To Live and Diet in L.A.:
A Vegan Tour of Lipo-Land
by Elisa Albert

I grew up in Los Angeles, or La-La Land, as it’s aptly called. I came of age with scions of movie stars, entertainment lawyers and their trophy wives, future movie stars and future trophy wives. It was not pretty. Within this milieu there were two commandments: (1) Thou shalt not eat food according to the dictates and desires of the human body, and (2) Thou shalt not try to initiate an intellectual discussion about the politics or implications of commandment number one.

So I revolted. Or, rather, I took the path of least resistance, which for me meant eating-—and digesting—what I pleased and refusing to exercise. Which, of course, did not lead to the ideal Southern California body. I look back now and pat myself on the back for what amounted to years of extended performance art, my body my tool for sociopolitical commentary, my every stomach roll a calculated fuck you to the beauty mafia and the culture that nursed it. I cultivated a righteous (if somewhat smug) anger and unleashed it upon anyone unwise enough to discuss the StairMaster or order salad dressing “on the side” within earshot of me.

A few years down the road, once I’d staged a definitive exit from the ranks of Rhinoplasty High, something strange happened. I had never liked meat very much—it seemed intuitively disgusting to eat animal carcasses—and as I began to read about factory farming and bovine flatulence and everything else that goes with mass production and consumption of meat, I morphed into a vegetarian. From there, it was a pretty short leap to veganism, which was for me the only sensible ideological continuation of a committed vegetarian life.

I am proud of the politics and conscience behind my eating choices, but suddenly I became that girl, scanning menus anxiously, looking for something that fits my diet, needing to exert a relatively high level of control over what I eat, where I eat, how I eat. I am proud of the politics and conscience behind my eating choices, but suddenly I became that girl, scanning menus anxiously, looking for something that fits my diet, needing to exert a relatively high level of control over what I eat, where I eat, how I eat. Suddenly, out for dinner with friends or family at an invariably meat-heavy establishment, I found myself picking delicately at the mixed greens salad or the plate of grilled vegetables. Suddenly there could be no casual enjoyment of the dip and chips at the party because the dip might contain eggs or cheese or milk. And there could be no conversation about what may or may not be in the dip because that’s such a horrible thing to talk about while standing around the freaking dip and chips.

Elisa Albert received her MFA in fiction from Columbia University. Her fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Pindeldyboz, Response and the Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. She is always up for a cupcake or three from the Magnolia Bakery. She lives in New York City.