HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME

Eleven years ago today (ok, maybe not on this date, but you get the point) I gave up eating meat. It was supposed to be a one-day thing, but here I am more than a decade later with no regrets.

I had turned 18 years old a few weeks prior and was the furthest thing any living (or dead) person could have been from a vegetarian. I absolutely despised vegetables and fruit. I ate hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken taquitos all the time and was so far removed from any semblance of healthy eating that I didn't put lettuce or tomatoes on my burgers -- just bun, ketchup and meat.

I don't remember how or why I decided to give up turkey, but I vividly recall the word "protest" being a major force behind my decision. This was very similar to why I never drank or did drugs in high school; if everyone else was doing it, I wanted to be as far away as humanly possible. This motif continues today.

As long as I can remember, animals have always had a soft spot in my heart and the thought of thousands -- if not millions -- of turkeys being slaughtered just for selfish reasons was enough to turn me to the dark side. In fact, one of my earliest memories is going to the LA County Fair in kindergarten. My parents took me out of school (which turned out to be the ONLY time they ever did that) and I had what I remember was a bonding experience with a horse. Before you get your mind in the gutter, I'll explain...My memory of this day is nill except for how much I loved petting the horse's head and talking to it. My parents probably thought I was strange, but you know what? They still do. Anyway, leaving the horse made me very sad. I don't know why, but I felt some sort of connection with the beast, all cramped up with no movement for anything other than his or her head. Somewhere there's a shrink analyzing that thought, but I don't care to do such a thing.


I got to my aunt's cramped Torrance apartment (I have a large family) and shoved everything on my plate except turkey. This meant taking more potatoes and stuffing than normal, but I was fine by that. As far as I could tell, no one noticed and my turkey-free Thanksgiving went off without a hitch.

I woke up the next morning and had challenged myself to see how long I could keep up the no-meat diet. Trust me, it wasn't easy. My family is not veggie-friendly and I had no idea what I was doing. The first month or two was filled with more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and grilled cheese than I'd ever consumed before. When mom microwaved a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, I did my best not to eat the chicken, but I enjoyed the noodles and broth. Like I said, I was lost.

I don't have an exact date, but roughly two weeks into my vegetarianism was the last time I purposely ate meat (there have been a few times when someone swore there wasn't meat in something and there was, but I don't count those as I unknowingly ate flesh and threw away the food once I realized that). Mom threw some chicken taquitos in the oven and I put a few on my plate. As I was doing so, I told myself it was ok because the vegetarian experiment was over. "I'm not a vegetarian," I said to no one but me. I thought of my friends giving me shit for it and how, until then, I never told anyone I was a vegetarian because a few days of something is not long enough to start labeling yourself.

Like always, dinner was served in my bedroom. I took one bite and the taste was fine. Then the food hit my stomach and I knew something was wrong. I didn't vomit or have crazy poop, but the best I can describe this moment would be like this: Imagine a balloon expanding in your gut and not stopping. I felt like my belly was about to explode and there was nothing I could do about it. I writhed in pain, tossing and turning on my bedroom floor. This lasted a couple of minutes. Once the pain subsided, I put the extra taquitos back on the tray for someone else to eat.

It's been a pretty fucking awesome ride ever since.

Instantly I dropped 10 pounds. My diet was not what anyone would call healthy, but I was trying. I started buying veggie burgers and they tasted like shit. Just a big onion, which was definitely not what I wanted. But I kept at it. Veggie dogs? Yuck. More shit taste. But I kept at it.

I hate to be a sappy boyfriend, but it wasn't until a year later, when I met my girlfriend, when I was exposed to proper vegetarianism. She was a veggie too, which was a huge reason why we hit it off. I've heard of lots of couples in which one person converts for the other. That's noble, but ours was different. She knew way more about the subject than I did and started cooking me food that I'd never heard of and taking me to the now defunt Papa Jon's on Second Street in Long Beach. Oh how I miss you and your mush and tofu balls, Papa Jon's...

Our first visit, she ordered stir fry broccoli tofu. I looked at the menu and the dreadlocked hippy waiters and wondered where the hell I was. On paper, the food looked very unflattering and I went with an old standard -- a plate of black beans. Her dish came out and I was glad I didn't order it. Too much green for the young me. My beans were bland and dry and I pushed them around the plate more than I ate them. A while later, she cooked me falafel, something I'd never heard of. She promised I'd love it -- and hummus -- but she was wrong. I couldn't finish it and she made no bones about how this upset her. But she had the last laugh as I would inject falafel and hummus into my veins if I could. Her, on the other hand, she's over both of them. More for me!

I won't bore anyone with the details, but once I discovered fruits and veggies, there was no turning back. Tofu was and still is an awesome thing and my palette and awareness began cutting out more animal-based foods. Unfortunately, I don't have a vegan anniversary date, but my best estimate is about five years.

Like I said earlier, I gave myself a one-day challenge and upped the ante to see how long I could keep this up. Once I had a few months distance between me and meat, I was still telling people how one of these days I'd eat flesh again. Eleven years later, I say the same thing about dairy. But you know something? I can honestly say I'll never be a carnivore again, and if history tells me anything, I probably won't go back to milk, cheese and milk chocolate either. Not only is it the right thing to do on a compassion level, my body is much happier without all that shit in it. And if they could talk, I'd bet the animals are in favor of my decision as well.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm not the type to preach my beliefs. No one forced vegetarianism or veganism on me and I don't wish to do the same. Now, when people ask, I give them honest, blunt answers. But it's not for me to tell others what to do. I came to this on my own and I believe people who make choices for themselves have a greater shot of sticking with things for the long haul. Veganism is right for me. On so many levels, I'd say it's right for you, the Jim Hall Sleeps All Day reader, but that's just my opinion. It's up to you to decide what you put in your body and why you do so.

Just yesterday a college student told me the thought of eating Tofurkey disgusted her. I told her she could think whatever she wanted, but I explained how there is no way she was more grossed out by fake turkey than I am when I think of the blood, guts and flesh of a formerly living creature entering my mouth. No thanks.

I still get crazy looks for non-believers and I don't care. Diets are not pissing matches, but I can always walk away knowing I'm doing what's right for me and for the greater good of humanity. I'm amazed at how many so-called religious people condemn me for my hedonistic ways (and trust me, there are plenty of them), but they still can't comprehend how they are contributing to torture and murder by eating meat. Again, I get the last laugh because religious nuts are destined to live a miserable life anyway.

And now it comes full circle. I am in the (incredibly slow) process of moving to Portland, Oregon, where veganism has taken over. As a vegan, I never thought I'd move somewhere because of food. That just wasn't possible until I went north. I'm not saying that's the only reason I want to live in the PDX, but it's a pretty big part of it. Even greater is knowing that I'm surrounding myself with like-minded people who don't think I'm weird for caring about fuzzy little creatures who can't speak up for themselves. Well don't worry my animal friends -- I'm here for you and I'm not the only one. I don't think we'll win this battle (or the war) but we can't go down without a fight.

Geez...this is one of my longest posts ever and I didn't even get into the raping and pillaging of Native Americans. I'll save that for next year.

FIRST GRILL OF THE SEASON

Today was unbearably warm in Long Beach. Most are saying it was 95 degrees, a record for April 13. I can't stand the heat, but there is one positive aspect that comes from rising temperatures. When the weather gets hot, I get grilling. Last summer I barbecued as often as I could, which translated into about three or four grills a week. I know it's jumping the gun, but with the weather so warm, I just had to get outside.

I suck at cooking, but grilling is different. I think it has something to do with the way men are wired. We love to cook over an open flame. I can't speak for every male on the planet, but I know my reasoning. I love to be outside during warm temperature days from right about the time the sun begins to set until it goes all the way down. These hours --usually from around 5 to 8 -- is when the temperature is comfortable. What better way to enjoy the absolutely beautiful weather than to make so food?

Vegan grilling is difficult and frustrating for a few reasons. Much of the food I cook is pre-packaged soy and/or tofu based, which means it requires just a few minutes of re-heating. This can take a lot of the fun out of barbecuing. I won't touch meat, but I can appreciate and miss the experience of flipping, pressing the food down to get a popping sizzle from the flame, the smell of food cooked under my nose and the feeling of accomplishment when eating the finished product.

This is a large part of why I am thinking about going from charcoal to propane. It feels like a waste using all that wonderful coal for a few minutes of grilling. I had a propane grill as a kid and loved it. But the built-in charcoal pit we have here at Casa de Hall is pretty cool too. What's a barbecuer to do? Anyone with a thought on charcoal vs. propane feel free to leave a comment.

I began by opening my grill, which had been closed for months, and scraping off remnants from the previous outing. Then I removed a few dead leaves and spiderwebs before scooping out the old charcoal at the bottom of the grill. Now to the fun part. I busted open the Kingsford and made a small pyramid of charcoal. It was time to fire up my creation when I remembered I killed my bbq lighter from last summer after using it to light bong hits. I went back inside the house and got out a regular lighter and prayed to Jah I didn't burn myself.

The spark caught and within ten seconds, I had my first flame of the year. Goosebumps sprouted on my arms. I felt like a proud papa whose son hit the winning home run in little league.

I went inside to chop up some goodies while my fire was doing its thing. I began by slicing and dicing four tiny potatoes. Asparagus was next. I freakin' love asparagus, so I threw four of them in as well. Then I got wild and cut up a roma tomato. I wanted to add some mushrooms and onions, but it was already turning out to be a lot of food for just two people. I figured I can save those for tomorrow. My bbq skillet had been retired for half a year, but no longer. It greeted me with a friendly smile and I returned the favor. "Nice seeing you," it seemed to say. "Nice seeing you," I shot back. It was like two friends catching up on old times. With a quick hit of some no-stick spray, the three items were loaded into the skillet and taken out to the bbq. I threw the food on and was met with one of the most amazing sounds I've ever heard. "POP. POP. POP. POP," went the now-grilling food. Wonderful. Simply wonderful.

I made a salad while the skillet was grilling. A handful of greens, a handful of baby spinach, some carrot and we were good. I knew it would be at least twenty minutes before everything would be ready, so I waited to put the dressing on until the last minute. I filled up two cups of water (for drinking, of course) and went outside to check on the food. Everything was going well. I got out my tongs and moved things around a bit before going back inside.

The main event was supposed to consist of two vegetable marsala burgers from Trader Joe's. I bought them this weekend and couldn't remember if I had problems grilling these last year. Turns out I did. To be safe, I followed the instructions on the package. It said to butter both sides before barbecuing. Well, I only did one, but that's cuz I'm a rebel. I threw these burgers on the grill and once again was greeted to a harmonious sound -- the crackling of burgers on a barbecue.

Inside I took the buns out of the package and set them on a plate on the counter. I went outside to flip the burgers and everything was going well. Skillet was kicking ass, as was the marsala. Things did not go as planned for the next flip. For some reason, one of the burgers lost a portion of its circumference to the burning flame below the grill. I hate losing food to that portion, but sometimes these things are out of our control. This loss could have spelled disaster, but I turned a negative into a positive and decided to whip out some veggie dogs to compensate for whomever was getting a shitty burger.

I put the dogs on and they began cooking instantly. I was now in the midst of a skillet, two burgers, two dogs, two burger buns and two hot dog buns. If only I took a picture, oh what a sight that would have been. I am sure I was grinning from ear to ear because I sure as hell was loving every second of it. The sun was just about gone and the sky nearly pitch black. The temperature was perfect and I didn't feel any bug bites. My girlfriend was talking to the neightbor, leaving me all alone to bask in the glory that is the barbecue. When she finally returned, she apologized for being gone so long and not helping out. I told her it was fine and that I prefered to go at it alone. It had been some time since I grilled and needed to re-aquaint myself to the situation at hand.

Once all items were on the grill, it was a matter of time before the food was in my belly. I flipped. I flopped. I turned. I pressed. Then, just like that, it was over. Time to eat!

I sprinkled a drop or two of bbq sauce on the dogs while my girlfriend put tomato slices on the marsala. She was shocked at the amount of food I made. "Couldn't help myself," I told her. It was the truth. Seeing that flame got me pumped up and now I want more.

I haven't written about food much on this blog, but that probably has a lot to do with me not having the opportunity to grill. Now that I can, I will, which means writing about it. This is the summer I get crazy and start inventing new things to throw in the fire. My stomach can't wait.

A LIL SUMPIN' SUMPIN'

I know you people in Internet land are sitting patiently for me to drop more knowledge, but I have bad news. I am still sick. To tide you over, here's something from the latest edition of the District. Vegan cupcakes from Veg-O-Rama. They rule, whether you're a vegan or not. I'll write more about those later. But for now I gotta get some rest before Project Runway.

http://thedistrictweekly.com/print/commerce/dept-of-commerce/no-meat-treat/

CIAO

We left Venice today. I want to see more cities, but I could easily stay there for, well, forever. I am walking with a limp because all of the walking in Venice. The lower part of the right leg is very sore and the back of my ankle is killing me because I am wearing Avila tennis shoes that I borrowed from my dad. I wanted to bring two pairs of shoes, but there wasn't enough room in my bag. So now I am hurting physically and fashionablly. Oh well. Drank a ton of great red wine and ate a pesto pasta last night. It was as good as if not better than the first dish I had when we arrived.

Today we stopped for lunch in Verona. It's amazing how every Italian city is simply amazing. I had another pesto pasta and it was great. The food portions in that part of the world are perfect, which explains why I didn't see one overweight person there. In Verona we saw what some claim to be the inspiration for the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet. Maybe I would have cared if I liked Shakespeare. We also passed a train that was used to take people to Auschwitz. There were flowers on it because it is some sort of rememberance month. The thing was tiny and had barbed wire on the six-inch windows. I'm not the type to get moved by objects, but this was definitely something that I won't forget. To see how those people suffered in such cramped quarters gave me my first first-hand look into how fucked up that whole situation was. I mean, reading about it in a book and touching a living piece of history are two totally different things.





It's snowing here in Garmisch, Germany. Being from LA, I'm not too familiar with snow, but it's pretty awesome to look at. We are staying literally in the middle of the Alps. Like everything European, I heard stories about the mountains but it never registered until I saw them. They make Big Bear look puny in comparison. That's probably lame even think that, but when I think of mountains, I think of Big Bear.


One week down. One week to go. I was really freaked out the night before leaving. Now I can say I am having perhaps the best time of my life. My girlfriend told me she was worried that I wouldn't come home. Although I can safely say that I will be coming home, she was definitely onto something as Europe is fucking unreal.

Taylor and Chip are both great guys to travel with, even though I can't keep up with them in the drinking department. I can hold my own, but these guys rage. I had to walk back to the hotel alone the past two nights because I was done. Bars in Venice don't seem to close, which means no one ever gets kicked out of anywhere. At some point, my tired ass needs some rest. It takes a lot of work to look this good!

The plan is to bobsled tomorrow in Austria. That is going to be awesome. Our sole Austrian experience so far is stopping at a McDonald's for lunch on the way to Venice. Taylor hyped the shit out of the place and told us it was the best Mickey D's on the planet. Being a vegan, I was skeptical, but once again, he was correct. The place was massive and overlooked the Alps. Even McDonald's is amazing here. I ate some cringle fries, marking the first time any type of McDonald's food has entered my stomach in at least 6 years, probably longer. Hey, when in Rome...

I feel like I have much more to say about this past week, but I need to be out living it, not writing about it. I'll save that portion for later. To anyone I know reading this, I hope things are well. Don't worry about me. I can assure you it's been smooth sailing since the second our plane landed.

HIPSTER NATION

My biggest problem has always been trying to make money off the ideas in my head. I was driving around today and was reminded of another million-dollar idea that's never left my brain. It's a website called hipsterdoofus.com. The premise is this: Take pictures of the stupidest, most irritating hipsters and post them for all to see. People could comment on each shot and try to one-up other contributors with photos of young white people who try way too hard. In theory, I should be all about hipsters. But I'm not. I've been called one many times by many people, and while I understand how some make that connection, I think they're wrong. The hipsters I speak of, the kind I saw milling around on their bicycles eating ice cream in front of Rite-Aid today, are nothing like me. There were four of them -- three guys and a girl. Every guy had a shaggy haircut, tight pants and a striped shirt (actually, one was wearing a striped sweatshirt). When they look at each other, do they think they're peering into a mirror? I'll never understand why anyone would want to categorize themselves so easily, so comfortable with putting everything they are into a box, never to escape. That's a boring life. People see my hair and peg me as a rockabilly dude. Wrong. I dig Elvis a bunch (and Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash), but that's about the end of my rockabilly infatuation. I might look like the sorta dude who jerks off to the Horrorpops or (god forbid) Social Distortion, but I'm not. I'm a vegan. I love my cats. I read books. I play golf. I listen to jazz and the blues. I drive a Corolla, not some flame-painted oldie but goodie. These hipsters, what a crock of shit, thinking they know something the rest of us don't. And what's with the thin-framed bikes? You know, if you aren't using the gear shifters on those, there's no point in riding one. But practicality has nothing to do with anything these fools are into. Then the girl turned around and it started to make sense. In my younger days, I would have dressed like a buffoon too if it meant having this black-haired beauty in my company. Guys sure do some stupid things for female attention. That explains why I never got much: I was too dumb to play the game. Hair over my eyes? I can do that. New Balance tennis shoes? Sure thing. Eat ice cream because it's intentionally childish and for some reason that's the in thing to do? I'll take cookies and cream. No, my dumb ass was wearing Dickies and punk rock t-shirts. Not exactly the most eye-grabbing look. Hopefully one of these guys is seeing her naked on a regular basis. If so, good for him. What about the other three? What's the reason for looking like schmucks? Where are their way-out-of-their-league girls? If only I had my camera, I could have taken a picture of these clowns and posted it to my website that doesn't exist. Yet.