For some while now, and yet again —previous attempts having proved unsuccessful — I have been a vegetarian of sorts. Not a religiously-aided, hymn-chanting vegetarian, but, as my daughter is wont to describe her parents’ efforts to do anything apart from the usual, a “just like that” vegetarian. On earlier occasions, having eschewed meat of lamb and fowl, I had qualified my choice as that of a pescetarian. All things fishy were fine, which change was a manageable and even a healthy one, I thought, except the family was going through a mutton phase. My son wanted his grandmother’s version
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