Over the course of all my vegan comings and goings, there’s one motto that’s constantly been repeated in my head. Always be prepared. (Any similarities to existing mottos is completely coincidental.) Nowhere is this more apparent than with lunch.
I’m the kind of thoughtful, loving husband who likes to ensure that his dogs and his wife are well-fed at all times, which means checking the fridge every day before I head into the office to make sure that there’s an adequate supply of ready-to-eat (or at least ready-to-heat) food to satiate them during the eight to 12 hours I’m out. It’s a purely selfish endeavor, really. I just can’t stand the thought of coming home to emaciated stick-figure versions of my loved ones listlessly pulling their skin and bones along the floor, Walking Dead-style, gnawing at the edges of the table or my oh-so-non-vegan leather couch in a desperate attempt to absorb nutrients.
