Sat in the booth of a steak house with my omnivorous traveling companion, as the waiter scratches my salad order onto his pad, my mind leaps back to a Saturday afternoon when I was a kid. The day I decide that the plate before me, a juicy gammon steak dripping with a fried egg yolk, shall be the last meal I ever consume that contains meat. I hear Sarah order a burger. A stray thought flickers: Why am I not ordering one too? Because meat is murder! a voice in my head reminds me. A staunch vegetarian since tucking into that last slice of ham at my grandma’s house, the road trip across the United States in 2009 marked my 15th year without meat. As a result, I missed out on a cavalcade of culinary experiences. I had taken a vow, as a pre-teen, to step off the top of the food chain.