I was born a vegetarian in an omnivore family, and not because I found animals cute and did not know where that steak came from.
Since my early years, I have seen chickens, rabbits, and cows grow happily (I even played with some of them) and well taken care of, and end up in the fridge or freezer: that is what happens when you live in the countryside, and there are homestead farmers and small self-producers around you.
After their egg time ended, one of my grandmas had chickens that gloriously finished their lives with a beautiful—I thought—aquatic funeral as a delicious stew (if she wasn’t cooking it because she was an atrocious cook).
Garlands of thyme and herbs, just like any Dante Gabriel Rossetti painting.
I was not a vegetarian because of philosophy but because of my physical and biological abilities: My senses of smell and taste were too developed, and I could not eat intense flavours.
I loathed industrial food because I could taste every artificial flavouring, and I mainly stuck to myself, eating vegetables, soft cheeses and homemade crostata cake.
One of my first food memories is eating raw peas straight out of their pods in the garden with my other grandma, an impeccable and quite modernist cook who taught my mother and me most of what I now do in the kitchen.
The other food memory I have is sharing plain Oro Saiwa cookies with my cousin and fellow writer -
.She was a baby back then, but she ate with discretion and cognition just like an adult, with distinction and no fuss - at least compared to me, who was always trying to eat all the potato purée and none of the rabbit stew all the time.
I used plates with separate compartments because I didn’t want the food to touch each other.
Go figure.
My father has always been a big chocolate eater, and there was always a lot of chocolate at home. I was, and am, absolutely uninterested in more than a tiny piece of it at a time and not every day.
A chocolate bar lasts weeks.
My favourite food was french toast, consumed with a big chilled glass of full-fat milk on a summer afternoon after racing through the woods, chasing fairies and inventing my world. As a person with a meagre appetite, my grandma occasionally gave me a cream of raw egg yolk with just some sugar and coffee - all whipped to perfection.
My love for plump, crunchy cherries was born early and continues to this day: when in season, I can survive with cherries for days.
No regrets.
I was no experimental eater.
I loathed having to taste new food and only started to explore fish-shaped fish (as opposed to non-shaped inhabitants of the sea) in my teens.
If some food was just about too intense - think of a hamburger with cheese on top, a filet au poivre, or even ketchup - I wrinkled my nose and looked sideways, trying to find an escape.
My parents never wanted to force me to try new food or eat.
Sometimes, I feel sorry for those who were forced to try and eat as kids, and I would like to tell concerned parents that their offspring will not grow into a limited person if they do not try oysters at six.
If forced, they might even refuse to eat some food forever.
Let them be; one day, they will come across whatever food, and they may even like it.
For me, trying to bring children to restaurants, fine dining, and the rest is a total waste of time, energy, and money.
Children have other interests and paths, and no child would ever enjoy sitting at a restaurant table for the time of a menu.
Why subjugate them to something that has no value for them?
They will go to restaurants when they grow older and more interested.
Or maybe they will not and will prefer becoming ultra-athletes, and food will again be just fuel or an afterthought for them.
This was my case: my interest in food developed well into my twenties when my peculiar sense of smell and taste started subduing to age. But it was not until my thirties that I began to delve into the mechanisms of food, the layers of flavour.
It came naturally and organically - now that my nose and mouth were not overpowered, I could enjoy flavours and study complexities.
Food is a journey, and after I was 35, I started eating entrails - mind you, I had never even touched a beef tongue before that age.
Now, these cuts are the most interesting ones in meat, and if I have to eat meat at a restaurant, I always hope there is something unusual like liver, brain, or something else.
Curiously, I am still mainly vegetarian. Or at least fruit and vegetables give me the utmost joy.
If I look back at this past week when I was home, with time to cook for lunch or to grab something in the neighbourhood, I had:
Spaghetti al pomodoro on Monday
Frittata di verdure on Tuesday
Orecchiette alle cime di rapa and anchovies on Wednesday
On Thursday, Falafel and salad wrap with hummus at my neighbour’s falafel joint place.
Grilled fish with sautée vegetables on Friday
We went out on the weekend.
On Saturday, I ate Indian food, mainly saag paneer and lentil dahl, with just one plate of lamb curry to share.
On Sunday, I ate sushi and sashimi, Omakase style.
I always enjoy a slice of toasted sourdough with butter and homemade jam for breakfast.
This week, it was apricot.
At night, my staples were vegetable soups or creams with bread, cheese, and some oven-roasted vegetables.
I added a vegetable protein shake with kefir and fruits here and there, especially when I went running, and a mandatory square of dark chocolate at night, coffee in the morning, and teas throughout the day.
Mostly homemade food, cooked from scratch, with few quality proteins (the fish filet was part of a big fish I bought at the market and froze, the anchovies are prime quality, and a locally renowned Chef prepared the sushi).
I ate primarily vegetables, pulses, and grains.
I had pasta twice because I may be living between Portugal and Italy, but I love having a bowl of spaghetti Benedetto Cavalieri to break a hectic day.
I had the same experience with peas in my mother's garden and my son had it in mine. It's my favorite image to use when advocating for gardens as the ultimate teaching tool for parents.
How have I never noticed you didn't eat as much meat? What about the Easter 'cunèl'?