8 phrases every vegan has heard from a parent trying to be supportive but missing the point

When you first tell your parents you’ve gone vegan, you can almost see the gears turning in their heads. There’s confusion, curiosity, and maybe a bit of panic, like you’ve just told them you’re moving to a remote commune where you’ll live on kale and prayer.

They love you, of course. They just don’t always know how to show it.

What follows is a stream of well-meaning but mildly bewildering phrases. They’re not meant to be offensive, they’re just... off. You know they come from love, but that doesn’t make them any less funny or revealing.

Let’s take a look at some of the classics, and what they really say about how we communicate across generations when beliefs and dinner plates collide.

1) “I made chicken soup, but don’t worry, I picked out the chicken.”

This one is a vegan coming-of-age moment.

The first time I heard it, I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to laugh or cry. It’s such a pure expression of parental support wrapped in total misunderstanding.

To them, chicken soup isn’t about the chicken, it’s about comfort, care, and healing. It’s what their parents made when someone was sick. It’s nostalgia in liquid form.

So when they offer it, it’s their way of saying, I love you. I want you to be cared for.

The problem, of course, is that picking out the chicken doesn’t undo the broth’s origins. But this moment is rarely about food science, it’s about emotional language. Parents communicate love through meals. When we change what we eat, we inadvertently rewrite that code.

The trick is responding with appreciation for the intent, even when the execution misses the mark. I usually say something like, “That’s really kind, maybe next time we can make a veggie version together?” It keeps the love, just changes the recipe.

2) “But where do you get your protein?”

Ah, the question that echoes through eternity.

If you’re vegan, you’ve answered it more times than you’ve blinked. And nine times out of ten, it comes from someone who’s genuinely worried you might collapse from tofu deficiency.

Parents grew up in the “meat = muscles” era. Protein was synonymous with steak and eggs. The idea that lentils or quinoa could do the same job feels like nutritional heresy.

But let’s be honest, this question isn’t really about macros. It’s about reassurance. They’re asking, “Are you healthy? Are you safe? Will you survive Thanksgiving?”

Instead of pulling out nutrition charts (which I have done), I keep it conversational now: “Beans, tofu, tempeh, I’m good.” And then I’ll point out that gorillas are plant-eaters too, just to see the look on their faces.

Over time, I’ve found that results speak louder than explanations. When they see me energetic, thriving, and not secretly gnawing on a steak, the question slowly disappears.

3) “I bought you soy milk! Or… was it yogurt? Or cheese? Anyway, it’s soy something.”

This one always makes me smile. Because it’s not about confusion, it’s about effort.

Parents wandering the grocery store aisles looking for vegan-friendly products are like travelers in a foreign country with no map. Everything looks familiar but just a little different.

There are more plant-based options now than ever, and it’s overwhelming for someone raised on the same ten brands for thirty years. Almond milk, oat milk, pea protein, cashew cheese, it’s a lot to take in.

Once, my mom texted me a photo of “vegan butter.” The label said “Made with plants!” but underneath, in small print, it also said “Contains milk.”

She was so proud, though. And honestly, she deserved credit. She was trying.

Moments like that are sweet reminders that progress often comes with a little confusion. So I usually respond with something like, “That’s awesome, next time check for a little ‘Certified Vegan’ symbol, just to be safe.” We both learn something, and no one feels silly.

4) “I could never give up cheese.”

This one used to irritate me. Now, I just nod.

It’s not an argument, it’s a confession.

When people say this, what they’re really expressing is attachment. Cheese, for many, is comfort incarnate. It’s melted on childhood memories, sprinkled on celebrations, and tied to every quick meal they ever made at home.

So when you give it up, they can’t imagine how you do it. To them, it feels like you’ve renounced joy.

I used to jump into long explanations about how taste buds evolve, how plant-based cheeses have come a long way, or how dairy impacts health and the planet. But now, I start with empathy: “I get it. That one was hardest for me too.”

Then maybe I mention that the first time I tried cashew cheese, I expected disappointment, but it ended up changing everything. When people see you’re not deprived but actually satisfied, they become curious instead of defensive.

And curiosity is the seed of change.

5) “It’s just a phase, right?”

Ah, the skeptical chuckle of a parent who’s seen you cycle through many “phases.”

They mean well, but it’s hard not to feel underestimated.

When I first went vegan, my dad told me, “You’ll come back to burgers eventually. You loved them too much as a kid.” I smiled and said, “I still love burgers. I just don’t love what they come from.”

Fast forward a few years, and he quietly added veggie patties to our family cookouts. No announcement. No grand speech. Just quiet acceptance.

That’s how people change, not through debates, but through consistency.

It’s okay that they doubt you at first. They’re measuring your commitment the only way they know how, by time. Once they see this isn’t a trend but a choice that makes sense for you, they adapt.

And sometimes, the very parents who called it a phase start texting you vegan recipes “just to try.”

6) “You can eat fish, though, right?”

This one pops up at nearly every family dinner.

It’s the hopeful tone that gets me. Like they’re negotiating the boundaries of your values, looking for a loophole that keeps things simple.

I once sat down for dinner at my mom’s house and she smiled proudly. “I made vegan pasta!” she said. It was covered in shrimp.

Old food hierarchies die hard. For many people, fish feels somehow less “meaty.” It doesn’t have a face they recognize. Eggs, too, fall into that same blurry zone.

When this happens, I resist the urge to give a lecture. Instead, I keep it light: “I appreciate the thought, I just skip all animal products, fish included. But this salad looks great!”

That small bit of grace keeps communication open. Because veganism isn’t only about what we don’t eat, it’s about how we show up with compassion, even when others don’t fully understand it yet.

7) “I made salad for you!”

Every vegan knows this one. It’s the universal placeholder meal.

It’s not malicious, it’s just unimaginative. Somewhere along the way, “vegan” became synonymous with “eats only lettuce.”

I remember one summer visiting home. My mom proudly announced she’d made dinner “just for me.” It was a massive bowl of iceberg lettuce with some olive oil. That’s it.

No beans. No grains. No dressing beyond oil. It looked like a side dish waiting for its main course.

I thanked her (because gratitude first), then offered to cook the next night. I made a smoky lentil chili. She had seconds. Then thirds.

That’s when it hit me: sometimes, the best form of activism is feeding people well. When they realize vegan food isn’t a sacrifice, but a sensory upgrade, their minds open in ways no argument could achieve.

8) “We made this just for you — we left off the meat and the flavor.”

This one always cracks me up.

Somewhere along the line, people decided vegan food equals bland food, as if flavor was invented by bacon grease.

But anyone who’s spent time in a vegan kitchen knows the opposite is true. When you rely on spices, herbs, and texture instead of fat and salt, you actually learn how to cook.

I once brought a chickpea curry to a family gathering, and my aunt whispered, “This is good... like, actually good.” As if she’d expected otherwise.

That’s the quiet victory every vegan knows. The moment someone realizes flavor doesn’t depend on animal products. It depends on creativity, care, and maybe a little cumin.

So when someone tells you they made something “plain for you,” take it as an opportunity. Season it up. Share it. Let the food do the talking.

The bigger picture

If you’ve been vegan for more than five minutes, you’ve heard at least a few of these lines. Maybe all of them, sometimes in the same dinner.

At first, they’re frustrating. But eventually, you realize these phrases are love letters in disguise. They’re your parents’ way of saying, I want to understand you, I just don’t know how yet.

Parents express care through food. When you change your diet, it can feel, to them, like you’re rejecting that care. That’s why compassion toward them matters just as much as compassion toward animals.

I’ve mentioned this before, but one of the biggest lessons veganism taught me wasn’t about food, it was about communication. You can’t force someone to understand your choices. You can only invite them in with patience, good food, and a little humor.

So next time your parent says, “I made chicken soup but picked out the chicken,” don’t roll your eyes. Smile. Thank them. Then show them a better version next time.

Because sometimes, the biggest change doesn’t start with a debate, it starts with dinner.