Diary of a Vegetarian

It's been a long winter here in Europe. The snow seemed to go on forever and at the beginning of July, it was so cold that I was still wearing fleece jackets and jumpers. It was only through sheer will power that I managed to resist the temptation of wearing a woolly hat and scarf. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t mind winter at all and I completely agree with that Scottish comedian who claims that “…there’s no such thing as bad weather. It’s just weather, full stop. Let’s face it: if rain is bad weather, you’ve got a serious problem when you're Scottish or Irish…" But the grey skies did make me look forward to spring and summer.

The one thing I am not looking forward to at all, however, is the nasty side effect of summer called barbecue. I hate it with a vengeance. Even in my days as a carnivore, I failed to see the charm of it. It is with great fondness that I remember those summer days when beautiful weather didn't automatically mean getting the charcoal out.

Personally, I blame the highly popular Australian soaps of the eighties for the introduction of it. They seemed to be forever throwing shrimp and various other small and large animals on the “barbie”. Europeans watched it from the comfort of their sofa and got carried away by the laidback and easy going atmosphere that inevitably accompanied it. And completely ignoring the fact that the Australian climate is a bit more conducive to alfresco dining.

Barbecue is always seen as a typical male activity – it is often jokingly said that it’s the only time men will ever prepare food. The rather romantic notion surrounding it is that it appeals to the hunter in them. Isn’t that the biggest load of nonsense you ever heard? Prehistoric man versus Tyrannosaurus Rex? I think not. More the other way around.

The other notion surrounding it is that of a cosy meal amongst friends. Everyone has fun, is relaxed and enjoying themselves. A stark contrast with the first barbecue I ever attended. One of the guests, a prehistoric man who had had a few too many, decided that his burgers were taking a bit too long and squirted lighting fluid on it. Two singed eyebrows and a huge third degree burn on his arm later, everyone decided to abandon the idea of grilling meat and decided to hit the salads instead.

No matter how hard the host or hostess tries, barbecues seldom work for vegetarians. Worst case scenario is that your tofu burger ends up being grilled together with the hot dogs. Complain about it, and you’re being fussy.

So here’s my golden tip for you, should you be invited to one this summer (and if you don’t want to be rude and say no). Call the organiser and tell them not to do anything special for you at all. Tell them not to bother with tofu burgers or quorn sausages. You, the vegetarian, will end up having the best damn meal of them all. Because, let’s face it: a barbecue is very difficult to get right. The meat or fish either ends up being grilled in the flames, rather than on the hot coal, or it is left on too long, making it impossible to tell whether the others are being served a burger or a piece of charcoal.

The food is often left out in the sun before it’s prepared (E. Coli adds such a lovely taste to the food) and again after it’s been grilled (not to mention the tangy taste of salmonella).

You, on the other hand, can feast on the side dishes because, for once, they are prepared with a lot of care and there’s plenty of choice. You can even have a hot jacket potato if you like. The most important thing, however, is to throw in that nonchalant, yet impossible to miss look of superiority when digging into your food. Time it well, wait for the moment when your neighbour is being served a piece of charcoal and is scanning the shrubs to see how to best get rid of it. Then stare them straight in the eye and with as much cynicism as you can possible muster say:

“that looks absolutely gorgeous!”

Satisfaction guaranteed.