The syphilitic dipsomaniac poet Paul Verlaine wrote a most wonderful description of decadence:

I love this word decadence, all shimmering in purple and gold. It suggests the subtle thoughts of ultimate civilization, a high literary culture, a soul capable of intense pleasures. It throws off bursts of fire and the sparkle of precious stones. It is redolent of the rouge of courtesans, the games of the circus, the panting of the gladiators, the spring of wild beasts, the consuming in flames of races exhausted by their capacity for sensation, as the tramp of an invading army sounds.

Don't we all want our food to be like bursts of fire and panting gladiators? Proponents of meat-eating often hold decadence up as their banner. They imply that no one who really loved food, who loved life, would decline meat. This puts vegetarians on the defensive. Their bulwark is the claim that meat-eaters are selfish, or that vegetarian food needn't be (maybe even shouldn't be) decadent because it is morally superior. But just on the horizon is a vegetarianism all shimmering in purple and gold.

With their names alone, books including The Voluptuous Vegan, the Vegan Decadence brand of baked goods, and the famed vegetarian restaurant Millennium in San Francisco all present the general public with an alternative idea: that with a lot of engineering and imagination and wacky ingredients you've never heard of, non-animal-based food can be just as decadent as meat.

Verlaine was a hedonist but that is beside the point. His decadence is not so much about self-indulgence as it is about freedom. The Decadent poets wanted to create their own moral standards and design their own world. They wanted freedom from the prescriptions of "normal" daily life. This freedom required a certain amount of artifice, the so-called rouge of courtesans. All vegetarianism is, in large part, artificial. It is based neither on ritual nor on necessity. Much of the contemporary vegetarian diet — soy milk, fake meats, highly processed yeast supplements — consists of manufactured foods that could only be created by people. It is a diet by humans for humans. A diet of modernity, whose survival will most likely depend on continued innovations in food technology. I say that is the strength of vegetarianism. It can offer a freedom that meat-eating cannot: a diet that is about choice and a liberation from the prescriptions of "normal" daily life. In short, a form of decadence. An acceptance that, like artists, we can fashion our own food and ergo, our own lives.

Most of my meat-eating friends agree that vegetarianism is the more ethical choice. What's harder to promote is the idea that a vegetarian diet is tasty and satisfying. That vegetarianism is not the diet solely of ascetics, prudes, and scolds. That chocolate, vodka, (non-lardy) french fries, and habanero sauce are perfectly wonderful vegetarian foods (in fact, they are all vegan). That you can be a selfish drunk fat slob and still do your part to limit the unnecessary suffering of animals. I’m here to tell you: It's possible, people.

I give you an example. For the uninitiated, mole poblano is a mysterious and complex beast. It has about 25 ingredients including four different kinds of chilies, bitter chocolate, peanuts, and almonds. A really superb mole is a complex whirlwind of every flavor experience available to our little tastebuds. It is the sauce of sauces. Whatever you choose to put under a mole poblano instantly reduces that thing to the role of mere vehicle. It is also precisely the kind of food that meat-eaters claim it is impossible to authentically make vegetarian. Now I have made vegetarian mole more than once and I can say that you can make this dish both vegetarian and delicious. Replacing the lard with the right balance of oil, salt, fried bread, and vegetable stock takes attention, but it is no more time-consuming than the nine or so hours it takes to fry up all those chilies and pound the pumpkin seeds which, sorry to say, you must do regardless. And I promise that there is little risk it will slim your waistline. It is very popular with my carnivorous loved ones, usually with some tequila shots.

Strangely, though meat-eaters love to wave the flag of decadence, they also love to argue with vegetarians about whose diet is more "natural," whose lifestyle is closer to nature. But truly, it's a dead-end road for both sides. What makes humans different from other animals is that we don't have to depend solely upon the whims of Nature to feed us. We can eat what we want. Eating meat is no more natural than the decision not to eat it. And, therefore, if we don’t have to eat meat, a whole new way of eating that doesn’t rely on the indifference of Nature opens up. Sure, other animals in Nature eat each other and we are animals, too. But Nature is an asshole. We know this and other animals don't.

The philosopher Peter Singer, in the canonical book Animal Liberation, wrote that "habits not only of diet but of thought and language" defined our attitudes toward animals. Singer is suggesting that a failure of imagination is at least partly at the root of meat-eating. Is it, then, also the case that when meat-eaters profess to have a "natural" diet, what they mean by nature is simply, well, habit? Whether vegetarian, vegan, carnivore, or something we haven't yet conceived of, the future of eating is about the breaking of old habits. Let's call it "second nature."

The most common question I've been asked during my 23 years as a vegetarian is quite sincere: "But what do you eat?" My answer? Look around you. You can get Indian food in Bowling Green, Kentucky mini-malls and soy milk at most any market. As more and more Halal, vegetarian, Kosher, Buddhist, lactose-intolerant, low-fat, and other man-made diets prevail in the developed world, the demand for vegetarian options is only increasing. Technology and ingenuity in the veggie food industry is skyrocketing. Companies are fighting each other in an attempt to make the most delicious meat, cheese, seafood, and dairy substitutes. The potential for these foods is huge and the growing accessibility to global goods is only bolstering the vegetarians' cause.

Don't get me wrong; I love vegetables. The earthy, rich flavor of a truffle is glorious. And vegetables can be prepared simply in many creative ways. But biting into a saucy, crispy vegetarian Texas Fried Chicken smothered in barbecue sauce from Vegetarian Paradise in New York City, you can start to re-imagine food's possibilities. The chicken is made essentially from beans. I'll admit that you don't really know what you’re eating, but the mystery makes it all the more delicious.

So it is here that I propose a vegetarianism for the 21st century. A vegetarianism that is an expression of freedom from the habit and the anachronism of meat-eating. A vegetarianism that embraces its relationship to artifice and technology. A vegetarianism that is a celebration of life rather a denial of it. A diet that is more futuristic, more fun, and more satisfying morally than meat-eating. A vegetarianism, as Verlaine would have it, of ultimate civilization.

Stefany Anne Golberg is an artist, writer, musician, and professional dilettante. She's a founding member of the art collective Flux Factory and lives in New York City. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

"Plate" photograph from FoodCollection/Getty Images.