"Vas a hacer que?!" my dad burst, grinning in disbelief. Despite how much doubt he would sow, the decision had already been made. "Voy a ser vegetariano" I firmly declared. At dinner ropa vieja steamed from the plates of my parents, pungent with traditional Spanish scents and flavors. As I contemplated my Spanish roots and Malthusian catastrophes, I stared at the unsightly mound of arroz congris on my plate. In a flash of creativity I excused myself from the table,...