From Tradition to Transformation: My Journey of Letting Go of Meat

My earliest recollections of food involve family barbecues.

My deceased father was raised on a cattle ranch in Uruguay, a place where the number of cows exceeds the human population by threefold. It ranks among the world’s highest per capita beef consumers; Uruguayans typically consume around 200 pounds of meat annually. On the other hand, my mother hails from Kansas City, Missouri, known for its slow-smoked barbecue.

Thus, when I made the choice to adopt a plant-based diet in 2007, it would be an understatement to claim that my parents and I had differing views. I wasn’t merely eliminating a food category from my meals but a vital part of my cultural essence.

I entered the world in California in 1989. However, by the age of three, my family relocated to Uruguay. I distinctly remember at the butcher shop where my abuela placed two enormous cow tongues — one in each hand — and inquired which one felt heavier.

The tongue was intended for an asado, a cultural practice initiated by gauchos (Uruguayan cowboy cattle ranchers) who grill meat on a parrilla, an outdoor grill using an open wood fire. These gatherings were moments where, amidst the conversations of our friends and family, my father would urge me to sample pieces of mysterious meat cuts.

“I grilled these for you with love,” he would declare, leaving me with no alternative but to taste what he offered. Only after my bite would he disclose what I had ingested. A brain, an intestine, a bull testicle.

After we moved to Kansas City about a year later, asados were substituted with extensive KC-style cookouts. My maternal family is vast, thus when we dine out, there are typically more than 20 of us. For as long as I can remember, we have remained faithful to Arthur Bryant’s, a BBQ establishment situated in downtown Kansas City. As a child, I relished eating ribs slathered in sweet tangy KC BBQ sauce prepared with molasses, acidic vinegar, and zesty chili powder alongside my cousins.

At 17, I transitioned to Los Angeles for college. Until that juncture in my life, consuming meat wasn’t something I pondered. Despite never being fond of chicken, turkey, or lamb, I often consumed red meat. This thrilled my father, who interpreted that trait as a sign of being a good Uruguayan. However, despite my fondness for red meat, I possessed no knowledge on how to prepare it. My father was the master of the grill, with expertise in selecting a cut, seasoning, and cooking it.

The initial time I stepped into a grocery store in Los Angeles, I found myself overwhelmed in the meat section. It was the summer of 2007, and the U.S. teetered on the edge of an economic downturn. The cuts of meat were costly, and the thought of managing them made me uneasy. So, I chose not to purchase any. That was the moment I ceased consuming meat. Initially, my choice wasn’t ethically driven, nor worry for animal rights, environmental concerns, or optimal health — I simply followed my instincts.

I soon discovered that my new eating choice posed a challenge for my family to embrace. Two months later, I journeyed home to surprise my sister for her 14th birthday. Upon informing my parents and sister that I wasn’t eating meat, they were bewildered — my mother had prepared fried chicken for dinner. They weren’t receptive to discussing the merits of a plant-based diet. Their lack of support left me feeling misjudged. Yet, I also recognized that it wasn’t their obligation to accommodate my dietary preferences. That evening, I filled my plate with salad and potatoes instead.

I later realized that various complex factors were influencing our interaction.

“In Latinx culture, food holds a core role in family and community gatherings,” notes Vanessa Palomera, a Mexican-American therapist located in Dallas, Texas. “When someone adopts a vegan lifestyle, it might feel as though they are rejecting culture or familial customs, making it challenging for others to accept.”

Food became a source of tension in our relationship. This was particularly difficult as I transitioned into an independent adult, striving for acknowledgment. I faltered at times during those initial years at family celebrations — especially at Arthur Bryant’s, where I would yield to the pressure and enjoy a single BBQ rib along with an abundant helping of beans and fries.

Often, it felt like my new diet was an inconvenience. I experienced guilt on Thanksgiving for declining turkey that had been carefully prepared to symbolize gratitude. Again, I relied on side dishes to satisfy my appetite. Resisting my father was the most challenging, as he would occasionally express how hard he had labored to provide steak for the family. I felt compelled to take a small bite simply to please him.

However, as I aged, I became increasingly adept at adhering to my plant-based diet. At one family gathering, I made an attempt to recreate a vegan-friendly version of my maternal great-grandmother’s cheese ball — a sphere of cream cheese and ham. Everyone was astonished at how closely my vegan adaptation resembled the original, and it was significant for me to be able to consume something that honored my family’s traditions.

Over time, my family members gradually embraced my dietary choices. At a different gathering in my early 20s, I prepared black bean avocado brownies. One of my aunts courageously sampled one with a smile. (Even though they were admittedly terrible.) Yet, that simple gesture made me feel acknowledged. Years later, one of my cousins even ceased eating meat in my company as a sign of respect toward my diet. These minor acts had a profound effect.

“It’s vital for your dietary choices to be respected as food preferences represent your values, beliefs, and personal choices,” Palomera shared with me. “When your community acknowledges your diet, it fosters a sense of support, inclusion, and acceptance.”

Two years after I abandoned meat, I made a trip to Uruguay. My relatives there couldn’t grasp my dietary choices. For them, consuming meat is an integral part of existence. Their worries were coming from a place of love. Did I still consume enough protein? They queried. While it was irksome to have my choices scrutinized, they weren’t entirely incorrect about my protein intake. My vegan selections were exceedingly limited. I predominantly ate fried potatoes and ensalada mixta (a salad of lettuce, tomato, and onion). Whenever I could find ñoquis without eggs, I would order those with chimichurri sauce.

This diet became impractical. My craving led me to sample choripán here and a sándwich de miga there. It felt perplexing. These were my favorite dishes during my childhood, and I still appreciated the flavors. Simultaneously, indulging made me feel miserable. Why was I doing this?

I began to investigate the principles behind veganism, and it was then that I realized I could not endorse the harmful effects of factory farming on the environment. I also sought to live in harmony with my belief that all animals deserve to exist without being raised for human consumption.

Throughout the past 18 years of following a plant-based lifestyle, my rationale for abstaining from consuming any sentient creature has been shaped by Buddhist, Hindu, and Jain philosophy of ahimsa, a belief system that advocates leading a nonviolent life while respecting all living entities. Many individuals, myself included, interpret this as a directive to refrain from consuming animal products.

Upon returning to Uruguay a decade later, Montevideo boasted an emerging vegan scene, allowing me to savor plant-based alternatives of foods typically made with meat, such as empanadas, milanesas, and even a chivito — the national dish of Uruguay, traditionally consisting of mozzarella, steak, ham, bacon, and egg.

Experiencing my cultural heritage in plant-based form was exhilarating — and delectable. It also facilitated my family’s engagement with my diet. They accompanied me to vegan eateries, where they relished the experience of trying foods in meatless versions. Access to culturally relevant vegan dishes, like vegan chorizos, made it simpler to continue enjoying asados with my family — preserving the ritual without compromising my dietary choices.

I now comprehend the significance of this for my mental, physical, and spiritual well-being. As Palomera articulates: “Food is connected to our identity, heritage, and sense of belonging. It can link us to our origins.”

Presently, many of my family members strive to locate vegan-friendly dining options when we eat out and ensure plant-based dishes are available at home during my visits so I can prepare meals. They have grown fond of the dishes I create, encompassing both Uruguayan vegan cuisine and other recipes I’ve learned while exploring over 90 countries.

I no longer feel isolated from my culture. Through perseverance, curiosity, and dedication, I have discovered that it is possible to honor your heritage while remaining true to your beliefs — one delicious vegan chivito at a time.