Lisa's Vegan Murphy's Law, or: But I ...

In response to Lisa's Vegan Murphy's Law:

But I only eat salad.
There is no protein in my diet.
I am anaemic. So wan.
I cannot lift the spoon to my mouth because I am so weak.
I have wasted muscles.
I only eat organic, biodynamic fruit that has fallen from a tree.
I sneer at Level 5 vegans.
I crave bloody flesh and secretly devour it at any opportunity.
I cannot truly envisage a life without chocolate and cheese.
I am mightily tempted by "but it's a just a little bit of ...".
I cannot cook.
I do not enjoy eating.
I do not understand the Circle of Life (although Simba has promised to explain it to me).
If only I got to raise a lamb as a child and then slaughter it for Sunday dinner I wouldn't be squeamish.
I cannot satisfactorily answer the question "But if we all stopped eating meat then what would happen to all the cows, huh?".
I am swayed by your arguments about our dominance in the food chain.
Because I care about animal rights I automatically do not care about human rights.
I am "just going too far".
I enjoy criticising my hosts and their food.
I love to preach and lecture.
I never encounter obnoxious omnis who bait me and wait for just one response, which qualifies as preaching and lecturing on my behalf.

Sadly, sadly, or: I well

I've had my first vegan food related cry.

I'm not an emotional person and as a rule my teary moments are restricted to funerals and times of self-induced self-pity. It's just not something that comes easily to me and I try hard to keep a publicly positive demeanor most of the time. I don't well up and I don't sob.

A recent work retreat had me otherwise. A number of factors contributed to a bittersweet few days, including the departure of a good friend and colleague across the ditch, but it was really the food that got me.

Last year we went to the same venue and I only attended for one day. The buffet lunch was not vegan-friendly but ever prepared, I had brought my own green bag full of Saladas, Nuttelex, Vegemite and Tofutti slices which kept me full. This year, staying for two days, I knew that our branch's efficient and thoughtful EA had already arranged a vegan menu for me (thanks Sarah) , including an excellent looking dinner, and I was more hopeful of a better spread at lunch. Just in case, Scout-like, I still brought my little green bag.

And I needed it. Nothing on the buffet was ok except for some dried apricots and dates (and the ubiquitous mixed green salad). Some items were labelled and vegetarian and gluten free, and I assumed that if they went to that trouble, then anything vegan would also be labelled. Bucking up, I ate my Saladas and Vegemite at the table once again.

I returned to my room feeling downhearted, but confused about why I was taking it so hard. I'm more than used to having limited options; indeed having made my choices it's not something I really like to make a fuss about. I'm used to eating different food from everyone else at the table, and I'm used to being prepared and BYOing. And then I realised that I was embarrassed.

It was a shock. I am not embarrassed of my veganism - I am proud and happy to talk about it until I'm blue in the face. But I was embarrassed to sit at the table amongst my friends and colleagues and have to pull food out of my own bag and make it in front of them. I was embarrassed that I had nothing nice to eat. I was embarrassed to be the centre of attention. I was embarrassed to be receiving stares and comments. I was embarrassed to have to explain why I couldn't eat the roast vegetables (butter) or bread (milk solids, whey, egg). I was embarrassed that people would think that vegans never get to eat good food and that it must be so very difficult, when I really try to tell people that it's not.

If it was a problem to cater for me, then I wouldn't have minded, but I would have made sure that I had something proper to eat.

I wrote a lengthy essay on the feedback form. I went to dinner and was pleased to have a separate dish from the vegetarians that was filling and well made. I spoke to Sarah, who had already spoken to the organisers, and they had said that there were vegan options at lunch and I should just ask about them. I put the feedback form in my bag and decided not to hand it in.

At lunch on the second day I did as I was asked and spoke to one of the staff about which buffet options were vegan. I was hoping it was the rice paper rolls.

She went to the kitchen. It wasn't the rice paper rolls or the mashed potato or the roast vegetables or the tomato soup or any of the other hot meals that I thought might be ok. She returned with a bowl of green salad. With cashews and sesame seeds. And that was it.

I like green salad; I'm all in favour of green salad; and it was certainly a big serve. But it was a green salad, and it should be a side dish, not a main meal on a cold day with twenty other options on the buffet table.

I ate some of it, went outside by myself to eat the rest of my Saladas and Vegemite, and got a little bit teary.

Again, it's not that I expect a full three course meal. It's not that I demand to be fed a gourmet alternative. It's that I want some honesty about what the kitchen is and isn't prepared to make for me, and a green salad, even with cashews, just doesn't cut it. I don't think I should be put in a position where I have to rely on food brought from home when my work has paid for all my meals. I don't think I should be so upset and embarrassed that I have to leave the table to eat on my own. I don't think that an international standard conference centre should think that a bowl of pick'n'mix salad is an acceptable meal. I would have happily driven into the nearest shopping centre to arrange my own food if catering for me was a problem, but that option wasn't given.

And so I welled up, and I left that feedback form where they'd find it. I hope they ring me because I would like the opportunity to explain in person why I am so upset. I would like to explain that vegan food is easy and tasty. I would like to explain that I was made to feel like a pain in the arse and unimportant. I would like to explain that I feel really really sad. I would like to explain that they should refund my workplace for my two lunches.

The Great Vegan Sleepover Potluck continued, or: Himalaya Bakery, Dayslesford, and the Chocolate Mill, Mt Franklin

After more than two hours of yoga, the thought of the promised tofu scramble at Himalaya Bakery caused me to bolt with shameful haste to the car. Emily had talked it up and I, poor vegan, had never had fuscram before. The Himalaya, in the main street of artsy Daylesford, thoughtfully labels all its yummeries as vegan, gluten free, spelt-y or sweetened without refined sugar. The service was friendly and vegan-aware, although the poor girls were perhaps a bit over-burdened on a busy Sunday morning. I ordered the tofu scramble with mushrooms and a side of tomatoes, and a chocy-oaty biscuit. My soy latte was pretty strong but very welcome - I did not feel like treating my body as a temple after the yoga; more like I needed to artificially kick-start it with caffeine and a nice serve of savoury.

The meals took quite a while to arrive, as we shuffled seats and donated chairs to the neighbours who requested them but then didn't use them and wouldn't give them back ... while poor Craig had to sit alone for lack of seating, and Michael and Cindy were placed within waving distance. This is hardly the Himalaya's fault, but a word to parents with toddlers in a pusher who are chair stealerers - you are not cool. Luckily Mike had the presence of mind to whip an outside chair inside so Craig was able to rejoin the circle.


My fuscram finally arrived, with a little pot of what we confirmed was Nuttelex, long after my coffee was drained. I was ready to use 'hunger is the best sauce' to devour my meal with gusto, but it needed a bit more sauce than that. The fuscram was on the bland side, and I was glad of the acidic tomatoes to liven things up. The tofu was chunky and mostly intact, meaning that the large pieces were untouched by the mushrooms and therefore relatively unflavoured. It was presented on some good but not outstanding bread, and all in, the meal was not what it was cracked up to be (Emily swears it was better before .... but I think Lisa's description of her own homemade version will lead to me asking for her catering services!)

Kristy's choice - onion, baby spinach and tomato on toast with a white-bean (?) spread went down well, and I rather think that the fuscram would have benefitted from some of the bright veggies on her plate.


I was more than ready for my biscuit (when I asked for it to come to the table, what I really meant was: you'd better not have sold the last one in the jar because I paid for it 40 minutes ago). I had originally intended to save it for later and leave all my chocolate-in-my-tummy space free for the later trip to the Chocolate Mill, but the fuscram experience demanded rectification. Oaty, sticky, a little bit chocolatey, and very nice - but not better than I've had at potlucks.


Kristy got a pretty damn good-lookin' pastry - can't say how it tasted, but the pastry looked flaky and the fruit juicy. Cindy and Michael ordered a danish - I'm not sure if it's the same as below - but they gave it rave reviews so it's on my list for next time.


After a trip to the markets - where we saw some honest to god Deliverance style families who stared in a spooky slackjawed toothless way at us - we drove to the Chocolate Mill, some 15 minutes out of Daylesford and again, talked up by Emily as offering a hot chocolate that was more chocolate than liquid.


I was pleased to see that, like the Himalaya, the Chocolate Mill clearly marks what is vegan in both blocks and the individual gourmet pieces. The effect is slightly reduced by large signs on every available surface saying something like "no manners = no service, for adults and children". Sounds like they've had some issues in the past ... but I'm not sure that www.passiveaggresivenotes.com -worthy signs are the way to go.

I tried a little pair of cherry filled lip-shaped dark chocolates and a little mint leaf (no photos; they just didn't live that long). They were made with quality ingredients and it was great to have a number of vegan options available in the fancy cabinets as well as in the standard dark blocks.

The dark blocks came in different degrees of intensity, which Michael is working his way upwards through over here.

The sun wasn't conducive to hot chocolates, but nonetheless Lidia and I were unable to let it go and shared the dark chocolate-soy version, also helpfully labelled (Bec and Craig didn't have as much luck with the vegan milkshakes; and someone overheard the staff commenting that it was little more than flavoured soy milk. Well make it differently then or don't offer it!).


The hot chocolate came in lovely organic handle-less bowls, encouraging a very wintery cupping to sip. The foam was thick and required satisfactory amounts of stirring before we saw the liquid below. It was made with a proper chocolate base and the amount of thick melted un-syrupy chocolate at the bottom was very gratifying. Lidia and I are very proud about the lack of fighting between us to slurp the bottom.


Satiated and satisfied, we piled back into the cars for the trip back home. Despite the improvements that could be made at Himalaya, and the excellent standards at the Chocolate Mill which are on par with but not exceeding that of Melbourne choclatiers, how marvellous that in regional Victoria there are a number of businesses that happily serve and promote vegan options. There aren't many regional areas that could say this, and I'm sure to return for more.

And now for something completely different.

Right, I have totally icked myself with all the posting on offal and slaughterhouses and all the grumpypants snarling. So here, for your delight and edification, are some tee-hee pictures of a sign in restaurant in Chinatown. Vegan connection? None (except for my dinner). They're just awesomely passive-aggressive.



And, most importantly - Happy Tibetan Independence Day. Bhor Rangzen.