Venturing into Vege-sorta-terianism

Last night I tried a new recipe for dinner: Vegan Sloppy Joes.

The “vegan” part of the recipe went straight out the window the moment I decided a trip to the grocery store for vegetable stock was out of the question: the beef stock in my cabinet would have to do.

This is precisely why I’ll never embrace veganism. I’m simply too lazy and don’t have the discipline required.

But vegetarianism? My fickle stomach might have the discipline to pull that off, at least for a while. For the past month or so, we’ve introduced meatless lasagna, meatless pizza, and veggie soups into our menu rotation, with no complaints. We’ve upped our salad game, too. Crunchy embellishments to sprinkle over the top make greens much more appetizing.

I married a wholesome, meat-eating, corn-fed Nebraska boy who enjoys his meat and potatoes. But we’re not in our twenties anymore, and it’s time to take better care of ourselves.

Our kids were introduced to the notion of meat sweats at an early age, sitting at the dinner table after a lavish steak dinner. (“Momma, why is Daddy sweating?”) It turns out meat sweats are not a recognized medical condition, but they are real, nonetheless. I have both witnessed and experienced meat sweats more than a few times. Turns out a lot of heat is generated while you’re metabolizing all that protein.

Since I was already googling “meat sweats,” I decided to google meat consumption in the U.S. The USDA reports that American consume an average of 57 pounds of beef per person per year.

Fifty-seven pounds. Of. Beef.

In 2021, Americans consumed 68.1 pounds of chicken per person.

That’s a lot of meat sweats. I don’t have the stomach to google how many pounds of pork Americans typically eat a year, given the ubiquity of bacon. You’ll have to hunt that information down for yourself.

Back when we were newly married, we lived in the shadow (or should I say beneath the stench) of a giant feedlot for beef cattle. A nearly undetectable shift in the wind pattern could make the difference between a normal day and a day marinated in toxic odors, a smell so pungent that it permeates your clothing, hair, and on really bad days, your taste buds.

Driving past the overcrowded feedlot was downright depressing. A sea of beef cattle were jammed together as far as the eye could see, standing in their own muck. Their sad eyes stared blankly as they chewed their cud. I worried that, instead of happy cow thoughts of grazing in a field of clover, they already knew their much darker destiny.

I get it, universe. We’re facing the facts: meat isn’t great for heart health, it isn’t great for the environment, and it definitely isn’t great for the air quality in rural towns nestled beside corporate feedlots. Lately, after eating meat, my husband and I feel sick and plagued with regret. How many times do we have to say, “I shouldn’t have eaten that whole burger!” before we learn? We know we don’t easily pass up an opportunity for fried chicken or an Italian Beef.

I can’t claim to be a fast learner.

So while I’ve decided to cut back on the meat in my diet, I still haven’t decided on my level of commitment. Pescatarian (a vegetarian diet + fish) could be good, considering my love for salmon. But I think the proper term for what I’d like to adopt is a “plant-forward diet,” which will lean heavily toward meatless dishes except in rare circumstances, where a little beef or chicken will get tossed in with grains and veggies.

I prefer the term “Vege-sorta-terianism.”

The No-Longer-Vegan-But-Still-Meatless Sloppy Joes turned out pretty well. The basic concept was replacing the ground beef with lentils. Seasonings, onion, and tomatoes plus barbecue sauce on a toasted bun resulted in a tasty dinner that didn’t elicit meat sweats.

If I didn’t look too closely or wasn’t told what was on my plate, I might have been tricked into thinking for a moment that I was actually eating a sloppy joe. But I don’t think this will work for me if I approach a plant-forward diet as a game of deception. It should be about eating more foods that grow from the ground and enjoying them as they are.

What I’m going for is moderation, but how I get there remains to be seen. Follow-through is not my forte. How long can I even go without a hankering for a hamburger? I’ll set my sights low. I’m definitely willing to try. Well, sorta.