What we choose to put on our plates impacts the world around us. Since last November, I made a conscious decision to adopt a mostly vegetarian lifestyle (ovo-vegetarian at least five days a week; meat only during travels, special occasions, and work events) by consuming primarily plant-based food after reading a book review with these galvanising lines - “We cannot keep the kind of meals we have known and also keep the planet we have known. We must either let some eating habits go or let the planet go. It is as straightforward and as fraught as that.”

Reports from The New York Times Climate desk showed that meat and dairy production alone account for 14.5% of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions - as much each year as from cars, trucks, airplanes, and ships combined; a staggering and deeply concerning statistic. Eventually, my next trip to the bookstore resulted in a search-and-purchase and Jonathan Safran Foer’s compelling We Are The Weather: Saving The Planet Begins At Breakfast changed my view on food forever and reinforced my choice, all the more in the wake of our global environmental crisis.

However, my choice did not come without its set of worries, topping the list are “Will food taste as good with the absence of its meaty counterparts?” and “How will I meet the required daily protein intake?” While I also pondered on my willpower to stick to the cause, something wonderful happened.

Cutting down on meat, seafood, and dairy became a catalyst for newfound creativity in the kitchen. Every Friday night in PJs with a glass of wine in hand, I looked forward to the entire process of scouring the Internet for vegetables-only recipes, tweaking the recipes to suit my tastebuds, curating the coming week’s grocery list, prepping ingredients, cooking, and even cleaning (okay, that might be slightly honeyed - I am still learning to accept, let alone like, washing the dishes). Watching the gradual simmer of dry beans and legumes into hearty stews was surprisingly cathartic; slow-roasting pumpkin cubes doused with olive oil and flecked with sea salt reminded me to slow down and breathe; sautéing onions till they melt into a luscious jammy texture was profoundly simple yet insanely delicious, much like how life can sometimes be.


Whenever I ate out, every bite became meditative - beginning with a studious examination of how each component is arranged, followed by a slow savour of flavours and textures, and finally, a heartfelt appreciation for the hands that prepared the food. As the weeks went by, knowing exactly what I put into my body became a form of self-love, a crucial realisation as I age (in what I can only hope will be gracefully).

Far from being a proselyte of healthy eating - I still love my sugary treats (fruits are never quite enough to stave off cravings for ice cream or chocolates) - what I know and believe is this: if we can all do a little something to make the planet a little better, then we must. As the book’s sub-headline suggests, saving the planet begins at breakfast.