Howard Chua-Eoan | Bloomberg Opinion (TNS)
One of the most traumatic moments in my life was being forced to eat a tangle of bean sprouts. These were not mung beans: They were thicker and twisted ominously out of their crunchy yellow seeds, looking like imploding tribbles from the classic Star Trek episode. They also gave off sulfuric fumes that made all the kids gag. But there was no escape.
“You can’t leave the table until you have this,” my uncle declared. It was 1979. My family had just immigrated to California and was staying with him and my aunt. That evening, he was in charge of feeding me, my siblings and his own kids because mom and her sister — the usual and very accomplished cooks — were away. If the smell was bad, it was worse going down. We ate these during the war, he said sternly. That made us feel worse: thinking about all the starving children in Japanese-occupied Asia who had nothing else on the menu.
I’d always been more of a carnivore, and those sprouts didn’t convince me to give up on chops and steaks. In the ensuing years, a generation of vegan and vegetarian activists didn’t sit well with me either. They were well-meaning with their catalogs of nutritious facts and save-the-planet statistics. But they often ended up strident, talking down to meat eaters as if we were pre-sapiens and then literally offering us pablum. “Would it kill you to have vegetables?” they’d say. I’d respond: “Maybe not, but that thing you put on my plate just might.”
So I was intrigued by a new initiative being introduced in Denmark to promote vegetables among a population that prefers meat and fish (and deep-fried camembert!). What’s fascinating, as my Bloomberg News colleague Sanne Wass says in her deliciously reported story, is that the literature being distributed by the Plant Fund avoids words like “vegetarian” and “vegan” — and it hasn’t set numerical or statistical targets. Instead, its $100 million in government funds are…
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