My Life As A Four-Day Pescatarian

An outcast. A misfit. Persona non grata.

That’s been my life ever since, four days ago, I became a pescatarian. True: I only made this declaration yesterday and, truth be told, it’ll probably end with an Umami Burger somewhere down the road. But you should’ve seen the horrified looks on my friends’ faces last night when, at L&E Oyster Bar, I refused the chorizo toast that came with the smoked mussels. It was at that moment they knew I might be for real.

Here’s how this happened: on Saturday, when we got back from Vegas, I made that Vegas Recovery Salad for dinner. On Sunday morning, I made granola which I ate with yogurt and an apple. For lunch, I made that egg salad with yogurt.

Then, for dinner that night, I went to McCall’s fully prepared to buy some meat for myself (Craig’s still in New York). That’s when I saw those clams and made linguine with clams.


Monday’s lunch was a tuna sandwich; Monday’s dinner was cauliflower steak. Yesterday’s lunch was the sushi you see at the top of this post; yesterday’s dinner was halibut at L&E. Today I had quinoa for lunch.

What’s happening to me???

Well, a few things. I think I conflated a desire to eat healthfully after Vegas with a desire I’ve expressed here before to eat more conscionably. It’s easy to eat healthfully when you cut out beef, pork and chicken. True, fish has its own set of compilations (see: the Seafood Watch) but that’s less about healthfulness and more about the environment.

Combining this new diet with exercise (Monday and Tuesday and hopefully today) has made me feel lighter and altogether better. But am I fully prepared for what I’m giving up? I just read Besha Rodell’s review of Rustic Canyon and already I’m craving the short ribs with the strawberry soffrito. Would I really say no to that if Chef Jeremy Fox placed it in front of me? I’m not signing away meat on the dotted line yet.

Also: Craig’s coming back on Saturday and he’s not going to like it when I’m serving quinoa, couscous, and wheatberries for dinner every night. He’s going to want, at the very least, my famous roast chicken or spatchcocked chicken. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, I’m pretty sure the way out of a man’s heart is wheatberries. I have some serious thinking to do.

But, for the moment, I’m enjoying my pescatarianism. Maybe I’ll do a weekday pescatarianism thing and eat meat on weekends? Or maybe I’ll stick to my guns and do this for as long as I can?

Consider this a cliffhanger. Tune in next week as the pescatarian saga continues!