What Goes Through a Vegan’s Head at a Group Dinner

Pass the bread, please.


There are a lot of reasons to dread a group dinner. Some of the fears are universal, like knowing you’ll be spending approximately $80 more than you’d usually dole out for a meal, or the pressure of being stuck next to your friend's friend whom you barely know. But one thing that makes The Art Of Going Out to Eat even trickier? Being vegan.

I went vegan almost a year ago after an initial whirlwind romance with cheese lasted over a decade. I mainly made this lifestyle switch when I realized that my relationship with the dairy product was too much like Carrie Bradshaw’s with Mr. Big: I’d run to it feeling hopeful, consume it passionately in private, and then find myself devastated for the next few days after.

Unlike Carrie, however, I usually cried into containers of Tums instead of Cosmopolitans, so last year, I decided it was time to break from my beloved. And who knows; maybe we’ll wind up like Carrie and Big in the movie and have one big, um, cheesy wedding one day (less dramatically, if anything).

But—for now—I'm a committed vegan with a specific diet, which can make social situations where I have less control over the menu a little tricky. And group dinners, in particular, lead to me having a full-on One Man Show in my head as I try desperately not to reveal what I'm really feeling...while my pals order course after course of delicious foods that I can't touch.

I know, I know: it's not like I'm being forced to be vegan. That's a choice I made on my own. And, obviously, no one is making me go to these group dinners—but anyone who is thinking "Just skip them!" has never felt the wrath of a passive aggressive text message from friends who don't respect the diet you're on.

So, with that, I usually end up grabbing a seat and letting the issues flow. Here's a peek at what you can find this vegan thinking on any given Saturday night:

Dear waiter: Please don’t look at me when you’re listing the specials.

I know you had to memorize these this morning, and I feel like that’s probably annoying for you, but don't waste your breath! There's no point in waiting for my eyes to light up when you talk about the lamb ragu, because I am probably just thinking about you hating me in four minutes when I ask you to take three things out of the dish to make it vegan while reminding myself to blink. I’m sorry, and am fully prepared to send you an Edible Arrangement later as a thank you.

There should be a spinoff of Chopped where it’s just vegans trying to make a meal at a restaurant.

And can I just have a list of the sides, please?

There should be a spinoff of Chopped where it’s just vegans trying to make a meal at a restaurant. I want to tell my friends: Yes, I know the chef here is amazing and put a lot of pride into their menu. And yes, I’ve read the Yelp reviews and stalked the location on Instagram. But all of that is lost on me, because all I care about what I can order from the menu. So before arriving, I'm usually well aware that I'll have to MacGyver myself a semi-passable meal from a side of Brussel sprouts and olives.

Therefore, friends: don't ask me what I'm deciding between.

I've been studying this menu for the past 48 hours to scope out what is edible for me, so I know what I'm getting—and honestly, I knew what I was getting before the waiter even gave us water. Yes, when you're vegan, menus suddenly turn into SAT practice books where the 'X' in the equation is a Mad Lib-style, customized order of sides and vegetables that you can somehow justify as a dinner. It's always hard being That Customer who has 500 changes to an item, yet it's a punishment I've willingly signed up for—kind of like how I also signed up for being an iced coffee drinker year round. But that's another story.

I don’t care if you get an appetizer for the table...

The hardest part of a group dinner for a vegan is that everyone is DTS: down to split. Which is fun! And fine! I’ll just be eating the entire bread basket and drinking my wine while trying to find the waiter on Instagram to see if he’s single. But it gets uncomfortable when I hear “Oh, I would love the pork dumplings...But would you care?” When has anyone ever stopped someone from ordering something? Live your truth, and don’t make me be the gatekeeper for the meat eaters. But, yes, full disclosure: It does suck that I'll have to pay for it later.

And, don't you dare ask for a bite of my meal—IT’S ALL I HAVE.

The meals are here! And everyone is taking blurry photos in an attempt to become the next Insta-Ina-Garten! And then...someone asks if I want to try their meal, and I say “I’m good, thanks,” because I am good. Plus, I know all too well there’s milk in that plate.

Then, two seconds of silence fill the conversation. Everyone is waiting for me to do the polite thing and respond, “Oh, do you want a bite of mine?” But here’s the thing: this salad concoction is all I have on the table. There’s a large variety of sauces and meats for you to nibble at, so please, please just let me and my terrarium be.

Can we just split the bill and get this over with, please?

Yes, I know I didn’t eat as much as everyone else did and my meal was cheaper. I don’t care. Let’s wrap this up.

I wonder what I’m going to eat when I get home.

Because I could never get this entire group to go to a vegan restaurant, I'm stuck eating at a place where the "vegetable" section is comprised of onion rings. Which, yes, I ordered some. But as soon as this dinner wraps up, I’ll be getting takeout and heading to my couch—where I can be the only one to eye roll at myself about how complicated my order just was.


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