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Amok Mama: Going PROPERLY veggie

Jacinta Nandi is now the kind of vegetarian who eats fish. And dreams about Bouletten, bacon sandwiches and mountains of spaghetti Bolognese.

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Photo by Christian Cable (Flickr CC)

So, guess what? I’ve been a veggie for almost two months now. What happened was, I read a story by Maik Martschinkowsky in Fruchtfleisch ist auch keine Lösung. It was a simple story, about how annoying barbecues are for vegetarians, and after I’d finished reading it, I just kind of knew, deep down, that we should all become vegetarians.

The thing is, to be totally honest, I’ve ALWAYS kind of known, deep down, that we should all become vegetarians. You know sometimes, when I’m in the waiting room at some Amt, or the doctor’s surgery or somewhere, and I don’t have a book to read, this future alien invasion scenario just pops into my head, a future alien invasion scenario where the planet Earth gets invaded by superior creatures, like, you know, aliens with far superior intelligence to our own, and they, like, eat us up and farm us and torture us and stuff, and we don’t have a leg to stand on – morally – because that’s what we’ve been doing to the chickens. I mean, this is the kind of scenario that just pops into my head when I’m not imagining what it would be like to have sex with August Diehl. It’s like a screensaver or something.

But Maik’s story just really convinced me that there were absolutely no moral arguments to be had for not being vegetarian. Like, none whatsoever. I still had no intention of giving up meat, mind you. I loved it too much.

“It’s such a shame,” I said to myself, “that meat is so delicious, and I love it so much, that there isn’t a chance in hell of my ever becoming a vegetarian. Oh, well. I’ll try and be a “flexitarian”. Then when the superiorally intelligent alien creatures invade, I can always say I tried my best, you know?”

So, I marched off, as flexitarianly as possible, and went to that Indian Imbiss in the Neukölln Arkaden. You can get as much curry as you want for €6.50. And I ate all this chicken curry. And it was fucking disgusting. It was awful. It was crumbly and soggy at the same time, and not in a good way. I really don’t want to sound like Linda McCartney or someone, but I could literally taste the chicken’s Leiden in my mouth. No lie. That chicken tasted like it had been born and bred in a concentration camp. It was awful. I pushed the plate away, re-read Maik’s story, and decided I would try and be veggie. Just for a month. Just for the hell of it. Just to see if I could. Just try it, Jacinta. See what it’s like.

“Hey Dad,” I said to my old man on the phone. “Guess what.”


“I’ve become a vegetarian.”

“Oh, right.”



“I give you two weeks.”

“You reckon I’ll only last out two weeks?”

“It’s the bacon, you know. Bacon, that’s the problem. Bacon sandwiches. Bacon sandwiches are just so tempting.”

“Yeah, but Dad…”


“You can’t get proper bacon in Germany.”

“Oh, okay. I give you three weeks, then.”

But I’ve found it really easy – although I must admit, I have been eating fish. I know, I know. Poor little fishes! It’s like I think they’re a kind of plant or something. But, still. I have found it, on the whole, incredibly easy. I’ve dreamt about spaghetti Bolognese once and Bouletten twice – the weird thing is, I could’ve sworn I hated the things – and bacon once. But the bacon was almost a nightmare. I was spitting it out everywhere.

So. This is my new plan. I’m gonna give up fish tomorrow. Those aliens aren’t gonna cut me any slack if they find out I’ve chomping down prawns and mackerels and trout and salmon. No. This is it. Wish me luck, you guys. I’m gonna need it. I’ll be a proper vegetarian then.