then, has had an entirely negative impact on my life, making some things much worse and nothing really any better. I suspect that in the future I’ll continue to eat meat only occasionally, each time swearing to myself that I won’t do it again. In the end, perhaps my culinary love and digestive hatred of dead animal will be good for my heart.
Here’s a short message to meat eaters:
Just because I don’t eat meat doesn’t mean that I am an animal rights advocate (Conversely, just because you do eat meat, you are at least a little immoral.) It doesn’t mean I like to wear hemp, it doesn’t mean I enjoy the musical stylings of Jack Johnson, it doesn’t mean I like to smoke drugs, it doesn’t mean anything. There are a myriad of reasons not to eat meat.