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Have a vegan wedding!
Tired of the usual wedding feasts of chicken? Author Ariel Meadow Stallings suggests settling down to a vegan meal!
By Ariel Meadow Stallings
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Meat or no meat
Our post-ceremony walk ended with our picking blackberries off the heavy, thorny bushes that cover the Pacific Northwest. This was a nice, safe, first food to share as a married couple, because we could agree on it.
You see, Andreas and I eat different things. Raised a meat-and-potatoes boy, he became a vegan (no eggs, no dairy, no meat) in high school. With a few exceptions made for milk chocolate or the very rare European cheese, he hasn't eaten animal products for well over a decade.
Meanwhile, I eat eggs, dairy, and seafood. My dream wedding menu would have included some Northwest salmon, but Andreas was adamant that we have an all-vegan dinner at our wedding. I put up one tiny argument (“But I'm not vegan . . .”), but ultimately I sympathize with the fact that he is rarely in an environment where everything is vegan. If there's any event that should cater to his diet, it should be his wedding. Our wedding.
And besides, good vegan food can be outrageously rich and flavorful, so I was happy to serve it. Plus, I'd watched Andreas maneuver his way through meat-laden family events for years. I think he got a little satisfaction out of forcing everyone to eat his food for a change -- and show off just how gourmet his special-needs food could be.
We hired Erin, a friend who's a personal chef in Los Angeles, to cater the wedding. She's served huge crowds of hungry hippies and ravers and little old men and other special-needs eaters for many years, and she agreed to make her special tofu dish that Andreas adores. The caterer's fee? Plane tickets for Erin and her husband, Dallas, who's also a dear friend of ours. Conveniently, Dallas offered himself as kitchen bitch and bartender as part of the package deal. We lucked out!
No one missed the meat. And I certainly didn't miss the salmon.
Erin cooked in the industrial kitchen at the bed-and-breakfast, and thanks to insider tips from her and other foodie friends, most of the ingredients for the meal were purchased at wholesale restaurant-supply spots, which kept our costs low.
Erin had settled into the kitchen surrounded by a cloud of helpers. Family members scooped out tiny tomatoes and cut up vegetables and sliced pitas. The team of dishwashers was preassembled to sweep through the wedding and clean the brightly colored plastic picnic dishes we'd borrowed to serve on. There were a few harried moments (as there usually are when food prep is involved), but everything seemed to go according to plan.
When it finally came time to eat, I was in a state of relief. The highest pressure moments of the wedding were over: We had successfully exchanged vows and signed the papers. Technically, we were married. The rest was just food and fun.
A year after we got married, I went to a wedding where the caterers had included leftovers as part of their package. As the evening wound down, they started carefully loading the copious leftovers into to-go Tupperware containers. Most guests picked up a couple containers on their way home. It was a fantastic idea, and I wish we'd thought of something so clever. My mother ended up with obscene amounts of premium olives after our wedding, and I wish we could have shared some of that food.
Another clever idea is to have someone pack you and your now-spouse two complete meals to eat the day after your wedding. You'll be calmer, less rushed, and infinitely more able to enjoy it.
Copyright 2007 by Ariel Meadow Stallings from Offbeat Bride: The Taffeta-Free Alternatives for Independent Brides. Reprinted by permission of Seal Press (www.sealpress.com), and imprint of Avalon Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved.
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