Moving to another country to live and work is a challenge in so many ways, but if you have specific dietary needs or happen to be a vegetarian or, heaven forbid, a vegan then ‘challenge’ can take on a whole new meaning.

As my partner and I are both vegetarians we expected that there would be some difficulties ahead of us; for example, I am convinced that many Spanish restauranteurs regard tuna as a plant and not a fish. Before ordering a snack or a meal in a restaurant or bar we would always carefully explain to our waiters, in Spanish as these we considered to be essential phrases, that we did not eat meat or fish and could whatever we selected from the menu be without these offending items. Spanish waiters would invariably look at us in a puzzled, if not confused manner, before uttering their usual reassurance.

“Of course, no problem,” would nearly always be the confident answer, but, invariably our salads, vegetable sandwich or croissant would arrive at our table graced with a liberal portion of tuna or, in the worst cases, chopped ham. The offending waiter always looked very disappointed when we declined to accept the offending dish and ask for another one, but this time without the dreaded tuna.

Often we would order, tortilla (Spanish omelette) knowing that the traditional Spanish tortilla, if prepared correctly, consisted of eggs, milk and potatoes. Again, this could not be taken for-granted as sometimes the chefs would add “a little extra something to make it more interesting”. This “little extra something” could range from green pepper and onion, which were acceptable, but also chopped ham, liver and, of course, tuna, which were definitely not.

Soya milk, free range eggs, tofu, Quorn and some of those delicious vegetarian ready meals, from the likes of Marks and Spencer and Tesco back in the UK, were of course no longer available to us and we had to think long and hard about what we could not eat that would not offend our long held principles. It was a problem at times, and it seemed that nearly every day we would have to explain our reasons for being vegetarian to someone.

Our first Christmas in Spain would be a challenge, we knew, but I was confident that David would, as usual, come up with a dish that would put our carnivore friends to shame.

I don’t really know how it happened. All I can say is that the transformation from being a relatively contented child to one causing concern, anger and frustration to the adults that cared for me happened very quickly. The focus for all this concern was my refusal to eat meat. My mother told me that I was about five years old, a “normal” eater and had just started school. Apparently, within a short time of being there I had been brainwashed into refusing to eat anything that had lived, breathed, walked and swam.

For a child growing up in rural fenland Lincolnshire, on the east coast of England, the large expanses of rich, dark soil that appeared to go on for ever, and the occasional farm were not the most stimulating of environments or places to find human companionship. There were few children of my age in the area and I quickly found friendship with animals – both domestic and farm animals. The farmers were a friendly enough lot – always welcoming and happy for me to play with their dogs and cats, feed the chickens and calves and see the newly hatched chicks. I used to spend a lot of time on the farms and it was only later that I found it hard to come to terms with the outcome of their business.

My parents were always happy for me to have any pet that I wanted to bring into our home – there was only one rule and that was I had to demonstrate that I could care for it properly. The consequence of this relatively relaxed approach was a cluster of companions that most people would not believe. Top of the ‘pecking order’ was Timmy, the cat - who was really a dog, Shakespeare, the goose who had escaped Christmas dinner, Sally the neurotic corgi who loved to bite anything that moved and Tommy, the rather confused barbary dove who seemed to do nothing but lay eggs and eat ‘Quaker Oats’. In addition there were rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, chicks, all manner of caged birds, fish, stick insects, terrapins and the odd overgrown lamb or goat – all became welcome members of my extended family. We had a rescued donkey for a time until we found him a better home in the grounds of the local children’s home. Other youngsters began to bring me their ‘friends’ to look after as well – when they had ‘tired’ of them, although my parents didn’t approve of this and thought their behaviour was “irresponsible”.

Sadly, I am still not fond of the Christmas season. Of course I enjoy the coming together of family and friends, watching children enjoy the magic of Christmas, as well as the deeper meanings and care for others that the season often brings. However, my early experiences as a child still trouble me. During this festive season, my mind goes back to the traditional celebrations in the Lincolnshire village where I grew up. In fenland Lincolnshire, meat was high on the agenda for any occasion with traditional sausages, pork pies and haslets being the stuff of celebration in many a home. Lesser known delicacies included ‘chine’ a sort of joint of ham, finely sliced across the top and stuffed with parsley and served with vinegar! As I recall this was one of the more evil concoctions that my two elder brothers loved so much. The most horrific dish, and one which still haunts me to this day, must have been – ‘brawn’ – made from boiling a pigs head. The resultant disgusting mass of jelly and meat would then form a sort of solid pudding which would then be served cold and eaten with great relish. 

It was all so much worse during the Christmas and New Year period. Months of discussion seemed to centre on, “Should we have a turkey or goose this year, dear?” There were endless discussions about where we should order the poor creature from and when it should be collected. How I hated the run up to Christmas. I would see lorry loads of animals leaving the farm next door – on their way to the abattoir. Many of these animals I would have chatted to on the way to school, given a handful of hay or grass – and now the place was empty. Shed loads of chickens, geese and turkeys fell silent. I always remember a few days before Christmas when there was a lot of hushed talk between workers on the fields who would be drafted in for the great slaughter – “The Killing Night” it was romantically called. This was the night when there would be the mass breaking of necks and plucking ‘the fowl’ ready for Christmas lunch. Yes, it was time once again for that great annual cull and Christian celebration – Christmas. How I hated it. I could readily understand the part about “Peace and Goodwill to all Men, but what about the animals?”

Perhaps these early experiences explain a little as to why I gave up eating meat at such an early age. Although I did not understand the implications of animals being produced for food until much later, I had no concept of ‘vegetarianism’, and no one had ever tried to tell me not to eat meat, it just seemed to happen and be the right thing to do. The years ahead were to be a challenge – both at home and at school. My poor mother was always worried that I would die from ‘lack of nutrition’; my big brothers would tease me endlessly and chase me with chicken legs, and school dinners would continue to be a nightmare and haunt me into adulthood.

Nowadays, I am still asked the same question that I was asked at the age of five, “Why don’t you eat meat?” I still give the same answer, “I just don’t like eating my friends” or, as an alternative, “I don’t eat anything with a face or a mother”. It is not meant to be flip, petulant, or trite retort– it is just the way that I feel. Fortunately, even in Spain, we live in much more enlightened times and being a vegetarian is no longer as unusual as it was. As it turned out I did not suffer from lack of nutrition, neither am I wasting away – as anyone who know me will confirm! As I sit tucking in to my slice of nut roast and all the trimmings, I feel grateful that I can raise my glass and wish ALL my readers and listeners, “A Happy and Peaceful Christmas”.

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© Barrie Mahoney 2025