I went vegan in a small town with one grocery store and these 6 meals got me through

When I made the decision to go vegan at 35, I was living in a small town in rural Pennsylvania. Population: 2,400. Restaurants: three, all serving variations of the same meat-and-potatoes menu. Grocery stores: exactly one.

I remember standing in the single aisle that passed for "international foods," staring at a can of chickpeas like it held the secrets of the universe. No tofu. No tempeh. No plant-based milk beyond a dusty carton of original Silk that had been there since who knows when.

I had just finished reading about factory farming practices, and my conviction was strong. But my options? Those felt impossibly limited.

What I learned over the following months changed not just how I ate, but how I thought about resourcefulness itself. These six meals became my foundation, and they might become yours too.

1) The humble bean and rice bowl

I know, I know. Beans and rice sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry. But hear me out. This combination forms a complete protein, and when you're worried about nutrition in a food desert, that matters.

My version used canned black beans (always available), whatever vegetables I could find in the small produce section, and a simple sauce of olive oil, garlic, and cumin. Sometimes I'd add hot sauce. Sometimes salsa from a jar. The beauty was in its flexibility.

What's one pantry staple you've been overlooking?

2) Pasta with whatever vegetables exist

Pasta became my canvas. The grocery store always had dried spaghetti and basic vegetables: onions, bell peppers, canned tomatoes, frozen broccoli. I learned to make a decent marinara from scratch using canned crushed tomatoes, garlic, dried oregano, and a pinch of sugar.

The key was treating vegetables as the main event rather than a side note. A whole head of broccoli, roasted until the edges crisp, tossed with garlic-infused olive oil and pasta? That's a meal that satisfies.

I stopped waiting for perfect ingredients and started working with what was actually in front of me.

3) Loaded baked potatoes

Potatoes were my salvation. They were cheap, always available, and surprisingly versatile. I'd bake them until the skin crackled, then load them with canned black beans, frozen corn, diced onions, and whatever sauce I could create.

Sometimes that sauce was just mustard mixed with a little maple syrup. Sometimes it was a tahini situation when I could get my hands on a jar during trips to the city. The potato didn't judge. It just held everything together.

There's something grounding about a meal this simple. It reminded me that nourishment doesn't require complexity.

4) Vegetable soup from the odds and ends

Every Sunday, I'd take stock of what was wilting in my fridge and what cans were sitting in my pantry. Then I'd make soup. Onions, carrots, celery if I had it. Canned diced tomatoes. Chickpeas or white beans. Vegetable broth made from bouillon cubes.

I'd let it simmer while I did laundry or read, and by evening I had enough food for several days. Soup freezes well, reheats easily, and somehow tastes better the next day.

This practice taught me to see potential in what others might call "almost past its prime."

5) Peanut butter noodles

This one saved me on nights when I had nothing left but pantry staples and zero energy. Peanut butter, soy sauce, a splash of rice vinegar, a little maple syrup, and garlic. Thinned with hot water until it coats noodles.

I'd toss it with whatever pasta I had and add frozen peas or shredded cabbage. The whole thing took maybe fifteen minutes and tasted like I'd actually tried.

When was the last time you let yourself make something imperfect but satisfying?

6) Oatmeal, but make it dinner

This might be controversial, but savory oatmeal changed my life. Oats were always available and cost almost nothing. I'd cook them with vegetable broth instead of water, then top with sautéed onions, whatever greens I could find, and a drizzle of soy sauce.

It sounds strange until you try it. The texture is comforting, the nutrition is solid, and it proves that breakfast foods have no business being confined to morning hours.

Sometimes the most nourishing meals come from breaking arbitrary rules about what food should be.

Final thoughts

Living vegan in a small town taught me that limitations can become a form of freedom. When you can't rely on specialty products or trendy ingredients, you learn to cook with intention. You discover what actually sustains you.

These six meals aren't glamorous. They won't win any food photography awards. But they kept me nourished, grounded, and committed to my values during a time when it would have been easy to give up.

If you're in a similar situation, feeling like veganism is impossible where you live, I want you to know: it's not. Start with what you have. Build from there. The fancy stuff can come later, or maybe it never needs to come at all.