Showing posts with label Vegetarian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vegetarian. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Black Vegans

by today' Urban Chameleon contributor HaJ

Most of us have at least one Black friend who is vegan.

These days, Black people are so progressive even some meat lovers opt for the vegetarian special being more conscious of hormones and chemicals used in animal products. Buzzwords like, “I’m cleansing” have become more frequent in social gatherings. However, I will say my parents were on the organic vegetarian train way before the food industry discovered ways to make hot dogs and hamburgers from lentils. They, in fact, used to have our organic fruits and vegetables delivered from a health food store in Park Slope Brooklyn to where we lived in Bedstuy “Do or Die”. Shout out to Brevoort projects.

But it's been years since tofu and seitan showed up to a party on my plate. In 7th grade I transferred from an all white private school to a majority Black public school. So as you can imagine the surplus of chicken eating that I witnessed sky rocketed. It was at that time that I tasted my first piece of chicken. It was fried and delicious and came with French fries. It was so good I didn’t know what to do with myself. Suddenly, my world made sense as new taste buds that I didn’t even know I had, awakened. I then began to taste all kinds of chicken, BBQ chicken, curry chicken, lemon chicken, honey BBQ chicken, Bombay chicken, Jerk chicken, coconut chicken, chicken parmesan, chicken tenders, chicken rice, chicken salad, chicken nuggets, chicken wings. I realized that chicken makes up at least 95% percent of our lives. So if you're not eating chicken…WHO ARE YOU?

Since then I have not turned back. Today I eat chicken, steak, lamb, goat and I’m an hour a way from trying pork. Maybe not, unless you’re Latino that memo that all Black people in the north (and or influenced by Muslims) got about pork being the devil’s meat is still looming over me. The point is I now love meat so much that I look at vegans and feel no connection.

The other day a friend of mine who turned vegan about 5 years ago had a birthday party. She hangs out in some serious vegan circles. A couple of us meat lovers attended a prior party right after work absolutely famished, looking to shoot a bow and arrow into the first thing on four legs we saw move. It was to our surprise that there was not a single meat dish in sight. And vegans love to try and fool meat lovers by recreating traditional dishes like pot roast, arroz con pollo, and cheeseburgers with soy products to see if we can taste the difference. WE CAN! One brotha at the party, who was clearly still hungry from the lack of protein, drew the line when Rice Cream was served for dessert. He put on his coat, walked down to the nearest Bodega and returned with some Haagan Daze ice cream made from the cow.

Needless to say, at the birthday party those of us who eat meat knew to EYOMB (Eat Your Own Meat Before). However, we were wowed by how even more vegan this party was. For instance, there was this one brotha that was so vegan that he brought his own kale to the party even though my friend already had kale. I had to ask, “What’ wrong with your kale that he had to bring his own?” She responded, “My kale is slightly steamed and he only does raw.” Another brotha I was talking to revealed to me that his shoes were even vegan. I was not ready.

Now because I love food I will always check out the buffet table at any event regardless of the expectations; besides there were some yummy delights and my girl can cook. However, there were a number of dishes that a few of us party members gathered around tried to identify. Since different people brought different dishes and none of those people seem to be around, no one was able to identify what all the dishes were, including the birthday girl; except for the kale she made. There was one dish however, that actually looked like chicken. The first thing I thought was let me find out that tofu is making chicken wings now, as I would not expect actual chicken wings to be at this party. For 5 min we all stood around trying to figure out what it was. We smelled it, stirred it and poked it. Meat lovers didn’t want to taste it and run the risk of it not being meat and vegans didn’t want to taste it and run the risk of it being meat. I decided to channel my vegan days and break this mystery for everyone. To my surprise...it was actually chicken wings. The other meat lovers dug in. I asked my friend, the birthday girl, who would dare bring an animal into this holy vegan house? She replied, “Probably my mother.”

Seconds later my friend’s mother comes around the corner. Happy to see her, I greet her and say, “Mrs. Hopkinson, I heard you brought the chicken!” She replied, “Oh yeah, you can’t have no party without chicken.” Later in the evening, when it was time to sing happy birthday, a vegan cake was brought out to accompany the tune. The cake was actually quite delicious, but that did not matter to Ms. Hopkinson who immediately came around to everyone’s plate, regardless of vegan status, to a la mode your piece of cake with some real ice cream.


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Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Does it take Thanksgiving to be Thankful?

by today’s Urban Chameleon contributor


Growing up my parents didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, yes, they did not believe in acknowledging what turned out to be a false symbol of cooperation from English Colonist before stripping the Native Americans of their land. (I got deep on you) Plus we were vegetarians that ate fish. So instead, by influence of my Jamaican father, we would head over to one of the many West Indian spots on Nostrand Avenue in Brooklyn and get down on some escovitch red snapper, rice and peas, sweet plantains, breadfruit and sorrel. It was our tradition of not commemorating another tradition.


Besides it wasn’t until junior high school where I was first introduced to chicken anyway and then turkey and then it was on. For the remainder of my junior high and high school career I was a closet meat eater hiding this disgraceful secret from my parents. In the meantime, I was creating deep bonds with friends just by the amount of flavored birds we went through together. Then when I began to be invited to their homes for thanksgiving dinner I was so excited to indulge in the festivities just by having meat to accompany what would have once been lonely side dishes. Hell! I had forgotten all about the Native Americans and the land.


It wasn’t until I got older (and came out of the kitchen closet) that I realized in all the Thanksgivings I spent with family and friends whether traditionally or nontraditionally the only thing that mattered was being together (the true marketed version of the holiday) and although some may say that it shouldn’t have to take Thanksgiving to remember to be thankful as busy as our modern lives are we sometimes need that reminder. (I mean I don’t know about you but I have an iPhone alarm set reminding me to pay bills.)


However, I sometimes wonder if the voice of Native American’s were more prominent if this holiday would exist. For had it been the day before where a Black leader was gunned down that was marked a holiday, people would be buck out here. How effective is the oppressed race you belong to? A tablespoon of truth and sarcasm is good for the soul.


How about I just say happy celebrating being with family and friends let’s try to do it more often, besides plantains go good with turkey.


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Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Fabulousity & Food Stamps

by today's Urban Chameleon contributor

Back in my days as a gainfully employed graphic designer at the ad agency, I enjoyed the fruits of my meaningless labor just as any other cosmopolitan 20 something woman would - by buying shoes. Ferragamo loafers, Mui Mui pumps, Coach boots. Not too extravagant, just fabulous enough for my tax bracket.

The shoes were nice. But the job. The job! It was killing my creative soul. My dreams of being the 21st century Black female Jackson Pollock, were slipping out between my well manicured French tip fingers nails. At home, my canvases remained bare while certain carmakers, snack companies and corn syrup manufacturers were reaping the benefits of my art school education.

It was time I fed my spirit. I quit my job. Traveled to New Zealand and came back renewed, optimistic - creative energy restored. My artwork poured out of me. Oils, pastels...I even experimented with mixed media. For the first time since graduating college, I was proud of the work I was producing. And galleries seemed pleased, too as I was booking group shows all about town.

I remember the day I opened my first solo show at that gallery in Dumbo. I felt like I was reaching new heights in my art career...if only the buyers would recognize this greatness. There was even a write-up about me in the New York Times! But I hadn't sold a single piece and my savings account was dwindling. Albeit seemingly successful, I saw myself falling under the category of starving artist. But miss thing can't starve. I'm already slim- I'd wilt away! Not to mention, I only eat organic!

One night while enjoying yet another delicious bowl of rice and beans, I decided it was time for me to swallow my pride and make that next step: I decided to apply for food stamps. Walking into the office was deep. Mostly mothers with young children - one woman walked in with a baby strapped to her front, and on her back was an oxygen tank that was hooked up to baby's nose! She really really needs food stamps I thought. I should just go get a job! I started gathering the latest bead art I was working on, preparing to leave that odd waiting room, when they called my number. It was arduous, humiliating and scary, but I bit the bullet and applied. The torn agony melted away when my card came in the mail. I hoped on the train to Whole Foods!

But first, I decided to make a stop at Coach to get a new box for my boots. The original shoebox got destroyed during my move from the East Village to Harlem and miss thing keeps her shoes intact. I got the box, then walked on down to whole foods, shopping with glee! Pecorino cheese - ener-G egg replacer - Vermont maple syrup, Moroccan mint pepper the works. There I was at the checkout counter, my big Coach box in a big Coach bag, my organic groceries and a smile. The sister at the checkout counter told me my total and I whipped out my brand spankin' new Food Stamp Benefit card. Sister girl paused, looked me in my eye - looked at the Coach bag, looked at my food - looked at my card, then raised her eyebrows and continued to bag my gourmet vegetarian kilbasa.

As I ascended the escalator out of Whole Foods, excuses ran through my head - it's just an empty box! I bought the boots back when I had money. If she saw my bank account, she wouldn't be so judgmental.

On the train ride home, I decided to dismiss the excuses. I am doing the best I can with my God given talents. People are moved by my work (if only they'd move to their wallets and make a damn purchase!). I need not make any excuses for my fabulousness. Yes, I eat organic, yes I wear designer shoes and yes, I am on the food stamps.

Get with it. And maybe I'll invite you over for dinner.

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