The Transitioning Vegetarian

Two and a half years ago, my husband and I decided to stop eating meat at home. We wanted a healthier, more plant-based, environmentally-friendly, fiber-filled diet, low in cholesterol and high in flavor. Yes, it meant a major lifestyle overhaul. It also meant that as the cook in the house, I had to change my cooking habits.

Meat had always been the organizing principle of my meals: Once I knew that dinner would be flank steak or halibut, everything else -- vegetable, starch, salad -- had fallen into place. I didn't know what I would do without this basic structuring element; it was time to figure out how our new vegetable-centric life would actually happen.

Up until we gave meat the heave-ho, the vegetarian dinners I'd made tended to be labor-intensive productions I made when vegetarian friends came to dinner: Indian feasts; lasagna, homemade sauce and all; chile rellenos served with beans and rice. We couldn't eat like that every night! Or, more to the point, I couldn't cook like that every night, not if I wanted to accomplish anything else during the day.

We had always consumed a lot of vegetables; I grew them year round in the backyard and I was a regular at my local farmers market. I could make an endless variety of side dishes. And this, in the beginning of our meatless life, is exactly what I did. Dinners were essentially meat-based meals without the meat, a rotating assortment of sides -- cubed beets, sautéed greens, roasted potatoes, green salad, seasonal vegetables sautéed, steamed, grilled and roasted; stewed beans, steamed rices, vegetable salads of cucumbers, eggplant, tomatoes, three or four or more dishes per meal. To compensate for the new protein deficit, I scattered more nuts and cheeses, and added yogurt sauces to certain dishes.

Honestly, it was a real chore to come up with so many side dishes day after day. And it was a challenge to create enough of a hearty meat-like intensity so that our bodies felt satisfied. Early on we ate and ate and ate, finishing every single dish, as if we'd achieve that satisfaction through quantity rather than quality.

I began to notice that meals that consisted of actual vegetarian entrees -- dishes with interacting ingredients and layered flavors -- made more satisfying meals. A bowl of beans and greens (with or without rice). A good vegetable-sauced pasta. These could be served with a salad and, if desired, bread. I began to look for and keep track of such dishes, and soon devised a strategy that has, over time, allowed for more variety and made dinner easier to plan and to prepare.

Now, instead of thinking pork, lamb, beef chops or roasts, fish, shellfish, poultry, I think in terms of a new rotation of categories: pizza, pasta, risotto, beans-and-greens, soups, stews, stir-fry and egg dishes.

Only now, as I've left meat cooking behind, do I fully, deeply appreciate the easy intensity of flavor in a good chop (pork, lamb or veal), to say nothing of the flavor-fix of bacon. Over these last two years, I've had to develop new methods for building complex and compelling flavors into my meatless cuisine. Curiously, by being forced to pay more attention to flavor, I've become more alert to subtlety and nuance.

For starters, I always make my own vegetable stock. As the basis for soups and stews and risotto, even the simplest homemade version trumps store-bought versions -- although those will do in a pinch. My pressure cooker makes a gallon in half an hour.

In general cooking, I now use more lemon and lime juice and white wine for brightness. I have begun to notice when ground spices are fresh and now buy them in smaller quantities and replace them more often. And I've rediscovered garlic, just at a time in history when more varieties than ever are available at farmers markets and for the home gardener. Mediterranean varieties impart a sweeter, more peppery and complex flavor than the usual supermarket garlic imported from China.

Pulitzer prize winning restaurant critic Jonathan Gold turned me onto the secret flavor boosters of many great chefs: "rooster sauce," which is the nickname for the Huy Fong brand of sriracha hot chili sauces. All of them have green lids, roosters on their labels, and are manufactured in Rosemead, California. Some rooster sauce is pureed and sold in a squirt bottle; other varieties are ground dried chiles in jars; all fulfill the same flavor-boosting purpose. Rooster sauce can ramp up the flavor of everything from beans to stir fries, omelets to pasta sauces -- but proceed with caution as the chili heat can quickly overwhelm.

A final word to the transitioning vegetarian: expect changes. Several things happened when we stopped eating meat at home: We lost weight. We felt better. I actually enjoyed the challenge of cooking with more vegetables. Although we were not strict vegetarians -- we gave ourselves permission to still eat meat out of the house, in the homes of friends and restaurants -- we slowly but surely lost interest in it. And I actually began to crave vegetables. Who ever could have guessed that bitter greens, hominy, and kabocha squash would replace ribeye steak and roast chicken as our favorite foods?