January 24, 2025

By Alice Shopland, founder of Angel Food

I’m marking Veganuary 2025 by publishing a blog post a day.

I very quickly got comfortable with being vegan at home and making vegan food that non-vegan visitors would enjoy. But being vegan away from home, whether I’m just down the round at a friend’s house or travelling in another country, can be more of a challenge. Most of us operate in several overlapping food cultures – home, immediate family, extended family, friends, colleagues, and community. We have control over the food culture of our own home but beyond that, we have to navigate a more complex shared path. It’s so familiar to us that we barely notice its existence until something challenges the status quo. That might be something we’ve instigated ourselves – becoming vegan for example. – or it might be a change made by someone else. If it’s the latter and it upsets our routine, it can be very annoying and even upsetting, especially if we’re feeling criticised by someone else’s choices.

When you make a big change to your way of eating you learn that food is a very emotive subject. I feel very lucky that my family and friends accepted my change of diet, and even accommodated it. My aunt made a vegan version of her famous icebox cake at one gathering – unfortunately, I didn’t know she had made it vegan, so I didn’t eat any, and I later learned she was disappointed that her thoughtfulness hadn’t been appreciated. It may be that my family background – migrants from England, with no recent history of farming – meant that my switch to a vegan lifestyle was less challenging/insulting than it may be in other Kiwi families, many of whom have strong connections to animal agriculture. Also, most of my relatives share my aversion to confrontation.

I know from other vegans that it’s common for parents to feel rejected when their offspring adopt a vegan lifestyle. I can understand that they feel their parenting has been judged and found wanting, and no parent wants that. It’s also common for friends, family, colleagues and even complete strangers to feel that simply by being vegan the vegan is judging others’ choices. (This may be true at least some of the time: I know I’m not the only vegan at the supermarket looking askance at animal products in other people’s shopping trolleys.) But it’s very common at mixed gatherings for non-vegans to initiate intense conversations with the one or two vegans present and then complain about having vegan views forced down their throats.

Some vegans find non-vegan events too confronting to attend. I understand that but I’m usually happy to attend if I feel vegans are welcome – it feels good to be quietly flying the vegan flag and above all I’m there for the joy of spending time with people I love. But non-vegan barbecues are usually a step too far for me because they are all about the meat, like some kind of caveman ritual. The last time I went to a non-vegan barbecue was to meet up with a group of old classmates. I was very uncomfortable seeing and smelling the barbecuing meat, and my friend who was hosting was uncomfortable on my behalf. At one stage she realised that a big platter loaded with meat sausages had been put on the table right in my line of sight and she quickly moved a big vase of flowers between me and the offending platter – which was most appreciated. I try to avoid making veganism look difficult or alienating, but when I see people eat meat I can’t help thinking of what the animal went through for that meat to be on that plate. Although I live in a culture heavily reliant on animal products, I am often surprised to see that people still eat meat and dairy products. But then, I do live in a vegan bubble: when I see meat in the supermarket my first thought is that it’s vegan, and then I have to remind myself that it’s actually from an animal.

Being vegan in a non-vegan world means a constant and imperfect set of decision-making – but that’s probably true for most of us in most areas of our lives. And for me, veganism provides a framework in which I make those decisions. But there’s no vegan rule that applies to all situations. I was surprised when a long-time vegan friend said she had cooked meat for her elderly father when he was living with her in his final days. But when an elderly relative needed my help with the (meaty) lunch that was served in his residential care home, I was willing to do so (although I was happier when there were vegetables rather than roast beef on the fork I was raising to his mouth).

Occasionally I receive a non-vegan gift, and I have the dilemma of what to do with it. If I regift a box of milk chocolates to a non-vegan friend, am I saying, “I wouldn’t eat these but they’re good enough for you”? Throwing them out doesn’t seem right; putting them in the food bank collection box seems like the most straightforward answer. The most recent non-vegan gift I received was one I couldn’t pass on: it was a card informing me that a goat had been purchased in my name for a family in an impoverished country. I know the intention was good, but it made me very sad.[1]

[1] There’s an excellent round-up of reasons not to give animals as food aid at www.awellfedworld.org/no-animal-gifts