Lifestyle
Meat is central to my cultural heritage. Here's how I gave it up
My earliest memories of food are of family barbecues.
My late father grew up on a cattle ranch in Uruguay, where there are three times as many cows as people. It’s one of the world’s top consumers of beef per capita; Uruguayans eat an average of 200 pounds of meat a year. Meanwhile, my mother is from Kansas City, Mo., which is renowned for its slow-smoked barbecue.
So when I decided to switch to a plant-based diet in 2007, it was an understatement to say that my parents and I were at odds. I wasn’t just cutting out a food group from my diet, but a significant aspect of my cultural identity.
I was born in California in 1989. But when I was three, my family moved to Uruguay. I have an early memory at the butcher where my abuela placed two massive cow tongues — one in each of my hands — and asked me which one felt heavier.
The tongue was for an asado, a cultural tradition started by gauchos (Uruguayan cowboy cattle ranchers) of grilling meat on a parrilla, which is an open-air wood fire outdoor grill. These were occasions where, amid the chatter of our friends and family, my father would encourage me to try bites of mystery meat cuts.
“I grilled these for you with love,” he’d say, leaving me no choice but to try what he’d handed me. Only after I’d taken a bite would he reveal what I’d eaten. A brain, an intestine, a bull testicle.
When we moved to Kansas City about a year later, asados were replaced with sprawling KC-style cookouts. My maternal family is large, so when we go out to eat, there’s usually more than 20 of us. For as long as I can remember, we’ve been loyal to Arthur Bryant’s, a BBQ spot in downtown Kansas City. As a child, I loved eating ribs doused in sweet tangy KC BBQ sauce made with molasses, acidic vinegar and spicy chili powder alongside my cousins.
At 17, I moved to Los Angeles for college. Up until that point in my life, eating meat wasn’t something I questioned. Though I never really enjoyed chicken, turkey or lamb, I consumed red meat often. This delighted my father, who considered that trait to mean I was a good Uruguayan. But despite enjoying red meat, I had no idea how to prepare it. My father was the keeper of the grill, and he held the knowledge of how to select a cut, season and cook it.
The first time I went to the grocery store in Los Angeles, I stood in the meat aisle overwhelmed. It was the summer of 2007 and the U.S. was on the brink of an economic crisis. The slabs of flesh were expensive, and the thought of handling them disturbed me. So I decided not to buy any. That’s how I stopped eating meat. Originally, it wasn’t a decision based on morals, animal rights, environmental conservation or optimal health — I just went with my gut.
I soon found my new dietary choice was a challenge for my family to accept. Two months later, I flew home to surprise my sister for her 14th birthday. When I told my parents and sister I wasn’t eating meat, they were puzzled — my mom had made fried chicken for dinner. They weren’t open to discussing the benefits of a plant-based diet. And their lack of support made me feel misunderstood. But I also decided that it wasn’t their responsibility to cater to my dietary preferences. That night, I filled up on salad and potatoes instead.
I later learned that there were a lot of complicated factors at play in our exchange.
“In Latinx culture, food is central to family and community gatherings,” says Vanessa Palomera, a Mexican-American therapist based in Dallas, Texas. “When someone goes vegan, it can feel like a rejection of the culture or family traditions, which makes it harder for others to accept.”
Food became a pressure point in our relationship. This was especially hard to navigate as a newly independent adult, when I strived to be seen. I wavered a bit in those first few years at family gatherings — especially at Arthur Bryant’s, where I’d give in to the pressure from family and have a single BBQ rib in addition to a heaping plate of beans and fries.
It often felt like my new diet was a nuisance. I felt guilty on Thanksgiving for passing on turkey that had been lovingly prepared as a way to celebrate gratitude. Again, I resorted to side dishes to satiate me. It was hardest to resist my father, who would sometimes tell me how hard he had worked to be able to buy steak for the family. I didn’t know what else to do but have a tiny bite to appease him.
But the older I grew, the better I became about sticking to my plant-based diet. At one family gathering, I attempted to create a vegan-friendly replica of my maternal great-grandmother’s cheese ball — a sphere of cream cheese and ham. Everyone was surprised at how similar my vegan version was to the original, and it was meaningful to me that I could eat something that honored my family’s traditions.
My family members gradually began to accept my diet. At another get-together in my early 20s, I made black bean avocado brownies. One of my aunts bravely ate one with a smile. (Even though they were admittedly disgusting.) But just this small gesture made me feel valued. Years later, one of my cousins even stopped eating meat in my presence out of respect for my diet. These small gestures made a huge impact.
“It’s important for your diet to be respected because food choices reflect your values, beliefs and personal choices,” Palomera told me. “When your community honors your diet, it creates a sense of support, inclusion and acceptance.”
Two years after I gave up meat, I visited Uruguay. My family there couldn’t comprehend my diet. In their minds, eating meat is inherent to our way of life. Their concern came from a place of love. Did I still get enough protein? They asked. It was obnoxious to have my choices questioned, but they weren’t wrong about my protein intake. My vegan options there were extremely limited. I mostly ate fried potatoes and ensalada mixta (a salad of lettuce, tomato and onion). When I could find ñoquis made without egg I would order them with chimichurri sauce.
This diet became unsustainable. And my hunger drove me to take a bite of choripán here and a sándwich de miga there. It felt confusing. These were my favorite dishes as a child and I still enjoyed the taste. At the same time, indulging made me feel horrible. What was I doing this for?
I began to research the principles that drive people to veganism, and it was then that I knew I could not support factory farming’s detrimental impact on the environment. I also wanted to live a life in line with my belief that all animals have the right to live without being raised for human consumption.
Over the last 18 years of being plant-based, my reasoning for not eating any sentient being has been influenced by the Buddhist, Hindu, and Jain philosophy of ahimsa, a belief system that teaches leading a nonviolent life and respecting all living beings. Many folks, myself included, believe that means refraining from consuming animal products.
When I returned to Uruguay a decade later, Montevideo had a burgeoning vegan scene and I was finally able to enjoy plant-based versions of foods typically made with meat such as empanadas, milanesas and even a chivito — the national dish of Uruguay that usually made of mozzarella, steak, ham, bacon and egg.
To have access to my cultural heritage in plant-based form was thrilling — and delicious. And it also helped my family take part in my diet. They joined me at vegan restaurants, where they enjoyed trying our foods in meatless forms. Having culturally relevant vegan food, like vegan chorizos, made it easier to enjoy asados with my family — we could keep the ritual going without sacrificing my personal dietary choices.
I now understand how important that was for my mind, body and spirit. As Palomera says: “Food is tied to our identity, heritage and sense of belonging. It can connect us to our roots.”
Today, many of my family members make an effort to look for vegan-friendly restaurants when we go out to eat and to have plant-based food at home when I visit so I can cook. They’ve come to love the dishes I make, both vegan Uruguayan fare and others I’ve learned how to make while traveling to over 90 countries.
I no longer feel alienated from my culture. Through patience, curiosity and commitment, I’ve found that you can honor your heritage while staying true to your values — one delicious vegan chivito at a time.
Lifestyle
‘The Invite’ is a marriage comedy with sex and heart
Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: It’s hot when a man drives to me. But would this new guy make the trek from the Valley?
I met Dan on Hinge.
He lives in Woodland Hills, and I live in Venice. In Los Angeles, this is considered a long-distance relationship. In another city it might be nothing. Here, it’s a factor.
But I believe that with the right person, you can make anything work, so I stay open. I’m a native New Yorker, and if I were living in Brooklyn and a guy lived on the Upper West Side, that would be a 45-minute subway ride, which is truly nothing in New York. So with that same logic, I try to have flexibility with men in L.A.
When we started planning our first date, Dan suggested three options: a hike on mushrooms, a wine tasting or a walk on the beach.
A hike on mushrooms is something I’d only do with someone I already trust, not someone I just met online. I don’t do first-date hikes because I don’t like feeling trapped if the guy’s a dud. So I chose the wine tasting.
Then I learned the wine tasting was in West Hills.
On a Friday night, driving there from Venice would be insane. So I said I didn’t want to meet there because of the traffic. He suggested Malibu. That was also not ideal on a Friday.
I was getting annoyed — this was a pink flag because in my dating world, the guy is supposed to come to the woman’s neighborhood in the early days. I’ve gone out with plenty of men from the Valley who effortlessly suggested they come to me. It’s not rare or impossible.
I suggested he come to the Westside. I didn’t specifically say Venice, and in hindsight, I probably should have. He landed on Brentwood, which was manageable for both of us. On our first date, we met at an Irish pub on Wilshire Boulevard. He was cuter and more interesting than I had expected, and with the Guinness flowing, we had fun.
When I got home, he texted me: “Well, I like you 🙂 Less the tik tok and the lack of rock music in your life, but it’s not a deal breaker — there are other qualities 🙂 What are your thoughts?”
I noticed the slight negativity but was mostly dazzled that a man texted immediately after the date to say he liked me. In the modern dating economy, this felt rare.
The next day, both of our evening plans fell through, so we made a last-minute date. The wine tasting he originally suggested still sounded like fun, and although it meant me driving to the Valley, I was up for it now that we’d met.
We sipped flights at Malibu Wines & Beer Garden in its airy, romantic courtyard and played a flirty version of Truth or Dare. Halfway through, he dared me to kiss him.
We ended with sushi on Ventura Boulevard and a short make-out session in his car. He invited me to Thanksgiving at his uncle’s, which felt too soon, but also sweet.
After the second date, he texted and said he had his kids that week and was also hosting an event on Thursday, so his only day to meet was Wednesday. I said great.
On Tuesday night, he checked if we were still on, and I said yes.
Then he texted: “I’m flexible on time but not on location. I have a big event on Thursday, hopefully you can come to me again.”
My stomach tightened. This again?
So I texted back: “I drove to you last time, which was a bit of an exception for me especially in the early days, but the wine tasting location sounded special. Usually guys come to my area. How about we switch it up this time?”
He replied: “I appreciate the effort! Because of my event, I’d rather be close to a computer just if needed … Here is what i offer:
— I’ll come to your area anytime next week/end
— Lunch/dinner on me
I want to continue where we stopped last time 😉 No pressure of course, but let’s snuggle”
I responded: “Ok let’s meet next week. Snuggles sound nice … let’s see what happens …”
Then he wrote: “So I won’t see you tomorrow?”
I replied: “Unless you wanna come to me and bring your laptop along, let’s rain check until you have more flexibility.”
He said: “Dang, you are hard. I’ll let you know tomorrow around midday if it’s ok.”
And then — surprise — he decided to come.
He drove to Venice for a 5 p.m. date. He said his ETA was 5 p.m., and it ended up being 5:25 p.m., typical 405 Freeway.
When he showed up, he was in a cranky mood. On our way to KazuNori in Marina del Rey, I thanked him for picking me up and told him I think it’s hot when the guy comes to the girl.
“You’re just saying that because you want me to come to you more,” he said, not playfully, but aggressively.
That was basically the end for me. But there I was, in his car, heading to dinner. So I stayed pleasant and tried to make the best of it.
I shared that in the early stages of dating, I find it’s good etiquette for the guy to come to the woman’s neighborhood. He immediately disagreed and started ranting about how dating rules are ridiculous and how they swing in women’s favor. He resented paying for dates and declared he wasn’t looking to “sponsor a woman’s life.”
“If women want equality and equal rights,” he said, “then it should apply all across the board, including dating, and the man shouldn’t have to pay.”
I said women don’t actually have equal rights because we get paid less than men and often receive lower salaries than men in the same position.
I tried to change the subject and reset the mood, but he insisted we keep hashing it out.
I tried to explain masculine/feminine dynamics: providing and protecting, giving and receiving.
“What does the man get out of this arrangement?” he asked.
It was like watching someone’s personality warp into Mr. Hyde. Then he brought up another point: He’s a single dad of two kids, so he gets tired; and because I don’t have kids, that should factor into who drives where.
At this point, I was barely engaging and focused on eating my hand rolls, and I couldn’t wait to get home.
The check came, and I happily split it, wanting nothing further from him.
In the car back to my place, he remarked: “It’s obvious we’re never gonna see each other again.”
Obvious, but did it need to be stated?
Then he showed me a Spotify playlist he’d made for me of his favorite electronic music, because he knows I like EDM.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s how I show interest. Through things like this, not who drives to who,” he replied.
When I got out of the car, we wished each other luck, and I headed inside and shut the door.
Two hours later, he sent me the playlist. I’ve yet to listen to it.
It wasn’t the distance that ruined it. It was the resentment. I’m not looking for a man who feels burdened by the effort. I’m looking for a man who sees the value of courting a woman in the first place.
The author is a writer, comedian and former psychologist who lives in Venice. She is the creator of the new vertical series “Manfari.” She’s on Instagram: @solange_neue and @manfari.show.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
Smithsonian chief emphasizes ‘accuracy and integrity’ after White House report
Lonnie Bunch III is the 14th Secretary of the Smithsonian. He’s pictured above in September 2017.
J. Scott Applewhite/AP
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J. Scott Applewhite/AP
In a memo addressed to staffers sent Tuesday, the secretary of the Smithsonian, Lonnie G. Bunch III, defended the institution after the White House issued a 162-page report that characterizes the National Museum of American History as a place which has become “subject to institutional capture by a radical, activist ideology that is fundamentally opposed to telling the noble, honest story of the great country we know and love.”
In his email, which NPR has obtained, Bunch wrote in part: “While there will always be room for improvement, this report is not a fair characterization of the work and totality of the National Museum of American History. At the Smithsonian, our work is driven by scholarship, accuracy and an uncompromising commitment to tell the fullness of America’s story. As public servants and the keepers of this institution, we are charged with helping a nation find understanding, hope and clarity and as part of that duty, we are dedicated to excellence, reflection and growth.”

He continued: “We remain focused on what grounds us: a steadfast commitment to scholarship, nonpartisanship, independence, accuracy and integrity. For nearly 180 years, the Smithsonian has worked alongside partners across government — from the White House to Congress to our governing Board of Regents — guided by our enduring mission to increase and diffuse knowledge. That purpose remains: to pursue knowledge with rigor and to serve the American public with clarity and care.”
The White House report was issued on July 4 by the Domestic Policy Council under the title “Saving America’s Story: How Ideological Capture at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History Erases Our Heritage.”

The council faults the National Museum of American History on a multitude of fronts, saying it underemphasized the Founding Fathers and early colonial and Revolutionary history; was not sufficiently celebratory of the country’s 250th anniversary; and that it engaged in “anti-white,” “illegal alien” and transgender activism.
It also accuses the museum of trying to “indoctrinate” teachers and students through its exhibitions, programming and teaching resources.
In the report, the council also specifically criticizes museum director Anthea Hartig, who has led the National Museum of American History since 2019 and is concurrently the president of the Organization of American Historians, calling her “an activist advancing an ideological agenda contradictory to the museum’s founding purpose of fostering patriotism.”

The Trump administration has made the Smithsonian museums one of its primary targets in its efforts to reshape cultural narratives to align with its viewpoints. In August 2025, the White House requested a “comprehensive internal review” of eight Smithsonian museums, including the National Museum of American History, following an executive order issued by President Trump in March 2025 in which he called for the removal of “improper ideology” from the Smithsonian’s offerings.
According to the Smithsonian’s charter, all of its 21 museums, 14 education and research centers, and the National Zoo are meant to be run independently of the federal government. The Smithsonian is overseen by Bunch and a board of regents, which includes Vice President Vance, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts and other members appointed by Congress.
In an interview with NBC’s Meet the Press on Sunday, Bunch spoke about the Smithsonian’s 250th anniversary special exhibition at the Smithsonian Castle, which is called “American Aspirations.”
He told NBC: “It’s really important for people to understand that America is much an ideal as it is a place, that it’s a series of aspirations that have really shaped who this country is. And so for me, what is so powerful is to say, ‘Let us honor the words of Thomas Jefferson and the founders, but let us use those to challenge us to be better.’”
Jennifer Vanasco edited this story.

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