Food is arguably one of the strongest bonds people can share. It is one of the few facets that can be enjoyed together, acting as an invitation to introduce different cultures and create a community. Sharing food became prevalent in my life when I moved in with my friend. Previously, I had only lived with strangers or family. After working late nights on weekends, I would return home with a brown paper bag — free mistakes from the restaurant I worked at. We would eagerly tear off the packaging and start lining the containers across the dining room table, rating our favorite burnt crips from bad to worst. Despite the charred aftertaste stuck to our taste buds, there was joy in sharing banter and food. Together, we had developed a small food community within our home. We carved out a section in our nook for the latest cookbooks. My first addition was a gift from my church, a spiral-bound journal of every Greek traditional plate the church could think of. My roommate added a series of clean-eating, recounting how her parents always valued clean food and it wasn’t just a presence in her diet, but also her lifestyle.
The sharing came to an abrupt stop. As my roommate began dating her boyfriend, habits started to shift, new customs being introduced into our community. One day she announced that she wanted to try veganism. I remember biting my lip, quick to stop my jokes about missing juicy, tender steaks and warm grilled chicken above a pile of lettuce and kale. I offered support, but unexpectedly found myself mourning that our refrigerator was divided between her side and mine. Minute changes caught my attention, as suddenly I had butter on the shelf and she had I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. She no longer asked for a splash of my milk. The chocolate stash was all mine to devour.
The most disrupting change from her newfound veganism was that my community disappeared instantly. While I partake in trying bits of her plates and curiously probe as to why she flattens tofu packets with heavy textbooks, I cannot share my interests with her. When she visits the restaurant I work at, I have little to offer from the kitchen. When my birthday passed, my cake was made of dairy, something we no longer share. Her food community is one I can enter and be a part of, but she permanently left her place within mine.
I question how community and food are interrelated. I suppose that everyone plays an active role in a food community on a daily basis; from friends eating together at a restaurant, to traditional cultural meals, to how each family individually prepares the same meal, adding their own flavors and flairs to generational recipes.
In an effort to better understand how community has evolved for my roommate, I asked her how her social stance has been altered. In reference to our friendship, she admitted that it has been impacted “a bit.”
”I think it makes it tougher to eat out at restaurants and bars that are into shareables, which tend to be your favorites,” she said. “But overall, not very much, and I really appreciate that you’re willing to make vegan food with me.”
More importantly, she noted that veganism is not just a dietary choice, but is a form of activism. Her dedication is a means of fighting against animal abuse.“Animals on factory farms regularly live out two of my worst fears — being forcibly separated from loved ones and being forced to be pregnant against my will,” she shared. “Thinking about that always stirs me emotionally. It seems that many people rationalize this kind of treatment by some vague appeal to the fact that humans are more intelligent than animals, and even if that were universally true (though it isn’t), I’m not sure I want to support a world where cruelty is justified based on intelligence.”
Understanding that her passion for veganism stems from rallying against animal cruelty has enhanced our friendship and deepened my respect for her. I have a profound sense of empathy for someone who is willing and consistent in leaving superficial enjoyments because it will contribute to a greater good. More importantly, I sympathize with her fears. Her perception of animals isn’t just meat that can be beneficial for her. They are lives, equivalent to her own, that are deserving of respect.
While food isn’t the basis of our friendship, once we lost that aspect, I realized how critical it was. I see how our bond over food has reached low valleys, but has now grown to reach the highest peak. I have a heightened sense of respect for someone brave enough to try a completely different diet and cultivate a community as a vehicle to upholding her morals. Our highest peak isn’t a representation of the moments we share laughing together, but a mutual understanding and respect for the ethics that guide our lives and choices. I spent too long being disappointed in losing a specific relationship we shared with food. Thus, I failed to see the new one being developed. While I can’t share what I eat with her, I changed my perspective on veganism. I no longer perceive her food as what she eats, but rather as a stance for what she believes. Viewing her choice to be vegan through a lens that illustrates her values has strengthened our friendship as I can now better empathize and offer genuine advocacy for these beliefs and supporting my friend.