Guest Post: Competing with Fanfiction

Hello. I love, read, and write fantasy fiction. Oh, and I’m a vegan.

When I sell my fantasy novels at Comic Cons, I’ll usually sneak a little reference onto the bottom of my table white board, such as Vegan, or Vegan-friendly. In my mind, this covert signal will draw vegans to my table, whispering, “I am one too. Tell me, sister, about your fiction.” Like that first moment of connection in a dystopian novel. This doesn’t happen. Instead, people skip all the other great things on the board, point right to vegan, loudly state, “Look, it says veggan!” and then laugh. This hasn’t dissuaded me from the attempt. About half of those times, someone will ask, “Vegan-friendly fantasy fiction? What’s that?” They laugh. Then when I start to answer, they leave. Even more often, they point and laugh, then turn away.

In my mind, whenever someone asks what could be vegan about fantasy, it proves to me that they’ve never been a vegan reading fantasy. In addition to a lot of the violence and war in the genre (it’s usually a central component, even outside of grimdark), the best scenes feature someone riding their steed in a fine leather vest to grab a hock of ham. I’m not even sure I know what hocks are, but I have concluded they are key to the development of fantasy heroes. So, you know, my fiction is just focused a bit differently. In fact, I think that diversity and exploration is what fantasy is all about.

I’m not here to get into all of that, though. I’m here to talk about one of Cat’s and my favorite subjects: yummy food. Now, I’m not an authority on gourmet cuisine. Go to a vegan restaurant or check out many amazing online vegan chefs for that. (I’m particularly fond of Richa Hingle.) Hey, I’m not even a great cook. But I haven’t eaten meat in almost a quarter century, so I can definitely speak to “what we eat.” Don’t worry. This is just a quick blog to spark some ideas. But if you don’t mind eating plants, here are five simple foods you could give a spin.

This is a vegan staple, and yet so many people have never even heard of it. First, where to procure?

Any health food store should sell it in bulk, but even a standard grocery store should have a little plastic can of it. It’s rich in B vitamins and is often described with a nutty or cheesy taste. (It’s really a “yeasty” taste but no one wants to say that for obvious reasons.) Online vegans often say to sprinkle it on popcorn, but I find it a little dusty that way. Bloggers always show it on avocado toast, but the avocado doesn’t need it. I use it as a savory seasoning: in soups, in pasta, or even to make a quick vegan mac & cheese. Just get a bag and throw it on or in stuff. It’s good.

I do love a good tofu (I am so serious about tofu), and especially love when I can find local or handmade tofu. But there’s another common plant protein which with you may not be familiar. Seitan is essentially seasoned wheat gluten (or “wheat sausage” if you will), so it’s no good if you avoid gluten or eat gluten-free. Savory and rich, I really think you can’t beat a good homemade seitan. (Despite having more than one young hipster brag to me how much they love “eating Satan.”)

There are all kinds of searchable recipes, and I’d recommend using ones that incorporate lots of rich broth””and beer. (You don’t need the beer; it’s just got a flavor that works really well in seitan.) And if you don’t want to try making it, buy a good brand like Upton’s. It won’t be as juicy from the box, but still hearty and delicious.

I guess I should clarify that I’m a real-deal vegan. Without getting into it, that means I follow a belief system (an ethic) that also influences my diet. Not just a diet. This sometimes creates clashes with various plant-based diets that focus on health or shirk away from processed or commercial products.

No one should eat all packaged products. But if I had to, it might be the Gardein filets! Very likely in your grocer’s freezer too. It’s easy. Bake a couple of filets or tenders, cook a fresh tortilla (I buy ones without lard or non-vegan dough conditioners), and make a wrap with a few greens, some hot sauce, and a swipe of vegan cream cheese or mayo. I’m thinking about it now. Sigh.

“But I’ve had cashews,” you say. “That’s just nuts.” But vegans use them as an easy source of cream or milk. You do really need a high-quality blender (e.g. Vitamix) to make this work, but if you have one, it’s very simple. It’s recommended to soak the cashews first (we soak a bunch then freeze them), but not required. You can make a quick milk just by blending cashews, water, and your preferred sweetener (or not). I use this for delicious fresh lattes, with a touch of maple syrup.

My favorite use is a quick red sauce (e.g. vodka or masala) by blending a handful of cashews, a can of tomatoes (with green chilies, even better) along with whatever vodka or spices you want. That can be poured over pasta, or used to simmer peas and tofu, or to dip that Gardein you bought, or for whatever!

5. Just grab a plant

No, seriously, I’m not trying to get out of a fifth item here, but once you think more about plants, you’ll remember something you haven’t had for a while. I mean, I can’t just name all the plants. What do I eat? Sometimes a quick stir-fry. Other times a sandwich or freshly mashed guacamole. I can make soup dozens of different ways, all delicious and inexpensive. Stock spices. Stock your favorite grains. Simmer veggies in a rich sauce. Add fennel to pasta. Slice okra. Char corn. Glaze Brussels’ sprouts. Make a slaw. Throw in herbs. Or chop hot peppers. Bake potatoes. Add some Miyoko’s cheese or butter.

I could just go on and on, because quick staples I make for lunch are flashing in front of my eyes. Veggies are great! And maybe, like my fantasy heroes, you’ll be inspired to try one this week. If you do, tag me! I’d love to see what you make.

I hope that was fun””and maybe gave you some ideas for your next meal. I know I’m hungry, and since it’s five o’clock here, I’m off to break into that vegan wine. Want to connect? You can find me and my links at edebell.com. And you can check out my upcoming epic fantasy saga Diamondsong there too!

Author: E.D.E. Bell was born in the year of the fire dragon during a Cleveland blizzard. With an MSE in Electrical Engineering from the University of Michigan, three wonderful children, and nearly two decades in Northern Virginia and Southwest Ohio developing technical intelligence strategy, she now applies her magic to the creation of genre-bending fantasy fiction in Ferndale, Michigan, where she is proud to be part of the Detroit arts community. A passionate vegan and enthusiastic denier of gender rules, she feels strongly about issues related to human equality and animal compassion. She is the author of the Shkode trilogy and the editor of the new anthology, As Told by Things. Her latest book Escape (Diamondsong Book 1) is available for preorder now! You can follow her adventures and social media at edebell.com.

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this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

Look, I love to write about terrible food. Life contains so much more of it than good food, or at least my life does. (I have limited funds and poor judgement for risk.) But more than the realism, I’m drawn to bad food because it infuses a scene with context, with a messy pathos. Someone failed before this dish was even served.

I think about the scene in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy in which the spymaster George Smiley tells the story of his one meeting with his Soviet opposite number, Karla. Sitting in a greasy restaurant with his confidant, he takes a few bites of his chicken, murmuring, “There, that shouldn’t offend the cook.” By the end of the scene, he’s given up on the dish, “over which white flakes of fat had formed like seasonable frost.” I mean, the frost isn’t even unseasonable. It is correct that this is happening; it is meet. That chicken died for nothing and everyone knows it.

The cook may have made an unpalatable dish for a sad, unhungry man, but Le Carré prepares a nose-to-tail butcher’s feast of pathos and waste. One of the points of the scene is that Smiley tried and failed to pull a Not So Different Speech on Karla; he ruined it because he’s honest, and honestly lonely. The chicken fulfills its destiny in a way that’s perfect for the mood. It doesn’t symbolize Smiley’s feelings ““ nothing so cheap. Le Carré is a subtler chef than that. Each grim bite of Smiley’s chicken evokes a universe where no spymaster, no heroic fieldman, no great analyst, no chicken farmer or chicken or roadhouse chef, can catch a single break.

I come from a Patrick O’Brian family, and when I mentioned this post to my brother Aaron, he ran to find the bit in The Far Side of the World where Captain Jack Aubrey serves up a lobscouse on which “the liquid fat [stands] half an inch deep over the whole surface.” Later, a pie leaks “thin blood [thin blood!].” As Aaron points out, the pie is rich with social worldbuilding: “Jack has no cook and he’s had to rely on various sailors who don’t actually know how to provide dishes. He’s high class enough that he can’t cook, but he exists in a social setting where he can make one set of people cook for him and another pretend to enjoy the terrible results. […] I feel like a lot of bad meals in literature say stuff about power. One thinks also of the meals Charles’ dad attacks him with in Brideshead Revisited. First red dishes, then white dishes!”

I am myself, as I have said, a gleeful writer of tragic food. It’s true that my debut, The Breath of the Sun, doesn’t have the worst food I’ve ever written. This is because I cut a scene in which a character orders something called “chicken cogulare,” which beats out a scene from a previous manuscript in which a Potemkin village of breakfast pastries is served by an evil prince.

It’s also because The Breath of the Sun is a mountaineering novel, and the literature of survival has a very specific relationship with bad food: since these stories are about scarcity, they’re also about the miracle of having food at all. I remember a meal of spaghetti and fried garlic bread in Kim Stanley Robinson’s underrated Antarctica, which prompts a character to contemplate that Antarctic food, eaten in “extreme states of hunger,” “often tasted wildly delicious even if it was very plain fare.” By the same token, who could forget the “feast of hot water” with which Genly and Estraven celebrate their ice trek in The Left Hand of Darkness (or the hot beer, oddly pleasant in an ice age, over which they make the first moves of their complicated friendship)? Some of the food on Gethen is very fine, and some of it is bad, but it is always transmuted by the sharing at the hearth.

In The Breath of the Sun, when my characters eat dried chicken and biscuit (singular, because in Arctic narratives “biscuit” is a monolithic item), and when my narrator Lamat observes that this biscuit needs to be heavily hydrated with saliva before it can be swallowed, I want to evoke a purely practical un-food. Dehydrated and preserved, it doesn’t feel prepared by human hands. For my two cranky and embittered heroines, the solitude of climbing is both terrible and delicious, and so is the dried pap you eat from a tube. To climb is to leave the context of the earth, and I use food to stretch out that feeling as far as it will go.

Even a breakfast the characters eat when not on the mountain, served by Lamat’s velvety and brutal ex-husband, has this feeling of detachment. Served on “a dirty white table” in an empty courtyard, it is “an untidy heap of miscellaneous food “” rolls and dates and apples with an unpleasant touch of lemon-juice to them, boiled eggs.” The same preservation, the same detachment, but this time there’s nothing delicious or terrible about it, only a mess of context on a plate.

Lamat’s a bartender and innkeeper when not climbing, and I think the only food she really trusts anymore is what she makes herself. When she imagines the mountain from the city, she can only conjure “a morning like a clear glass cup of tea and an egg.” And when she comes home to her lover, she describes her as “a burning breath of coffee, a sense of solidity and strength […] a steady fierce look like some tame animals have.” Home is the right drink on the right breath, and privacy.

Good food is a joy of literature, of course, just as in life. But for subtle worldbuilding, for comedy, for the interplay of hospitality and power — give me the bad stuff. It is a dish of vertiginous depth. Plus, I don’t have to taste it.

Bio: Rachel Fellman is an archivist in Northern California. She writes sharp, painterly science fiction and fantasy about her various preoccupations: art history, extreme survival, toxic love, queer identity, and terrible moral choices. Most of her protagonists are great at exactly one thing and are continually prevented from doing it. Publishers Weekly called her debut novel, The Breath of the Sun, “an atmospheric, poetic, and occasionally wry and brutal story that moves with the gentle but unstoppable momentum of an iceberg.” She does not climb mountains.

Enjoy this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

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