For the first 23 years of my life, I was a carnivore. I ate my dad’s “famous” skirt steak with chimichurri, ordered grilled chicken on my salads, and relied on chorizo and egg tacos to save me the morning after a night of drinking.
After college I moved to Portland, Oregon, for graduate school. It was there that I first started to eat a little less meat — not because I fell prey to some sketch straight out of Portlandia, but because there was an abundance of delicious vegetarian food, and I was having a blast trying it all. (Soyrizo tacos are surprisingly good!)
But then one day I stopped eating meat entirely. I did not seek this decision out, though — it essentially came to me by accident. All thanks to one 276-page book.