It’s been so challenging to find humanely-raised meat that about 90% of our meals these days are meat-free. I’m not complaining. Legumes, nuts, tempeh, and eggs have picked up the protein slack. With so many palatable protein alternatives, I don’t even glance at the faux meat on the vegetarian pages of Chinese restaurant menus (“Kung Pao Chicken” made from textured soy protein, anyone?). Aside from tempeh chili, here are some things I was pleasantly surprised to discover are just as good, or damn close, when meat-free:

Burgers: An Amy’s All-American Vegetable Burger on a bun or English muffin with cheese and ketchup… well, you coulda fooled me. This company must have an army of food psychologists doing focus groups.

Chicken soup: I use vegetable broth instead of chicken broth. Add matzoh balls, onions, carrots, celery, even a handful of noodles. It still tastes great.

Seasoning: This is a big game of make-believe, but I don’t care. My cousin Amy, who keeps kosher, introduced me to it. (The laws of kashrut forbid mixing meat and dairy, so meat must be avoided at dairy meals; more on kashrut later.) There’s this meat-free, but meat-flavored, boullion powder sold by an Israeli company called Osem. Judging from the size of the containers, it’s plenty popular in kosher homes. Want “beef” broth in your French onion soup? Osem. “Chicken” noodle soup? Osem. Straw spun into gold? Osem. Naturally, it’s chock-full of artificial whatever, but I’ll take it.

I no longer eat meat in restaurants unless the meat is well-sourced (if the source isn’t noted on the menu, you can bet the meat is factory-farmed). As a result, I’ve given up some of my favorite restaurant experiences. At our local Dominican place, El Gran Castillo de Jagua, broiled chicken was the centerpiece, surrounded by sides of rice, beans, cassava, and sweet plantains. We loved that chicken so much, we took to calling the restaurant “Chicken,” as in, “Wanna go to Chicken tonight?” In any Italian restaurant, I’d usually order pasta with Bolognese sauce. At our neighborhood Indian place, my favorite dish was Chicken Tikka. And of course I loved my greasy-spoon diner breakfasts—the holy trinity of bacon, eggs, and toast. But as Jonathan Safran Foer said in Eating Animals, there is a limit to my love.

Obviously, I’m spending more time than ever in our kitchen. It feels great to take control in this small way (especially since Michael does the dishes!). With a wooden spoon as my scepter, I rule our kingdom and guarantee yummy cruelty-free meals for all those within its gates.

In an effort to expand my menu of vegetable dishes and make them the crowning glory of the meal rather than second-fiddle sides, I bought Mollie Katzen’s new cookbook, Vegetable Dishes I Can’t Live Without, and soon found that I, too, couldn’t live without them. Recently I made leek chips. Seriously. And emboldened by Katzen’s creativity, I brought home fresh tamarinds from Puerto Rico and made tamarind chutney. (I had never even seen a tamarind before, but that’s what the Web is for.)

Thankfully, many of Mollie Katzen’s recipes are available on her website. I first discovered her Moosewood Cookbook right after graduating from college and moving to San Francisco. I still have my original copy, well-warped and stained. I remember following her recipe for lentil soup and realizing that I just might be able to live like an adult after all. I no longer need that recipe, but Katzen’s books still offer a cornucopia of veggie-based inspiration. Next on my list: carrot cashew curry, toasted barley flakes with figs, and walnut stuffed artichokes. My gracious!

Sometimes going to the produce section of the Park Slope Food Coop is like wandering into the Garden of Eden and finding all this magical organic bounty just there for the taking (provided you can brave the lines). Depending on the season, we can get rainbow chard, shiny brown chestnuts, and the sweetest little blueberries. I recently heard the term “food desert” used to describe areas with little or no access to fresh, healthy foods. But our kitchen, thanks largely to the co-op and some stove-top bravado, has slowly become a food oasis.

On a recent, ridiculously gorgeous Saturday, I finally made it to the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket. My upstairs neighbor Deb joined me, and I got to talk to some of the meat farmers. They all had small family farms and raised their animals on pasture, but none had the “humane certification” I’ve been looking for (a stamp of approval from a third-party certifier guaranteeing the farmer adheres to certain animal welfare standards; see Humane Seals of Approval).

The market was crowded and the vendors were busy, so I didn’t get to ask all my questions, but everyone I talked to invited me to come visit his or her farm, which to me counts for a lot. There’s definitely some disconnect between small family farms and the third-party certifiers. Some said it was the fee, but I know that Animal Welfare Approved doesn’t charge farmers for inspections or certifications. I had brought along some pamphlets from the AWA press kit, so while trying not to seem too much like an AWA “mole,” I handed the pamplets to the farmers, who all seemed interested.

No Kidding

A farmer I met from Lynnhaven Farm raises goats for meat and milk (as well for livestock shows). She told me she’d looked into AWA certification, but that they prohibit dehorning (the removal of horns), and that the practice of disbudding is under review (buds are “pre-horns” that erupt from the young kid’s skull—could this be the origin of “nip it in the bud”?). She believes these practices are necessary to keep the goats from hurting people, each other and themselves; one of her goats strangled himself getting his horns caught in a fence. However, others believe that disbudding and dehorning are simply more convenient for farmers, and that horned goats are less dangerous than is commonly believed, provided farmers follow proper safety practices. Who am I to say who’s right? I’ve never tried to make a living raising goats.

Bringing Home the Bacon

Becky Wilklow works with her parents at Wilklow Farms. They produce the best bacon I’ve ever had. Deb and her husband Glenn came downstairs a few nights ago for a Wilklow Farms bacon-fest: baked almond-stuffed dates wrapped in bacon (“devils on horseback”), and baked potatoes with bacon and cheddar. Both were great, but the bacon on its own was the showstopper.

New MacDonald

Ray Bradley of Bradley Farm in New Paltz is a chef-turned-farmer with a bit of a cult following. After reading Everybody Loves Ray, it strikes me that he’s less Old MacDonald than New Evolved MacDonald. I didn’t get to talk to him because his stand was totally mobbed.

Next on the agenda: local farm visits.

Blogging is weird. It’s like having a sidewalk soapbox, except that the people walking by are invisible. Which means that I can neither hear their applause nor see their eye-rolls. Worse, I can’t be sure they realize that whatever I’m doing here, I’m definitely not pontificating.

As David Foster Wallace puts it in Consider the Lobster:

I am concerned not to come off as shrill or preachy when what I really am is confused.