Bardo Burner

“I feel part of something important”: On animals, ethics and veganism

The latest in a series of Everyday Vegans in which ordinary people talk about living a plant-based life. Sam Meek is a 28-year-old environmental professional, marathon runner and aspiring author who talks candidly about his journey to veganism, the challenges of living in a largely non-vegan world, and why his commitment to animals and the environment is stronger than ever.

There is zero chance of me going back: for Sam Meek, veganism is at the core of his belief system

Tell us a little about yourself.

My name is Sam Meek. I’m twenty-eight years old and live in Oxford. I only recently moved here, having lived in Manchester for the previous ten years. I grew up in the small town of Hebden Bridge in West Yorkshire. I moved to Manchester to study Sociology at university, then I did a Master’s degree in Environmental Governance. Now I work in the public sector, where I focus on climate change adaptation for water infrastructure.

My dream job is to work for a think tank or NGO on animal rights or the environment, or to be an author. In my spare time, I do some creative writing. I recently completed my first novel, which I’m hoping I can get published. I’m quite active; I run and cycle, and I ran my first marathon earlier this year.

You’re vegan now, were you vegetarian before?

Yes, I was brought up vegetarian by my parents. When I went to university at age eighteen, I regrettably ate meat briefly before quickly realising it was wrong and going back to being vegetarian. My lack of confidence in new surroundings weakened my moral stance, so as soon as I was ridiculed or questioned for not eating meat (which happened on day one of university), I crumbled. That is my biggest regret.

For that period, I didn’t feel like myself. Looking back, I know that I was cheating on my own morals, and it was causing me to feel uncomfortable. I went back to vegetarianism soon after I realised this and remained vegetarian for a few years before going vegan.

What led to that?

I knew being vegan was the right thing to do when I was vegetarian. I can’t pinpoint a moment of realisation; it has always been ingrained in me that we shouldn’t take from animals. I cut out cow’s milk, eggs, yoghurt – basically everything except cheese. I was one of those vegetarians who said they could never go vegan because of cheese. I laugh at myself for that now.

For a couple of years, I lived like this. Then a close friend told me he was going vegan, almost out of nowhere. That made me think that I just needed to do it. So, I did. I said that from the 1st of September (the start of the month after my friend went vegan), I would be vegan too. That was 2019. It’s been just about seven years now, and I love it. It was the best decision I’ve made.

Do you see yourself ever going back to being an omnivore?

Never. There is zero chance of that happening.

Are you a ‘healthy’ vegan? Often people assume we’re all fitness-obsessed, when the reality is that we come in many flavours and, for many people, life is an eternal hunt for vegan cake. What makes up your diet?

My diet is mixed. I think I’m pretty healthy in general. As I mentioned, I’m quite active. When I was training for a marathon, I’d be running 30-40 miles a week and doing strength training and cycling too. It’s rare that I feel drained of energy; the only time I do is two hours into a long run! I have sports drinks and energy mixes from a company called Active Root, which is fully vegan and uses natural ingredients.

In a week, I’ll eat roughly 20-30 different vegetables, fruits, seeds, beans, lentils, etc. My standard breakfast is either porridge or homemade granola with fruit, yoghurt, flaxseed, peanut butter and chia seeds. I find this keeps me going well in the morning. Lunch usually consists of last night’s leftovers.

I enjoy cooking a lot. I will spend an hour or more most evenings cooking something from scratch. My favourites to make are lasagne with roasted vegetables and red lentils, butter bean stew, vegetable gyozas and mac and cheese. I do some slightly more creative cooking too; I marinate tofu in a beetroot and seaweed marinade to make fake fish and sometimes make a katsu curry. When I’m tired, I will just throw some veg and fake meat in the air fryer and put it in a wrap, or have a burger and chips.

I’m not strictly healthy or wholefoods-only. Wholefoods make up a lot of my diet, but I love fake meats. I don’t have a sweet tooth, but my girlfriend (also vegan) does and likes to find vegan cakes and pastries. We’ve been known to travel to different towns to try a new vegan bakery. She also bakes cakes at home and makes a loaf of sourdough every week – very lucky for me.

I’m not very conscious of ensuring that I get enough nutrients and all the vitamins I need. I believe that if I have a balanced diet, eating a good number of fruits, vegetables and beans, then I should be getting all I need. I know I’m getting B12 and other nutrients from fortified milks, Marmite and nutritional yeast.

Where do you shop?

I cycle between getting food deliveries from the major supermarkets: Tesco, Asda, Sainsbury’s, etc. They each have different options for vegans. Unfortunately, there isn’t a fully vegan supermarket near where I live. There are a few health food shops that have some good options, but they also sell animal products.

Do you consciously think about where you get your protein, etc., from?

I don’t really. I think it’s a myth that vegans don’t get enough protein. It’s the same with any diet: if you eat a good balance of everything, then you will likely be pretty healthy. Every meal I make has a protein source, from beans, lentils, tofu, seitan or fake meat. Where I think something is lacking in protein, I add it in. For example, I make my own pizzas and put seitan flour in the dough.

I think the protein fad in general is a bit ridiculous; every other item in a supermarket has ‘protein’ written in large letters. Unless you’re consciously trying to put on muscle, being extra conscious about getting protein isn’t really necessary.

For many vegans, the initial realisation of facts that make us turn to a different lifestyle is pretty life-changing and alienating. We view things differently, from the supermarket shopping experience in a meat-eating world to the people around us. How was that change in mindset – the reality of being an outsider in many situations – for you?

It’s not something I considered at first, but over the last few years I’ve become very aware that I’m the outsider in most social groups and at work. When I’m eating food with non-vegans, I’m now thinking a lot about how differently we view the world.

I recently had a work meal, and everyone I was with ordered a meat dish, which made me uncomfortable. It’s not something they would understand, and I find it very hard to understand how intelligent, seemingly empathetic adults can eat meat. At one point in the conversation, they were talking about experiences of going fishing, and I felt anxiety, sadness and anger in my stomach. The nonchalant way they talk about a recreational activity that kills innocent animals feels slightly psychopathic.

So, the answer really is that I still struggle in situations like this. I feel very uncomfortable, like everyone in the world sees this huge thing completely differently from me. I tell myself that I might be in the minority in many situations, but I believe so strongly in veganism that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

Do you mix with many other vegans – does your lifestyle mean that you come into contact with people of a similar outlook regularly?

I’m lucky that my girlfriend is vegan, as are both my parents. I don’t really know any other vegans apart from them, though. When I do meet other vegans, I just know we will get on better, as we fundamentally share the same morals. It does get me down sometimes how few vegans I meet.

It disappoints me that I work in the environmental sector but know hardly any other vegans, or even vegetarians, at work. Even though we are all aware of the environmental impacts of eating meat and dairy, my colleagues still eat meat. I thought when I joined this sector that I would meet a lot of vegans and like-minded people, but it hasn’t worked out that way.

I’ve recently joined Vegan Runners UK, where I hope to meet some new people with the same views as me.

Do you live in a meat/dairy-eating household? And if so, how is that?

No, thankfully I don’t. I live with my girlfriend now, who is vegan, and I grew up in a vegetarian household that has since turned vegan too. So, when I visit home, I’m still in a vegan house.

Do you feel you have more in common with vegans than the majority of other people who don’t believe plant-based is the way forward?

Yes, absolutely. I mentioned earlier that I feel uncomfortable around people eating meat and think about how we have such different views. I’m really interested in the psychology of vegans and non-vegans. Why do a relatively small number of people feel so strongly about animals while the majority choose to exploit them?

I’ve likened it to a religion. I’m not religious, but I imagine a devout Christian or Muslim may not understand how someone can’t believe in God or any of their other beliefs. Veganism feels that way to me; I just can’t comprehend how people eat animals or exploit and abuse them in any way.

It’s baffling to me that you can show someone horrific videos of animals in factory farms, lay out the statistics on animal deaths, the environmental impacts and the health benefits, but people still ignore it. There isn’t that connection between the animal and the food they’re eating in their heads, or they just don’t care, which is worse in a way.

That’s why I definitely feel I have more in common with vegans. I do think we are more empathetic, more connected to animals and the environment, and much more conscious of our impact on this world.

Do you, as most of us have to, eat out with non-vegans often, and how do you feel about their eating choices?

I do eat out with non-vegans, but not too often. It’s usually for a work meal or with friends. No one ever asks questions about my veganism; it’s always well respected, but I do still sometimes feel uncomfortable when out for a meal with non-vegans.

As I mentioned previously, I just can’t understand how intelligent adults can eat meat. Especially as I work in the environmental sector, and my colleagues are fully aware of the environmental impact of meat and dairy, but they still choose to eat meat. I can’t help but judge their choices harshly. It’s hypocritical too. They express how much they worry about climate change but engage in one of the main industries that is causing it.

I have friends who likely know that eating meat isn’t right, but they’ve done it their whole lives and can’t be bothered to change. It’s easy for people to just do the same things that they’ve always done; even if it’s wrong, it’s become a habit that is hard to change. I don’t agree with this either. Just because we’ve always done something one way, it doesn’t mean it’s right.

I’ve had friends say that it’s just easier to eat meat and that they just couldn’t give up chicken, fish, cheese, etc. I find I have to keep my true feelings to myself: that I think this view is selfish. I’m not an extrovert; I don’t feel comfortable questioning people about their choice to eat meat (I wish I was confident enough to do this). So, meals out with non-vegans aren’t always that enjoyable.

Are you involved in any form of activism?

Many forms of activism just aren’t for me. I donate money monthly to a few vegan charities – not much, but just what I can afford. I’m on the committee of the vegan network at my work. It is a place for every vegan (or someone interested in going vegan) to chat; we ensure vegan beliefs are respected and act on any misinformation or bullying. I’m also signed up with several charities that email petitions to sign or emails to send to my MP on animal rights issues.

I would like to be the vegan who stands on the street informing people about animal agricultural practices or the one who protests outside Parliament, but I’m quite introverted. I just can’t see myself doing those things. I feel bad for not doing them, like I’m letting the animals down. Some vegans say that not eating or using any animal products is the bare minimum. I try to do as much as I can within my own capabilities. Maybe one day I’ll force myself to go out and do something more.

How do you feel about the vegan jokes… you know, that vegans can’t go five minutes without mentioning the fact or they explode?

I don’t get them anymore, really; I’m mostly surrounded by people who know that’s a joke with no reality to it. I used to be surrounded by more people like this. I worked in a Wetherspoons pub, and the majority of the other staff would make vegan jokes often. One person called Veganuary ‘vegan awareness month’.

Sometimes I find the jokes funny; most of the time I don’t. I can laugh at myself quite easily, so they don’t really bother me, but when they are lazy or untrue or based on stereotypes, such as vegans having to mention they’re vegan every five minutes, then I don’t like them.

Joking and laughing at vegans has become such a thing that it makes me think most people don’t understand veganism at all. Those kinds of jokes wouldn’t be directed at a religious person, such as a Muslim or Jew, or at someone with a disability or someone who is gay. Ethical veganism can be protected as a philosophical belief under the Equality Act 2010, but there is still a long way to go until veganism is seen like that by the majority.

Do you believe veganism to be a fad?

No, not at all. Not eating animal products isn’t a recent thing; it’s been around forever. It’s just become more popular and widespread today for many reasons. The expansion of technology and globalisation has meant the world is more connected, so we can see what vegans across the world are doing and talk to each other. Blogs like this one help build a community, and factory farming has become so large and is so horrific that it’s no wonder people go vegan after learning about it.

If you believe in Christianity, then Jesus was likely vegetarian and, in the Bible, sin was brought into the world after Eve ate the forbidden apple. It was only after this that people began to eat meat. I don’t believe any of this actually happened, but it tells us that thousands of years ago, those who created the Bible and this story saw eating other living creatures as sinful.

How deeply and passionately vegans today believe in the cause also confirms to me that it isn’t a fad. To me, a fad is the one I mentioned earlier of protein being advertised on every food item in a supermarket; veganism isn’t that. It’s a philosophy, a way of viewing the world that translates into a certain lifestyle. It will never die out like a fad does.

I think it’s inevitable that there will be more vegans in the future; the argument for it is so convincing. Climate change will force the hand of governments and the public to shift towards a plant-based diet, and the horrors of factory farming are just too abhorrent to leave unaddressed forever.

Do you believe that the meat and dairy industries have a future?

I hope not, but I can’t see them ceasing to exist in my lifetime. As much as I would like them to cease to exist for moral and ethical reasons, I think climate change will be the reason that the meat and dairy industries are eventually phased out. People will realise at some point that something huge has to be done to tackle the climate crisis, and the animal agriculture industry is one of the leading causes of the crisis.

I was happy to see that Denmark has introduced a policy to shift towards plant-based foods. This will just have to happen in more countries eventually.

I also hope that the scale of suffering in factory farms will eventually seep into mainstream discourse. It’s happened in recent times with cigarettes, it’s starting to happen with social media, and it can happen with animal agriculture. I think it’s starting to happen a bit more now, with adverts on the London Underground from Project Slingshot being the first of their kind to communicate the horrors of factory farming to the public.

Unfortunately, these changes happen too slowly, and too many people won’t want to change how they live, so I fear the meat and dairy industries will be around for the foreseeable future, even with climate change resulting in a shift towards plant-based diets.

How do you think we best ‘convert’ omnivores to a plant-based lifestyle? And do you actively try to do this?

Veganism and vegans have become loaded words for a lot of people. They see vegans as wanting to take something away from them, so they react angrily. When I hear a very forthright, argumentative vegan, I worry that they are sending out the message in the wrong way. People don’t react well to being shouted at or told that what they’re doing, and have done all their lives, is inherently wrong. I think the best way to convert omnivores to veganism is to be factual, approachable and open to discussion, rather than giving a lecture or attacking omnivores. The core of my beliefs is often itching to give a lecture, but I know human nature is to rebuff this type of communication.

I try to lay out the facts in a non-confrontational way. I’ve been drip-feeding information to colleagues at work when the opportunity arises, just the odd fact here and there. For example, I recently gave a presentation on small ways we as individuals can be more environmentally friendly; veganism obviously fits in here. I picked out some of the most shocking facts related to the meat and dairy industries and environmental destruction. I didn’t say much more than the facts themselves.

It’s harder in a non-work setting, as at work no one can really start arguing with you; if they do, they risk disciplinary action. I’ve been in conversations where there is more of a debate about veganism, but again, I try to maintain a calm approach and just lay out the facts. They speak for themselves.

I recently watched a debate on YouTube titled 1 Vegan vs 20 Meat Eaters. A philosopher and vegan called Jack Symes debated the meat eaters on different aspects of veganism. His approach was exactly right for convincing people. He was extremely well informed, intelligent in his responses and calm. The comments on the YouTube video were often from meat eaters who admitted he was clearly right, with some saying they would now try veganism.

How do you feel about the horror-show videos of the reality of meat? Do you share them? Do you feel they have a positive place in changing people’s understanding of the meat and dairy industry?

Apart from a Facebook account, which I don’t use, I don’t have any social media on which to share these videos. I do have LinkedIn, though, which isn’t the same as Facebook, Instagram, etc., but in the last few months I have begun sharing some of these horror-show videos there. I just share posts from other accounts I follow. I don’t add any comments; I just share them.

I’m not sure if it makes a difference, but I decided I wanted to do a bit more to try to help the animals, and clicking the share button is very easy for me to do. It could show someone a video that they haven’t seen before, and they might decide not to eat meat. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.

They can definitely pull on some people’s heartstrings and bring the reality of animal agriculture closer to home. There is a natural empathetic part of humans that causes sadness and discomfort when we see suffering in another living creature. If that can be activated, then it might make a difference.

Are you positive about the future of veganism?

Yes, definitely. The current food systems are unsustainable and just can’t continue; that alone will drive more people to veganism. As more people turn vegan, more people spread the message and more people choose vegan products, so veganism will grow. It will be slow, frustratingly slow at times, but I’m sure it will grow more and more.

What does being vegan mean to you?

I love being vegan. It shapes my every day, and it’s at the core of my beliefs. I hate that I ate meat at one point; I wish I had gone vegan a long time ago. I feel happier, healthier and more in touch with the natural world through being vegan. Despite not knowing many other vegans, I feel part of something important. It’s a deeply entrenched part of who I am and my personality.

No catch – a shameless shout out for an old favourite and a great cause

No Catch opened on Brighton’s seafront in October 2021, but its roots go back to Unity Diner in London. Founded by vegan educator and activist Ed Winters and hospitality manager Kevyn Bourke, the idea grew from Unity Diner’s hugely popular “tofish” dish.

Brighton: traditional nosh with a side of compassion

After taking the recipe on the road in the Off the Hook Truck and seeing the enthusiastic reactions from both vegans and meat-eaters, the pair decided there was room for a dedicated vegan fish and chip shop. Their aim wasn’t simply to recreate a British classic – it was to offer a sustainable alternative while encouraging people to think differently about seafood and the environmental impact of commercial fishing.

Batter galore: large sausage and chips, please

Nearly five years on, No Catch has become a fixture on Brighton’s seafront and remains closely connected to the ethos that inspired Unity Diner.

While Unity Diner continues to operate in London, with profits supporting animal sanctuary work through the Surge movement, No Catch has established its own reputation.

Respect for all beings: the message is clear

There’s always a queue at the door when it opens at 12:30, and it fills up incredibly quickly with hungry folks looking for a modern take on traditional seaside food. If you’re in the area, it’s a must.

Fizzy drinks: cans of pop to wash down your chips

When pizza gets it right – why Purezza still leads the pack

Pretty much any kind of food can be reinvented as vegan. Asian cuisine calls out for marinated tofu and crisp, fresh vegetables. Fast food is equally easy to translate into plant-based dishes: burgers, sausages, chips and the like. Pasta has always been a standby for vegans of all ages and cooking abilities, from students on a budget to whole families, from humble ramen noodles to handmade ravioli. But me, what I’ve always missed most, is a damn fine pizza.

Which is why, every now and again, I simply have to visit Purezza, the UK’s first fully vegan pizzeria, founded in Brighton back in 2015.

Award-winning pizza: the one and only parmigiana party

It’s not that vegan pizza didn’t exist before that; it did. It’s just that many of its incarnations were, frankly, distinctly underwhelming.

The aim of Purezza was to change both the reality and the perception of vegan pizza. It certainly managed to do that.

The restaurant quickly built a loyal following thanks to its slow-fermented dough, blistered wood-fired crusts and carefully developed vegan mozzarella, before expanding to Camden in London and later Manchester.

This week I was lucky enough to visit Brighton, and was unable to resist the lure of a pizza. I’m far more familiar with the Camden branch, but the Brighton restaurant is every bit as good.

The One and Only Parmigiana Party really put Purezza on the map. When it was introduced, it reached the finals of a national pizza competition – a remarkable achievement for a vegan dish competing in an omnivore world. It features a tomato base, smoked vegan mozzarella, aubergine parmigiana, crumbled vegan sausage and a dusting of nutritional yeast.

The one with the truffle: also contains tofu, herbs and mozzarella

The One with the Truffle is my favourite and is made with a black truffle base, vegan mozzarella, wood-smoked tofu, wild mushrooms and micro herbs. Add a swirl of chilli oil, and you’re in pizza heaven.

Tomatoes and rocket: the salads are never dull

Alongside them came the deceptively simple Rocket Salad, a peppery tangle of leaves, sweet tomatoes and generous shavings of vegan parmesan. It was fresh, vibrant and the perfect foil to two gloriously rich pizzas.

Occasionally, I’ve managed to save a modicum of room for dessert, but this time, sadly, it was all about the pizza. I am, however, off to the Camden branch in two weeks, and determined to save that space for pudding. Famous last words!

Small plates, big flavours: an evening at Brighton’s Bonsai Plant Kitchen

Asian-inspired food served tapas style: a feast for the palate

Bonsai Plant Kitchen is one of Brighton’s most talked-about restaurants, and it isn’t difficult to see why. What began as a lockdown takeaway in 2021 evolved into a pop-up before opening its permanent home on Baker Street in March 2022. Founded by Dom and Arlo and now led by chef Dominic Sherriff, the restaurant takes its inspiration from the intimate izakayas of Tokyo, the street food of Bangkok and the vibrant flavours of Vietnam. Cooking over traditional Japanese binchōtan charcoal, the result is a menu of Asian-inspired sharing plates that has earned multiple BRAVO Awards and a loyal following.

And just this once, I’m going to let the pictures tell the story.

Yakitori skewers: chewy, ‘meaty’ and flavour-dense

Dirty rice: crispy onions, mayo and a hint of magic make this comfort food

Ordering is an introvert’s delight. A tick sheet arrives at the table and you choose how many portions of each dish you’d like to share. The suggested three or four dishes per person proved about right, giving everyone the chance to sample a wide range of flavours. Friendly, knowledgeable service kept everything running smoothly, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. The food itself encourages conversation.

A loyal clientele: booking is vital at Bonsai Plant Kitchen

Personal favourites were the various skewers, with the yakitori being particularly delightful, along with the dirty rice and the daily special of tempura mushrooms. We were a table of six and ordered generously across the menu, yet there wasn’t a turkey among them.

An eatery with character: the Japanese influence is reflected throughout

Underscored with a plum old-fashioned: the pencil is a vital instrument

A taste of York’s plant-based restaurants

York has plenty of vegan options, but only three dedicated plant-based eateries. All are very different, but together they show a side of York that’s creative, independent and quietly confident. Whether you’re vegan, vegetarian or simply curious, these are places worth seeking out.

Tea By the Lock

Savoury first: the vegan egg, beetroot, and cream cheese sandwiches followed by scones and cakes

Out in the sticks a little is Tea By the Lock. Close to Naburn lock, and run for the past seven years in a large Georgian Hall by the wonderful Ruth Richards, this is simple traditional home-cooked comfort food in the British tradition. Pastries, cakes, sandwiches…. And a spectacular afternoon tea.

Wide appeal: only 15% of the customers are plant-based

Under blue skies: popular with strollers and dog walkers

Step back in time: an eclectic mix of crockery and artefacts

The task before us was a mammoth one, and we spent three hours trying to tackle this mountain of food.

“No-one ever manages to leave without a doggy bag,” Ruth told us, and we didn’t break the mould.

A palate-cleanser: sorbet and fresh strawberries

Vegan Orchid

‘Duck’ pancakes for two: a popular starter

The Orchid was York’s first fully vegan Chinese restaurant and is without doubt my favourite dining place in the city. The menu draws on Chinese and wider Asian influences, with dishes that are as elegant as they are comforting.

Quirky Bird: a lovely selection of wine to accompany your choice of meal

With a strong focus on fake meats and tofu dishes, this restaurant is popular with herbivores and omnivores alike. Its opening hours are 6-9pm and booking is highly advised.

Junk Soul

Fast food vegan-style: ‘honey’ dripping wings

Located in York’s Spark venue, Junk Soul serves unapologetically indulgent vegan fast food: smash burgers, loaded fries and burgers, earning itself a dedicated following.

With a main branch in Beverley, and churros for dessert, this is a great place for a quick lunch, or to settle in for a longer session.

Spark: set the independent scene alight in York

Built from repurposed shipping containers, Spark has transformed a once-vacant city centre site into a vibrant hub for independent businesses, street food, artists and community groups. More than just a food market, it’s a place where start-ups can test ideas, creatives can showcase their work and local people can come together – all while supporting York’s independent spirit.

Plenty to share: round off your meal with these delicious tiny doughnuts

And so, with three very different plant-based eateries, and many other restaurants offering vegan options, York may be a small city, but it caters well for those looking for cruelty-free food.

A plant-based sanctuary on the banks of the Seine

Nestled in the shadow of Notre-Dame, close to the banks of the Seine, Le Grenier de Notre-Dame is a welcome find for the herbivore. Parisian summers can be brutal, so stumbling across somewhere cool, leafy and inviting can feel almost as satisfying as the food itself.

This vegetarian restaurant has a wonderfully relaxed feel. Trailing plants hang from the ceiling, giving the dining room a cool, organic atmosphere that offers welcome relief from the tourist bustle outside. There are tables both inside and out. Service was casually attentive, and one staff member even brought over a handheld fan when they saw me wilting in the heat.

The menu is built around traditional French dishes with a predominantly vegan twist, with options clearly marked throughout. Portions are generous without being excessive, and everything felt cooked fresh to order – creative, considered plant-based cooking rather than compromise.

Paris on a plate: a formidable mix of colours and flavours

I chose the seitan escalope. It arrived as a perfectly square, slim slice of seitan with a dark, crisp coating – somewhere between a schnitzel and an escalope, and all the better for it. Alongside were chunky fried potatoes that landed somewhere between chips and roast potatoes: wholesome, comforting and beautifully crisp. Two different salads added freshness and acidity that really brought the whole plate to life.

My companion opted for the lentil burger, served with the same excellent potatoes. The lentil patty had plenty of texture and the vegan cheese melted well, making for a satisfying, hearty lunch.

With the temperature climbing outside, we happily lingered for the best part of two hours, enjoying the cool interior and unhurried atmosphere while sheltering from the blazing Paris sunshine.

To finish, we ordered sorbet: raspberry and blackcurrant. The raspberry was sweet and vibrant, while the blackcurrant delivered a wonderfully sharp, intensely fruity finish that rounded off the meal perfectly.

Le Grenier de Notre-Dame feels like a genuine discovery – a calm, unhurried spot in the beating tourist heart of one of the world’s great cities. No rush, no shortcuts, decidedly not fast food. If you’re vegan and find yourself in Paris, make a point of seeking it out.

A place to linger and chat: locals and tourists meet

The aromatic little restaurant near Gare du Nord that saved the day

A feast for the eyes: after a long day, this was just what the doctor ordered

Historically, the words vegan and Paris in the same sentence would produce at the very least a wry smile. Beautiful city, stunning bakeries, gorgeous bistros and, so the clichés suggest, approximately zero interest in feeding you without butter, meat, underlined by a baffled shrug from the surly waiter. In a world where HappyCow exists, I had no such worries about Paris.

This blog doesn’t normally cover vegetarian restaurants, but Saravanaa Bhavan is a South Indian institution that deserves an exception. The chain was founded in Chennai in 1981, and now spans over 45 locations worldwide. The Paris branch opened in 2010 and has been quietly feeding vegetarians and vegans ever since; no fanfare, no inflated prices, just honest, aromatic cooking.

The menu is entirely vegetarian, and much of it is naturally vegan or easily adaptable. Think crispy dosas filled with spiced potato, fluffy idli served with pools of sambar and fresh coconut chutney, vada, pongal, and thali platters piled high with little katori bowls of dal, curry, rasam, and sabzi.

Not a turkey in sight: each dish was a delight

Who can resist a thali? Not me or my two companions, that’s for sure, and so three thalis it was. You need to specify vegan, because the menu can be a bit ambiguous, but once you mention the word, the waiters know exactly what you’re talking about. On that topic, our waitress was an absolute delight, and it was down to her that we trusted that the ubiquitous ghee had been omitted, and also that we ordered that second bottle of wine.

What we got felt like a wholesome South Indian meal served with rice, sambar, rasam, breads and a selection of curries.

It’s no-frills in the best possible way. Faux marble tables, copper thali trays, busy waiters, the smell of filter coffee and spices drifting from the kitchen. Located just around the corner from Gare du Nord, it is an ideal first or last stop if you’re arriving or leaving via Eurostar.

Itadakizen: Thinking outside the bento box

An oasis of calm: Itadakizen sits minutes from the bustle of King’s Cross station

Itadakizen is an unpretentious Japanese vegan restaurant, serving top-quality food, simply prepared.

With further branches in Shrewsbury, Paris, and Kyoto, the name – initially quite a mouthful – perfectly reflects the philosophy behind it. Stemming from the Japanese expression itadakimasu, the restaurant embraces a respectful and thoughtful approach to eating and living.

The food is built around seasonal vegetables, brown rice, fermented foods, and soy products, creating dishes that feel both nourishing and deeply satisfying.

On a recent visit to the London branch, we tried the daily special: a beautifully presented two-tier Japanese jubako box. The first tier featured Itadakizen kakiage tempura on rice with teriyaki sauce, while the second included tofu steak, a spring roll, and the chef’s special of the day (in this case, padron peppers with aubergine) perfect for enjoying a variety of flavours in one meal.

I genuinely can’t recommend this place highly enough. I’m off to Paris next month and fully intend to visit their restaurant there too. Watch this space!

Tea by the Lock: old-world charm, vegan comforts, and the elusive egg sandwich

Tea by the Lock: eclectic crockery and giant cakes

The only truly modern aspect of Tea by the Lock is its identity as one of York’s few entirely vegan cafés. Everything else feels rooted in another era. Set within the old lock keeper’s complex at Naburn, the place is surrounded by open fields and the rushing waters of the River Ouse.

Step inside and it feels less like a tearoom and more like wandering into a casually curated antique space. There is a strong Georgian and Victorian influence throughout, from the dark-toned walls to the eclectic mix of portraits, paintings and old photographs that line them. The crockery is quaintly mismatched, and an extremely confident calico cat wanders between neighbouring tables. Even the music, at least on our visit, leans into the atmosphere, with soft wartime tunes adding to the sense that time has slowed down. Nothing moves quickly here.

Old school: don’t trust any menu that isn’t written in chalk

Started around seven years ago, the now popular spot has grown into more than just somewhere to eat, regularly hosting events that make full use of its characterful setting. Although we were there for lunch, we were invited back in the evening for a murder mystery night hosted by a local theatre troupe, an offer that felt entirely in keeping with the venue’s old-world charm. There is also space available to rent for private events.

I had fixated on the vegan egg mayonnaise sandwich and the cheese savoury option since browsing the options online the night before, while my lunch buddy had his eye on the breakfast pasty. Unfortunately, it was early spring and not peak season, and the table menu was redundant. On the blackboard behind the counter was a pared-back selection of soup, sausage rolls, and scones. The full menu, we were told, would return in April.

Savoury snacks: cheese scones and sausage rolls

Still, determined not to let it dampen the experience, I decided to embrace the moment and ordered both a sausage roll and a savoury scone, an indulgence that quickly became something of a running joke with the staff. What can I say? I was hungry.

He opted for the home-baked bread paired with a red pepper soup, which was, he said, very tasty. For sure it was the more virtuous choice beside my unapologetic gluten fest.

My two plates arrived, with both the sausage roll and the savoury scone accompanied by a tangy pickle that cut neatly through the richness. It was old-school stodge – dense, baked, deeply comforting and less about restraint and more about rich, satisfying flavours.

We never made it to dessert, but the huge cakes – at least five, of them displayed beneath oversized glass domes – were all classic sandwich-style creations in a variety of flavours. They had that unmistakable rustic, homemade look, the kind that promises generous layers and moistly spongy sweetness rather than delicate refinement.

Pause to smell the flowers: leave the fast-pace of life behind in this vegan cafe

I left happy with the experience, but still a little disappointed by the lack of choice. Next time, and there will be a next time, I want that egg sandwich.

The slow work of getting better

What spinal surgery is teaching me about patience, grief, and healing

Where recovery begins: NHS hospital waiting room

Sometimes, from nowhere, the worst thing happens and there is no getting better from it. Some things simply can’t be fixed. And yet, you still have to get up and keep putting one foot in front of another. I knew this already – but it had been underlined recently in the starkest way by the death of my partner of 36 years.

Which is perhaps why, when my legs began to fail earlier this year, my mind would eventually drift to the darkest possibilities. But that came later; at first there was denial. I told myself it was nothing.

I was spending a few weeks catsitting in Berlin, as part of my search for what my personal future might hold. It was the beginning of January and the streets were thick with compacted snow, the beginnings of layers of ice. They were gritted of course, but I noticed that my anxiety levels when walking on them were heightened in a way they never had been before. I blamed the increasing numbness crawling up my legs on the cold and kept plodding on, aware that a slip could lead to something no one over fifty wants: the dreaded fall.

January in Berlin: a slippery challenge for any pedestrian

But the trek up to my second-floor flat was undeniably becoming more of a struggle by the day until by the end of my two weeks there I was barely leaving the flat. The simple act of lifting my legs had become an almighty chore.

My return journey to England felt like some horrible endurance test, that peculiar state where you know something is deeply wrong but you still have to keep going until the journey reaches its natural end.

So I made it back and three days later I spent 40 hours in the local hospital A&E undergoing a series of tests. I had become something no one wants to be: an interesting case.

When I arrived, I was exhausted to the core. My body simply wanted someone to look after it, and I had clearly failed at the task, so I was ready to hand it over to the professionals.

By this point I could still walk short distances with what might have looked to an outside eye like confidence. A couple of hours later my balance was already starting to go, leaving me more than a little lurchy.

Possible diagnoses were being thrown around almost at random. The main symptom, the numbness, had begun in my right foot and worked its way up to the knee before beginning the same pattern on the other side, eventually reaching my upper left thigh. By this point it was moving at pace, and terms like Guillain-Barré syndrome were being floated with increasing seriousness.

In between seeing doctor after doctor, I sat in the airless neon-lit waiting room, Googling and texting in no particular order. Other patients came and went. By 1am I was exhausted and just wanted to be tucked into the bed they had promised me at about eight that evening.

At 2:30 I was finally under a slim cotton blanket in a room full of recliner chairs, noise-cancelling headphones on and beyond grateful for the cup of tea they eventually brought me before catching a few hours of sleep.

I’d made a new buddy out of our shared trauma during the wee hours, and as we wiped the sleep from our eyes we smiled and shrugged in dazed bewilderment across the now-full room. A tea trolley bearing various familiar cereals appeared, and the porter pushing it was greeted like the best kind of old friend.

Over the next 24 hours I had an MRI, an ECG, numerous blood pressure checks, blood tests, and a nerve conduction study, the one where they send small electric shocks through your nerves while reassuring you that it won’t hurt. That’s as impossible as it sounds.

I have an existing rare degenerative neurological condition which complicated matters but ultimately proved unrelated. And so, still in the clothes I’d arrived in almost two days earlier, I was finally called in to see yet another serious-faced doctor. The MRI, which I’d had to be sedated for to avoid the claustrophobia, had solved the mystery.

My spinal cord was trapped between two vertebrae, inflamed, and deteriorating quickly. I needed surgery soon or things would get worse. The words “spinal surgery” and “double incontinence” don’t leave much of a choice.

So that’s what happened. I was swept erratically into the slow, initially baffling, frustrating but ultimately solid and effective system that is the NHS.

The next day I was an outpatient at a hospital fifty miles from my hometown, sitting with a young Greek surgeon who assured me his name was too incomprehensible to share, so I should just call him Harry. He talked me through the nuts and bolts and screws he planned to plant in my back. I asked for the idiot’s version, and he produced the model of a torso. I would never go through airport security without causing a fuss again.

He told me I’d be in surgery by the end of the week. The next day, having spoken to his boss, he called to say they were going to try a simpler procedure first: a laminectomy at T11/T12 to correct the stenosis causing the problem.

I became oddly protective of my poor little spinal cord as he described how inflamed and compressed it was in such a small space. By filing down a piece of bone and increasing the room around it, he explained, they could stop things getting worse and perhaps even make them a little better.

Again I was quizzed about my control of bowel and bladder, which added to the sense of urgency. This time I was told it would be two weeks, and to keep an eye out for any deterioration. By that point I knew exactly what that meant.

In reality the decompression surgery came four weeks and one day after that first visit to hospital. One operation was cancelled during that time because I had not been told of the importance of stopping blood thinners seven days before spinal surgery.

I tried to relax into the waiting period, using it to settle into my new house and turn it more fully into a home. In reality, though, much of my time was spent poking at my legs. How far had it spread? Was I numb here? Was I numb there?

Google, Google, Google.

The NHS machine had properly kicked into action and I received phone calls almost every day keeping me informed. I went for a pre-op assessment. I spoke to physiotherapists about what might happen afterwards and what help they could offer. My GP was only an app away.

At first I was still trying to walk, but my stamina declined quickly, my balance was shot, and apart from the occasional three-minute trek around the block I became increasingly housebound.

Housebound, anxious, and watching your nervous system misbehave is quite a combination.

I live alone, and despite having family nearby the concept of time began to blur. I slept on the couch, waking each morning to a largely numb lower half and then prodding and pinching to see what feeling I still had. When I was awake I wandered around the house making sure everything was at waist height to minimise the need for bending after surgery, packing and repacking my hospital bag like an overeager expectant mother.

I read every horror story online, haunted the relevant forums, and studied statistics like a mathematician. Having already had one operation cancelled, I assumed it would happen again. Throughout that month-long waiting period it rarely crossed my mind that things might actually be okay.

I’m now on day 18 after the surgery.

The call eventually came, despite my quiet conviction that it would somehow be cancelled again, and the system that had felt so slow and uncertain suddenly moved with surprising efficiency. I spent two nights in hospital. The operation itself went smoothly, I’m told, although at the time I was far too busy surrendering to anaesthetic and morphine to form much of a judgement.

The first few days afterwards were not elegant. Dignity disappeared entirely and pain became a fairly dominant feature of daily life. But morphine and exhaustion have a way of smoothing the edges of things, and before long I found myself in that curious territory that follows any crisis: the moment when you realise you have survived the worst of it.

Your chariot awaits: helping to put one step firmly in front of the other.

Recovery, it turns out, is a strangely tentative business. Improvements arrive in small, almost suspicious increments: a little more strength here, a little more feeling there, a walk that lasts a few minutes longer than the day before.

Some days I test my legs the way I once poked at them in fear, checking whether the numbness had spread. Now I’m looking for something different – signs that things might be returning rather than disappearing.

Grief taught me something difficult about life: sometimes the worst thing happens and there is no getting better from it. That knowledge doesn’t disappear simply because a surgeon has created a little more room for a struggling spinal cord.

But day by day, almost imperceptibly, things are shifting. A little more strength here. A little more feeling there. For now, that seems to be enough to keep me moving forward.