In Mexico, meat is king – would eating less meat mean losing my identity?

In December, I received a phone call from my father who, through no fault of his own, tends to fill me with dread.

"So...mom says you're vegan now," my dad said. “You don't eat meat or dairy at all? No eggs, no cheese?"

My shoulders slumped. I've lived far enough from home long enough to know that a phone call is often the harbinger of bad news, the kind that a text message doesn't do. But luckily that wasn't it. This conversation wasn't about tragedy or illness, but it was still about category Serious subject: what I wanted to eat on vacation.

I had called my mother the day before and told her that I would only eat fish on our trip from annual vacation to Mexico to visit my family. After a noticeable break, she launched her usual enthusiastic support: "You know what, I think that's awesome!"

"Just making sure!" my father insisted, after making it clear that I was not vegan. "I just want to make sure we have enough food for you this Christmas."

Like my mom, my dad made it easy. But in Mexico, where my extended family lives, meat is revered first and foremost. Monterrey, where I was born, is considered the capital of carne asadas. There, the cabrito – or roast kid – is a delight. I had tried going vegetarian once as a teenager, only for it to take a toll on our annual Christmas tamale order. As I grew older, my ties to my Mexican identity felt threatened by my desire not to eat meat; I didn't really think I could.

But living apart gives you the freedom to experiment. I had only cut the meat on a few trips to Mexico. One year, with my dad's help, I had plenty of quesadillas, cheese tamales, and tortas de aguacate, as long as the aguacate - l avocado - wasn't scratched by another family member who didn't realize it was my whole meal. But the truth is, I've been flirting with the idea of ​​not eating meat for a long time.

I'm an editor who works on the Guardian's climate and environmental coverage. Although I know the climate crisis is not my fault, I can't help but stare at a cheeseburger and think of all the greenhouse gas emissions that come from raising meat for human consumption. During the pandemic lockdown, I found it easy to cut out meat and dairy at home. I stopped craving meat except for very special occasions.

It was harder to follow when I got home, especially without adopting the formal title of "vegetarian". My parents live in Texas, where Tex-Mex cuisine still revolves around cuts of steak, chicken, pork. In my studio in Brooklyn, it was easier. When my grandmother called me to ask how I was doing, her first question was if I had a good place to buy meat nearby. I knew she knew I was holding back, even though I hadn't announced anything officially, from the way she remained suspicious even after I replied, "Yes...?"

The guilt persisted. But the more I looked around, the more I realized: there is Mexican food before meat, and there is Mexican food after. And part of the joy is finding your way to the "after".

Mexican cuisine in the United States is not a monolith. A burrito in El Paso, Texas is radically different from one in San Francisco. But popular, Americanized versions of it are largely synonymous with meat (think fajitas). And the idea that meat should be the centerpiece of all Mexican cuisine is pervasive in many circles - English speaking and otherwise.

Growing up in the border towns of Tijuana and from San Diego, writer and recipe designer Andrea Aliseda was often told that you couldn't be Mexican if you didn't eat meat.

"For a while, I was trying to be a vegetarian during the week only to crack on the weekends, bowing my head over a taco," she recently told me via email. This act seemed to me to be the quintessence of Mexicanness, a cultural and gastronomic communion."

These myths did not remain true for long. At 24, Aliseda went vegan, after three years of eating meat. At that time, she said: "I really thought I was breaking a connection...