The holiday that I dread the most is fast approaching. The relatives will gather to gossip and bicker, the house will be filled with the smells of turkey, onions, giblets, and allspice, and I will be pursuing trivial conversations in the hope of avoiding any commentaries upon the state of my plate.
Do not misunderstand me: I am not a scrooge. I enjoy the idea of Thanksgiving — the giving of thanks for blessings received in the past year and the opportunity to share an unhurried day with family and friends. The problem for me is that I am one of those freaky, misunderstood people who — as my family jokingly reminds me — eats “rabbit food.” Because all traditional Western holidays revolve around food and more specifically around ham, turkey, lamb, or roast beef and their respective starchy accompaniments, it is no picnic for us vegetarians.
The mention of the word vegetarian has, at various family get-togethers, caused my Great-Aunt Bertha to rant and rave for what seems like hours about those “liberal conspirators.” Other relations cough or groan or simply stare, change the subject or reminisce about somebody they used to know who was “into that,” and some proceed either to demand that I defend my position or try to talk me out of it. That is why I try to avoid the subject, but especially during the holidays.
In years past I have had about as many successes as failures in steering comments about my food toward other topics. Politics and religion are the easiest outs, guaranteed to immerse the family in a heated debate lasting until the loudest shouter has been abandoned amidst empty pie plates, wine corks, and rumpled linen napkins. I prefer, however, to use this tactic as a last resort. Holidays are supposed to be for relaxing.
—Mundy Wilson-Libby