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Raised the daughter of a Hindu Brahmin priest, there was always a fug of disdain in our house for meat eating. My parents were, as were many first generation immigrants, keen horticulturalists who grew spinach, beets, radishes, squashes … and used and cooked every part of them. Stems, flowers, leaves and even the peelings. Hinduism, you see, suggests that the fierce energy used to digest heavy meats should be channelled into philosophy and deep thought, into fathoming how to make the world a better place. In India, eateries will presume you are vegetarian – a minor area of the menu will be labelled “non-veg items”, from which one may order with a little blush of shame.