Growing up French in London was a largely uneventful process. Sure there was some friendly rivalry (Eurovision, football, Olympics), some humorous name calling (Froggies vs Rosbif), a few cultural differences (cheese before or after dessert?) but nothing we couldn’t all laugh about. The one thing that left my family somewhat bemused was the concept of vegetarianism. When you grow up French, you assume that UHT milk is normal, that everyone has 25 first cousins (and 50 second cousins, and yes, you know them all); you know that everyone takes Holy Communion on Sundays; and it never occurs to you not to eat meat. In fact, you didn’t dream of not eating what you were served, which would have included meat.

I’d hear stories of British vegetarians in France being served omelettes with lardons by French restaurant chefs/host families who obdurately misunderstood the dietary requirements of these odder- than-usual British people.  I’d be horrified, of course, because odd as I thought it was to voluntarily forgo meat, even I knew that lardons are a bit of an animal. But there’d be a part of me understanding why these French chefs felt honour-bound to make a bland omelette palatable! I mean sure, they could have used herbs, maybe mushrooms, I know that now…  Years passed and I left home thinking I could cook (I could make a mean lasagne and a decent quiche (with lardons, obviously), but it turns out these aren’t every day dishes for one person on a student budget) and I ended up learning all the fundamentals of practical cooking from my vegetarian flatmate who’d had to fend for herself from an early age, as a vegetarian growing up on a farm!

More years passed and being vegetarian became ordinary, being vegan was the new thing… my French brain once again struggled to come to terms with this new seemingly onerous and dull diet. I now recognise that I was wrong. For starters, it doesn’t exclude (dark) chocolate so there’s that… and it’s easier than ever now that you don’t have to make your own nut butter, now that soy substitutes for milk, cheese and meat are so readily available, now that you can walk into any (not french) restaurant and get a delicious plant-based meal.

Still more years passed and Only Daughter decided, on the eve of her 8th birthday, that she was now pescatarian. She’d watched a particularly harrowing episode of ‘Our Planet’ and that was that. I could hardly object; she wasn’t wrong.

I ought to be vegetarian. At the very least pescatarian. But I’m still not. As someone who purports to care for the environment, as someone who uses the glass and paper technique to get rid of a spider rather than kill it, as someone who’s interested in gut health… it’s practically inexcusable! And yet, here’s the thing: I’m still not inclined to change my wicked ways. Not today, anyway.

It turns out I can’t kill a spider but I’m OK with someone else killing it for me. Paradoxically,  I really do believe you should be prepared to kill what you eat. It’s just that I absolutely cannot. I’d call it cognitive dissonance but unfortunately I’m all too aware of the hypocritical/illogical nature of my thought processes.

I’d do it for the climate but I seem to be too good at convincing myself that my solar panels and my little electric car will absolve me on that front.

I’d do it for my gut microbiome but they seem to be ticking along nicely. If they approved of our transition to oat milk and our almost complete avoidance of red meat, they haven’t haven’t been particularly vocal about it. I’m sure they’re more grateful than Firstborn Son and Middle Child have been though! Those two are my last vaguely convincing reason to delay the inevitable! While I’m cooking for Middle Child (and Firstborn Son when he’s home from Uni, basically half the year) I can be persuaded (a little too easily perhaps) to cook meat rather than face a constant stream of hangry whinging.

I have huge respect for Only Daughter because (unlike some vegetarians, who basically don’t like its taste or texture) she really likes meat but gave it up on principle. Many vegetarians do this, obviously, and kudos to all of them. Me? I’d miss it. SO MUCH! Plus, it would require a whole new approach to cooking. You have to get quite creative if you don’t want to get over-reliant on cheese and eggs. Not gonna lie, I’m not massively into cooking. I’m a competent cook, I do it most evenings, but I have my little repertoire of tried and tested, one pot, minimum fuss, balanced and healthy, (a few of them vegetarian) recipes, which allow me to cook on autopilot and that suits me just fine!  Change isn’t impossible, obviously and I’ll get there. If I can’t do it for the planet, for my guts or for my conscience, I’ll (eventually) do it for my daughter.