A conversion to vegetarianism

My conversion to vegetarianism occurred in India in 1996. No, it wasn't the fact the majority of Indians are vegetarian, nor the superior calibre of the malai kofta that did it. The story is not fit for a medical journal, much less publication in a family newspaper - save to say it involved a cup of chai in a rural region that used water from a running creek that appeared to have a dead animal in it.

My stomach was never the same. And now, some 18 years on, I simply prefer eating meat-free food with the exception of fish now and again.

When I first confronted the reality that my digestive tract preferred a vegetarian diet, I panicked. What was I, as a steak-loving, roast-chicken scoffing, lasagne aficionado, going to eat?

How does one anchor a meal without a great slab of protein in the middle?

And what's more, how does any sane person navigate life without bacon?

Luckily I have always loved vegetables and with my foodie mother's dutiful support and research, I began venturing into a new world. At first, pasta and eggs were my best friend. But I soon realised there was far more to creative vegetarianism than I had imagined. Tagines, curries, roasts, soups, salads, bakes, stir-fries and not a slab of tofu in sight. Although really, I don't mind tofu.

It turns out there is nothing you can do to meat you can't do to vegetables. And I'd even go so far as to say my culinary life is far more varied and far more colourful now that it otherwise would have been. Would I have discovered haloumi, labna, or burghul if my salads were accompanying meat and not a meal in their own right? I'm a whiz with chickpeas and lentils, which can happily fit into a number of meals without drawing attention to themselves for the non-committed pulse eaters.

My husband and children are happy and confirmed carnivores who band together in the juicy and bloody enjoyment of steak, roasts and the much-loved snag. I enjoy preparing meat for them and am long past the point of longingly looking into their bowls.

I would never force my food choices on to them. In fact I believe meat is a vital component of a diet in children.

While my vegetarianism is not the ethically based sort, and I am no conviction vegan, I do allow myself a little smug satisfaction when the issue of inhumane meat production practices hits the headlines.

The thing is, more than half of my family's weekly meals would be meat-free. And often they can go longer without even noticing. It is not all about eating more green stuff. Balanced vegetarian meals require different sources of protein and flavours, so I think nothing of adding nuts and cheeses wherever I can. Eggs, pulses and grains get elevated to a higher level and the variety of vegetables we consume is, I daresay, far wider than a meat-eating household.

Have you ever eaten an artichoke Elizabeth David-style? Simmered in acidulated water until tender then each leaf dipped into a homemade and very garlicky aioli? I would walk a long way for this very meal and once ate artichokes every night for an entire week before going through a full bottle of olive oil, a dozen eggs and consequently being unable to do up my jeans …

There has been a revolution in Canberra restaurants catering to non-meat eaters over the past two decades. Where once a mushroom risotto or a hackneyed stack of roast vegetables piled high on the plate and drizzled with a roast capsicum coulis was all anyone served the freaky vego, now you can usually find something amazing on the menu. Having said that, I do believe quinoa and roasted kale have had enough time in the sun and should be gently moved on.

My favourite place for a vegetarian meal in Canberra? Sage or Italian and Sons. Both pay homage to fresh, beautiful vegetables and make no apologies for using them as a central ingredients.

My favourite home-cooked vegetarian dishes? The kids love a simple pasta with cherry tomatoes, basil and bocconcini marinated in olive oil, salt and garlic. Nothing could be simpler.

I love a thrown-together spicy nachos dish that needs to be served and eaten immediately. It helps if you have an established vegie patch as we now do, which can provide chives, rocket and chilli for a taste hit. The corn must be cut fresh off the cob and don't skip the labna or roasted pepitas at the end.

It is so packed full of flavour even the most committed of carnivores will overlook the absence of mince.

Emma Macdonald's vegetarian nachos

Lay down some organic corn chips in a large serving bowl.

In a mixing bowl, toss one cup of cooked red kidney beans and one cup of cooked butter beans (or tinned ones, preferably organic, are fine if you are in a rush) with a cup of chopped tomatoes, half a finely diced red onion, half a bunch of coriander and a finely diced large red chilli. Drizzle liberally with olive oil, lemon juice and the grated zest of the lemon. Stir well and let it sit for half an hour.

Pour the mix over the corn chips. Steam a cob of corn, slice the corn off and sprinkle over the top. Chop up the flesh of an avocado and sprinkle that over too. Then garnish with more red chilli depending on taste, the rest of the bunch of coriander, two tablespoons of fresh labna and a handful of pepita seeds you have gently tossed in a hot pan.

Bill Granger's Asparagus and Poached Egg Salad

Serves 4

I love raw vegetables, so when asparagus are at their slim green best I just slice them wafer-thin and don't even bother to blanch - marinating in the lemony dressing is enough to soften them slightly. (Remember: ''wafer-thin'' though, or they could be woody.) This beautiful combination of flavours and textures makes a perfect light dinner.

200g asparagus, sliced into thin lengths

1 shallot, finely chopped

juice 1 lemon

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

4 very fresh free-range eggs

large handful rocket leaves

¼ tsp dried chilli flakes

25g parmesan cheese, shaved

Blanch the asparagus for one minute in boiling water and drain. Mix together the shallot, lemon juice and oil with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Add the asparagus and toss to coat. Set aside.

In a shallow frying pan, bring five centimetres of water to the boil. Turn off the heat and add the eggs at once. To minimise the spreading of the whites, break the eggs directly into the water, carefully opening the two halves of the shells at the water surface so they slide into the water. Cover the pan with a tight-fitting lid and leave them to cook undisturbed for about three minutes. The eggs are cooked when the whites are opaque. Remove from the pan with a slotted spoon and drain on a clean tea towel.

Toss the rocket into the asparagus and divide between four plates. Top each with a poached egg and any remaining dressing. Scatter with the chilli flakes and parmesan shavings and serve.