Veganuary 2024: Enjoy the junk, but remember there’s more to life than chocolate and jackfruit.

One of my favourite times of year, January. When restaurants and shops alike are desperate for us to pop in and spend the few pennies rattling at the bottom of our purses. If you have anything left to spend, it’s one of the best times to do it. In recent years, Veganuary’s star has been on the rise, and with it, an explosion in new menu items… and some pretty unusual criticisms.

Back when I first gave up meat and dairy, the idea of veganism seemed to evoke a burlap wearing yogi, with an intentional focus on health – an obsession even. And you’d be forgiven for thinking that way. Products aimed at vegans to replace some of their mainstream counterparts (soya milk, mock meats, even dairy free yoghurts and cheeses) weren’t necessarily fortified with the nutrients vegans needed. Supplements were essential (and for many, still are). 

But as the years rolled on and McDonald’s turned the veggie burger into something indistinguishable from the real thing, and Cadbury brought milk chocolate (or is that m*lk?) back into our lives, more and more outlets, and certainly more people who frequent the comment section, seemed determined that these foods had become the main staple of a vegan’s diet. I ask myself if Cadbury’s Dairy Milk is the staple of all meat and dairy consumers – surely not. Or if the average British child gets all of their calories from Happy Meals. A new stigma has arrived. Vegan’s eat junk now. In fact, it’s all they eat.

Don’t get me wrong, the day Galaxy introduced their Vegan Cookie Crumble bar, I did have to give myself a stern talking to that this could very quickly get out of hand. But it never made me want to stop eating vegetables! Nor did it stop me from eating nuts, legumes, and the new generation of mock meats that have a better balance of lean protein and nutrients like B12. I’m never going to give up pasta, or roast dinners. Why would I? There’s so much to choose from now, why on earth would anyone, let alone a vegan limit themselves to only eating junk?

I think this lack of imagination when it comes to what the average person thinks of as the average vegan diet stems from something much simpler than we give it credit for. I don’t think there’s even necessarily a wilful attempt to brush away guilt (oh, I could never give up my health for a life of anaemia and brittle bones), but rather plain and simple overthinking. After all, whole grains, fruits, vegetables, legumes, these are the staples we all eat already. Regardless of whether we eat animal products. They are the base of most of our meals. 

Increasingly I see both vegans and meat eaters alike, obsess over which diet is more natural. An age-old logical fallacy, the appeal to nature. And I think so much of it comes from our very black and white view of processed food. Something loads of us eat loads of. And something newspapers and television love to make us feel bad about. And for good reason too, sometimes. But when the vegan diet is so unavoidably filled with fibre (something most Brits need a serious boost of), how much harm is processed food really doing us?

Well, that comes down to what you perceive as processed. ‘Natural’ is not always best. Especially when you’re in need of B12 to keep your body functioning the way it’s supposed to. I’m picking on B12 so much because it’s really, in my opinion, the biggest concern for vegans. Reality is, plenty of meat eaters experience B12 deficiency too. The reasons behind it are complex, both genetic and economic, as well as simply taste and preference.

It’s not hard to meet the rest of your needs through food though, but B12 previously always required a bit more effort if you’re not consuming animal products. But unless you’ve been living under a rock, you might have noticed fortification is becoming more common place. So much so, it’s not hard to imagine that supplementing essential nutrients for vegans might soon be a thing of the past. Everything from supermarket own brand plant milks are being boosted with calcium, B12 and even vitamin D. Dairy-free yoghurts and cheeses, to meatless ‘chicken’ fillets, the foods we’re eating for convenience, they’re all becoming sources of exactly what we need. 

Baked beans are another fascinating example of why not all things are processed equally. Beans are a great source of fibre, protein, and other essential nutrients. Just because they’re in a can with a label, doesn’t mean we need to fear them. Foods should be looked at in the context of the role they play in our whole diet. Nothing will give us everything we need, alone. No packet of Quorn, no carton of Alpro, and no man! 

This Veganuary, focus on the big picture. Swap your essentials (milk, protein, snacks) with an alternative you like. And this might mean trying some you don’t end up loving. Amp up everything else you already know you love: your favourite fruits and veggies, grains and legumes. Make peace with the fact nothing will give you the perfect identical experience to what you’ve given up, but it might bring you just enough flavour, texture, and pleasure, to make life on the other side seem a bit more doable than you thought it would be. 

New Year’s Ease

The last time round, I was thinking a lot about the small pleasures of life. The sense of accomplishment we’re all capable of feeling when we feel able to find gratitude in the domestic. I wrote about what felt like the closure of a tumultuous time and the comfort I found in learning to bake. You may not know this but baking as a vegan is like engaging in a dangerous scientific experiment with a blindfold on. On Christmas Eve 2022, in my frenzied search for a dessert down the aisles of Tesco, I discovered my saviour: a bottle of egg substitute.

I’ve tried every variation of this type of product, some sort of okay for baking (though often producing a strange texture, far too dense for most sponge recipes) and some that scramble brilliantly, made from chickpea flour and, I assume, ground up pieces of pure solid gold. One box cost me upwards of £6. I don’t know any omnivore eating eggs for £1 a pop.

But this strange yellow bottle did the unthinkable. Already a liquid, it somehow managed to measure as the perfect baking substitute while holding it’s own in a hot frying pan. It’s not supposed to be this easy is it? The wildest part of this whole experience is that it isn’t even made from obscure ingredients like fermented mung beans, but instead: the humble pea.

I followed a simple lemon sponge recipe, swapping out the eggs for this gloopy genius (think egg with fresh cream whipped in) and whisked up some vegan cream cheese with the dregs of icing sugar left in my parents cupboard. The result: a fluffy, moist, lemon sponge cake with a delicious rich cream cheese filling. With it, an entire year of dedicated trial and error, chemical reactions, and endless baking, evaporated like it never even happened. Did it all feel like a waste of time?

Truthfully? I felt an unspeakable relief. No more carefully thickening soya milk with vinegar. Instead, decrease the oven temperature by 10 degrees Celsius and increase the baking time by 15 minutes.

So much of our resistance to change comes from our inclination to preserve our struggle as something worth while. Something necessary that we had to go through in order to arrive at an end point where we have something up on everyone else still slogging through it. We see it in resistance to our welfare system – why should it be easy for them when it was so difficult for me? We see it in generational attitudes to changing technology – why would I need a mobile phone when my landline works perfectly well? And we see it in our relationships too – why would I throw this thing away when I’ve already worked so damn hard to keep it alive?

But as I move into this new year, I’m not so focused on resolutions as I am on giving my head a wobble. Why work so hard when things can be easy? Maybe this year we can allow ourselves the gift of taking the easy road, instead of endless manoeuvring.

That’s not to say everything should be easy, or that the difficult to reach goals aren’t worth fighting for. Or that we can avoid hardship fullstop. But maybe, this year, we can give ourself the gift of not overly moralising when an easy option presents itself. Instead, why not allow ourselves to do simply whatever needs to be done, to give ourselves the space we deserve to finally put our feet up.

Downsizing

It’s been as good as a Sunday can get. We went to the shops, stocked up on spices (the only cupboard at my parents that can lack a bit of oumph). Rob let me pick everything I wanted for my birthday from Holland & Barrett. Yes, I know it’s strange to want all my gifts from there, but I just love the place. And I’ve just had the best roast dinner of my life. Home-cooked by my lovely Mum.

Carrots, brussel sprouts and vegan pigs in blankets, seasoned and on a roasting tray.

It’s the roast, by the way, that’s got me thinking. Thinking about roasts. And I’ve had a huge epiphany. Again, about roasts.

When you’re a vegan or a vegetarian, there’s a tendency, in my experience, to make up for an often underwhelming centre piece with as many side dishes as possible. For me, that’s filling the oven to the brim with as many different types of vegetable as possible, and roasting them until they’re golden and caramelised and perfect in every way. Except the thing about my roasts is, there’s always something that isn’t quite right. And now I know why.

Like many people, I have a tendency to put too much on my plate. Metaphorically and literally. So, when it comes to making a roast dinner, I’m always out of my element. I worry about timing everything perfectly. Don’t you know, everything needs to be ready at the same time? Even if I haven’t got the counter space to take everything out of the oven together.

Tenderstem brocoli in a frying pan with olive oil, garlic, chilli flakes and salt.

Stuffing is also a bit of a difficult topic for the non-meaties. We aren’t exactly stuffing anything, anywhere. So, what exactly are we trying to accomplish? Don’t even get me started on the redundancy of cooking stuffing to compliment a nut roast.

So, it’s time to simplify. Cut back on all of the unnecessary rubbish. If you’ve got one small oven and a kitchen so tiny it rivals that of a camper-van, perhaps it might be best to save yourself the hassle and downsize Sunday dinner.

Cut the carbs. One type of potato is enough. Roast it. Mash is for sausages and onion gravy. Pick two veg that take the same time to roast, and only peel what can fit alongside a frozen nut roast. They’re just not worth making yourself. Even if it’s delicious, Sunday is stressful enough without washing lentils and finely chopping carrots and onions.

Heat the bloody oil first. Everybody tells you it’s essential for crispy roasties. And I’ve never believed them. But here I am, listening, receiving, changing. Wack the pan on the hob for a few minutes, or if you’re too nervous, like me, do it in a frying pan and transfer to a roasting dish once you’ve given them a zhuzh.

Don’t underestimate sausage and mash. It’s a respectable dish.

Finally, if you’re going to go through the effort of making a vegan cauliflower cheese, cashew sauce and all, leave the broccoli for a weekday stir-fry. It’s just not worth the complication of different cooking times. Minimise the opportunity for something to go wrong. Focus on maximising pleasure. More of a good thing is more of a good thing. Cauliflower cheese is a sensual dish, don’t feel shamed into offsetting the pleasure with virtue by boiling peas or carrots.

I used to have a real problem with Sundays until I started working from home. The pressure to cram everything in, while somehow relaxing before the working week started all over again was too much. Now, I’m starting to appreciate the slower pace. Moving to a city, where everything doesn’t close at 4 also helps. Hell, a few months ago I make the mistake of walking down Bangor high street on a Sunday. Not a single shop open (besides my beloved Cafe Nero).

Christmas dinner is the exception. All bets are off.

Next year, I promise to make a real effort to learn to love a quiet Sunday. Maybe, I’ll even have a few without leaving the flat. Just pop an M&S nut roast in, put the telly on, and melt into the sofa. Recharging for another week of business as usual.

2021: The perfect sponge.

Image of a Victoria Sponge cake taken on Kodak ColorPlus 200 35mm Film. March 2021.

Starting the year, let’s be frank: things were pretty miserable.

Fresh off the back of the Christmas lockdown, plenty of us had spent the Christmas period unable to visit loved-ones. Or in my case, I’d been unable to raise my family’s blood pressure by suggesting that we pan-fry or roast the Brussel sprouts. And with the dull throb of wondering when we’d all be allowed to see each other again, I went to work on Christmas Eve. To a new job I hated more than I’d ever hated any job. Perhaps in part because – on paper at least – it was perfect. Or so everyone told me.

So, off I skipped to catch the bus – mask on and hands already tingling from the alcohol evaporating off them. Having managed to avoid doing so for 10 months already, catching Covid from someone on their way to do last-minute shopping would definitely have sped up the arrival of my P45. I’d have quit with 5 minutes of receiving the text to tell me my test was positive.

After finishing at midday, and being dropped off by a colleague who most certainly took pity on me, we went through the motions. By all means, an M&S Plant Kitchen Christmas is hardly a form of torture. But sat, just the two of us in our tiny flat in Roath, and a year of desperation to feel that safety of the house I grew up in, I would have given both arms to have been able to travel home. Home home.

Over 75s had just started to receive their vaccinations in Wales, and even on the 1st of January, I don’t think anyone could have anticipated how quickly we’d all end up with a needle in our arm and life once again, beginning to blossom.

Photo of a cherry blossom tree in Bute Park. Shot on Kodak ColorPlus 200 35mm. April 2021

It was Monday the 18th of April when I had the phone call. One of the first properly warm days of the year. The saturation of everything switched from 0 to 100. The woman on the other end of the line asked if I could come down right away, explaining that the mass vaccination centre was in located in the old Toys-R-Us in the Bay.

Desperate for the call to end, so I could book my Uber ride, I was already stripping off my pyjamas. This meant that I was an hour early. So after chatting excitedly with a freshly-jabbed taxi driver who seemed more enthused than I was to be dropping me off for mine, I awkwardly spent 5 minutes trying to kill time in the huge Morrisons across the road from Vaccines-R-Us. Until I promptly gave up and checked in 50 minutes early. And you know what? It was to the eager smile of an admin worker who told me ‘yeah, just go straight through, they’ll do it now.’

Only a week later I was sat on the other end of a Microsoft Teams call for the friendliest job interview I’d ever had. Shops were busier, people were less miserable than I’d seen in at least 12 months – maybe longer. Every phone call with a friend, and there were many, were suddenly all about making plans. Not just the kind of plans we’d all made during the many lockdowns we’d been through, but proper, solid, concrete plans.

Of course, they were still punctuated with ‘Oh, we’ll be sensible. Obviously.’ But now we were jabbed. And the fear of losing even more than we already had, started to melt away like snow. Only the occasional glance out the window at the roof of the neighbour’s shed even reminded us it had ever been.

Bute Park April 2021. Taken on Kodak ColorPlus 200 35mm.

And in the rush of everybody’s hearts reopening to the possibility of normalcy. Every little niggling thought at the back of my mind told me if I didn’t deal with the weight of how unwell I’d become, not just over the last year of the pandemic, but really the last decade, I might as well stay home. Carry on pretending the world was closed for business.

For the first time I was able to see how much gloom had descended on my life, and how much disfunction I’d invited, relied upon, to make sense of it. The 2 o’clock cleaning to fend off waves of tears from the worry that, only exagerated by the pandemic, that my friends and loved ones would die, leaving me all alone. Or that I was heading for an early grave. That my worrying was going to send me to an early grave. Or my smoking. Or drinking.

By June, I had started a course of cognitive behavioural therapy, that felt as though I was most certainly drowning. Now on top of the worry I already knew about, was my lack of self-esteem to contend with. And the behaviours that ensued. The way I treated others, and the way I let them treat me. Even the way I facilitated and encouraged it.

Until a moment towards the end of the session, about four weeks in. When, as we wrapped things up for the week, as the counsellor did their standard warm down of well-dones and thank you for showing up did it occur to me, that I didn’t feel worse ending the call. And didn’t feel weepy. Just exhausted and grateful that I was floating. No flailing and splashing. No resistence.

Colwyn Bay Pier, 2021. Shot on Superia Xtra-400 35mm.

As the weeks went on, floating mostly, though still splashing, I moved closer towards the finishing line. Now the line might have just been a course of counselling with a local charity, but getting there felt like stepping onto the most solid ground I’d been on in my adult life. And maybe it was because, at 25, my brain had finally stopped maturing (though the jury’s out on what good that does). Or maybe it was the most validating experience I believe a human can go through: having our worries and fears, and heartache and tears heard by someone who can explain back to us in scientific terms just how normal we really are.

We’re all formed by the context of our lives. And reformed. Forever malleable to the world we’re living in. And I think we even acknowledge this potential for change in the way we push forward with so much terror, everyday. How can I prove my usefulness to my boss, or my family? How can I keep moving so I don’t end up stuck, stagnant? Even if the place we’re stuck has everything we need to find proper world stopping joy. Like discovering you like tea as an adult. Or learning to bake the perfect vegan victoria sponge. Or going for a walk and listening to an audiobook.

For me it was learning to bake. A lot harder than you might think. Especially for someone who tries to cut corners on every meal by cooking in a single pan. But that was it. Slowing down enough to do something for pleasure rather than function was like learning to walk for the first time. Even eating was just a process by which I could end hunger and lower my stress response. The trial and error wasn’t a tear free experience either. But here’s the thing: we don’t often get things right on our first go. Not a cake recipe, or mindfulness.

Disaster Cake – a Chocolate Buttercream Sponge – iced before the cake had cooled. Shot on Kodak ColorPlus 200, 35mm.

I think I’d decided on my 2022 goal, my forever goal, that first week of July. Four weeks into counselling. Go slow.