The Grill Palace, 2014 - 2017

Every Friday, like clockwork, the Grill Palace food truck would arrive for market day. And every Friday afternoon and evening, it was the same scene: long lines, a mouth-watering aroma of grilled chicken in the air, and bags upon bags of pieces of chicken sold for just 8 euros per kilogram. I didn’t buy the chicken every week, but each time I passed by, the scene was the same—lines that stretched long, people eager to snag their weekly indulgence.

Sometimes, I’d join the line, too. Friends from the city would come over just for this chicken, and that was saying something since we had moved to the suburbs by then. That smoky, grilled taste had become something of a ritual—a tasty, addictive meal that was cheap enough to overlook the reality behind it.

But even while holding that bag in my hand, filled with around 20 pieces of chicken, a nagging thought kept creeping into my mind: How many chickens were being turned around here, just for this one truck, just for this one Friday? The smell, the lines, the endless bags—each piece was part of a life, and each kilogram represented more lives than most people ever paused to consider.

One Friday, it finally hit me. As I counted the pieces, I realized the cost. How many chickens were killed for this meal? Sold to just one customer among the dozens standing in line that day. So many lives for a single bag, every week, every Friday.

When I thought about the bigger picture, it was overwhelming. Multiply that by every food truck, every market day, every shelf lined with meat. How many lives were sacrificed just to keep up with our casual demand?

This thought sank deeper and deeper until I could no longer ignore it. Everywhere I looked, I began noticing more things that couldn’t be unseen, signs of a reality I could no longer look away from. And so, in short, that is how I ended up being a vegan.