Before oat milk dominated every coffee shop and Gregg’s became our saviour with the vegan sausage roll, being vegan meant something very different. It was the era of reading every label, carrying your own snacks, and having endless conversations about protein.
Veganism might feel mainstream now, but it’s been around for a long time. The Vegan Society coined the term way back in 1944, and for decades, being vegan meant being seriously dedicated – and seriously niche. We’re talking about the real OGs: the animal rights campaigners, the leaflet distributors, the ones who gave up cheese when there were no good alternatives (or even bad ones, really).
They did it for the animals, and they stuck with it through decades of social awkwardness and lentil-heavy dinners. They’re the ones who truly paved the way, and we salute them.
I went vegan back in 2013, and even then it felt like a very different world to what we see today. The options were limited, the labels were vague, and you often had to go out of your way (sometimes seriously out of your way) just to find something suitable. Being vegan back then required determination, creativity, and a very understanding digestive system. But it also built a sense of community and resilience, and gave us some truly unforgettable stories.
For those who remember the days when vegan cheese was a form of penance, here’s a nostalgic list of things only old-school vegans will truly understand.
1. Back when every meal started with a bag of TVP
Believe it or not, there was a time when tofu wasn’t stacked on every supermarket shelf. It was something you’d typically only find in the chilled section of a health food shop, and was vacuum-packed, plain, and intimidatingly solid. But even tofu felt fancy compared to the soy-based staples most of us relied on.
These were the days when a “meaty” vegan option meant rehydrating soy granules and hoping for the best. Beyond Burger? We were the beyond.
Soya mince and soy chunks, also known as TVP (that’s textured vegetable protein for the uninitiated), were the backbone of many early vegan meals. They came dried, with zero flavour, and needed soaking before use, often leaving your kitchen looking like a science experiment in hydration.
But they were reliable, affordable, and packed with protein – even if your jaw got a workout in the process. You’d flavour them with anything you could find: Marmite, soy sauce, onion powder, that one bottle of tamari you treated like gold.
Soya mince, came dried, in either granules or suspiciously sponge-like chunks, and resembled packing material more than anything edible. It had all the flavour of damp cardboard until you worked your seasoning magic. But with enough soy sauce, garlic, and sheer optimism, it could pass for mince in a chilli, shepherd’s pie, or bolognese – sort of. You just had to accept the occasional chewy bit and a faint aftertaste of school dinners.
And if you managed to get your hands on soy curls (the holy grail of soy products), you were basically a vegan wizard. They were about as close as we got to pulled pork, assuming you could rehydrate and season them well enough not to offend the senses.
Back then, soy wasn’t a trendy superfood, it was just what you ate if you were vegan and needed protein. It wasn’t always pretty, but it got the job done. And we learned to love it… eventually.
2. Before Gregg’s gave us sausage rolls, we had Sosmix (and imagination)
Today, you can grab a hot vegan sausage roll from just about any high street thanks to the wonders of Gregg’s. But before that glorious day in 2019, things looked very different for sausage roll-loving vegans.
Back then, we had Sosmix, a dry, savoury powder that came in a cardboard box or plastic bag and lived on health food shop shelves. You’d mix it with boiling water, give it a stir, and then shape it into sausages, patties, meatballs, or vaguely sausagey lumps depending on your energy and level of ambition.
Crumbly, peppery, and slightly reminiscent of stuffing, it wasn’t going to win any texture awards , but with enough gravy, it hit the spot. If you really wanted to level up, you’d wrap it in a bit of ready-rolled puff pastry, brush it with oil, and pray it didn’t collapse in the oven. That was our sausage roll
There was something charmingly DIY about it all as everything required soaking, shaping, or some kind of structural engineering. No heat-and-eat options here. If you wanted a sausage roll, you made it from scratch… and then brought it to a picnic wrapped in foil like it was a precious artefact.
3. You had to know a vegan to meet another vegan
There was no “suggested for you” tab, no TikTok recipe hacks, no bustling online vegan communities. If you wanted to meet another vegan, you had to go old-school. Think zines, message boards, awkward noticeboards in health food shops, or word-of-mouth via a friend-of-a-friend who might also avoid dairy.
Vegan potlucks were like secret societies. You’d show up to a community hall or someone’s flat clutching a lentil bake or questionable tofu pie, and suddenly you were among your people. Conversations flowed instantly, usually about where to find nutritional yeast or whether someone had spotted a new vegan-friendly product at Holland & Barrett.
You could spot another vegan a mile off. Unlabelled canvas bag? Check. Scuffed walking boots? Probably. A homemade sandwich in a recycled takeaway container? Definitely. We bonded over our shared struggle, and swapped recipes, restaurant tips, and survival snacks like they were rare treasures.
It wasn’t always easy, but it meant something. Back then, being vegan didn’t just shape your plate, it shaped your social life too.
4. “Chips and a salad” was a legitimate meal out
Before plant-based menus, allergen charts, or literally any awareness of what vegans actually eat, dining out was a bleak experience. You’d scan the menu with hopeful eyes, only to land on the default vegan option: a garden salad (hold the dressing), a jacket potato, or chips – sometimes all three if you were lucky.
And let’s be honest, you were going to need all three. The salad was usually a sad pile of iceberg lettuce, a few tomato slices, maybe a cucumber if the chef was feeling generous. No dressing, because they all had egg or honey in them.
The baked potato came plain, no margarine, no beans unless you asked twice, and had the emotional temperature of a soggy Tuesday. The chips were often fried in mystery oil, so you’d have to nervously ask, “Are they cooked in the same fryer as the meat?” and brace yourself for either a blank stare or a very long conversation.
Sometimes you’d cobble together a meal from side dishes like a culinary scavenger hunt. Roasted veg, steamed rice, a side of olives and a rogue hummus if you were somewhere really fancy.
We got good at pretending we were totally fine with it, but deep down, we dreamed of menus with more than one option. Preferably something that didn’t require explaining our diet to three separate staff members and a confused chef.
5. Independent health food shops were our safe spaces
Before supermarkets caught on and vegan ranges exploded across the high street, independent health food shops were our lifeline. These magical little places were often tucked away, smelled faintly of nutritional yeast and incense, and had names like Harvest Moon, Green Earth, or Something Rooted.
They stocked the things nowhere else did: tofu, tahini, vegan mayo, V-bites products, dairy-free chocolate that tasted like disappointment, and at least six kinds of organic rice cakes. You could always count on them for a packet of Sosmix or a dusty jar of carob spread that had probably been there since 1996.
But they weren’t just shops, they were our sanctuaries. The staff usually knew the difference between vegan and vegetarian (a rarity at the time), and you could spend a good hour reading labels in peace without anyone asking if you “miss bacon.” Sometimes they’d even have a bulletin board filled with handwritten flyers about local veggie meetups, protests, or someone looking to rehome a rabbit.
Sure, you sometimes left with less money and more millet than intended, but it didn’t matter. These shops made you feel seen, and in a world that didn’t always get veganism, that was priceless.
6. You could name every vegan product – because there were only about 12
Today, being vegan means navigating entire supermarket aisles packed with options. There are plant-based versions of everything from pulled pork to squirty cream, and new launches come in every week. But back in the day? We knew every vegan product on the market. Personally. Intimately.
Why? Because there were barely any of them, and most of them lived exclusively in your local independent health food shop, tucked somewhere between the supplements and the incense sticks. If something new came in, it was basically a community event. Someone would post about it on a vegan message board, and within days it would sell out (all eight boxes of it).
You probably had a go-to shopping list: Sosmix, Plamil mayo, Redwood Cheatin’ ham slices, a Granovita pate, maybe a carton of long-life soya milk and a bar of organically sweetened carob chocolate that tasted vaguely like floral soap. If you were lucky, there might be one freezer drawer containing Linda McCartney sausages, a vegan pizza base, and some mystery soya burgers from a brand that no longer exists.
There was no standing in front of shelves agonising over which vegan cheese to get because you had one option. You didn’t compare protein content, texture, or melting ability. You just asked yourself: Will this taste OK on toast? (The answer was usually “not really, but it’ll do.”)
And let’s not forget the catalogues, the actual paper catalogues, where you could browse things like vegan jelly crystals and powdered custard that had to be mail-ordered with a cheque.
Knowing every product wasn’t just convenience, it was survival. And in a weird way, it felt like being part of a secret club. A very hungry, label-reading, tofu-stirring club.
7. Travelling meant packing half a suitcase of snacks
Going abroad as a vegan used to feel like preparing for a survival mission – not a relaxing holiday. You couldn’t count on airports, plane food, or even major cities to have anything vegan-friendly, so your suitcase was part luggage, part mobile pantry.
Flapjacks, cereal bars, instant noodles, dried fruit, nuts, crackers, peanut butter, emergency hummus… and a loaf of bread, just in case things got desperate.
You’d frantically search HappyCow before travelling, but this was back when it was more like a lovingly chaotic community noticeboard than a slick app. Listings were often out of date, reviews vague (“has veggie options, maybe vegan?”), and some places hadn’t served food since 2007. But it was still a lifeline. You’d screenshot everything, print out directions, and hope the one vegan café within 20 miles hadn’t shut down or turned into a vape shop.
Eating out meant learning the local words for “milk,” “egg,” and “no cheese please”, or just pointing at your laminated dietary request card and praying. Chips, salad, and dry bread were often the safest bet.
But when you finally stumbled upon that hidden veggie spot with a dusty falafel wrap on the menu? It felt like you’d found paradise.
8. If you think vegan cheese is bad now, you’ve clearly forgotten VEEZE
New vegans might still grumble that vegan cheese hasn’t quite nailed it, but honestly, we’ve come so far. Because back in the day, when dairy-free cheese was barely a concept, one brave little brand stood alone on the fridge shelf: VEEZE.
To be fair, VEEZE was doing its best in a world that wasn’t ready for it. It came in a solid block, didn’t melt, and had a texture somewhere between wax and rubber. It was tangy in an oddly synthetic way – not exactly cheesy, but not not cheesy either. You could slice it, grate it (just about), and politely nod while eating it on toast, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just chewing on firm margarine.
And yet, we were genuinely grateful. Because for a while, it was our only option. Vegan cheese wasn’t a competitive market then, it was a fringe concept, met with confusion and sometimes horror. VEEZE walked so that today’s creamy, meltable, artisanal cashew creations could run.
There were others, of course, like Cheezly, Sheese, and various early soya-based offerings, each with their quirks, textures, and “unique” aromas. We tried them all, usually with a mix of excitement and caution.
So no shade to VEEZE, it was part of the journey. And for many of us, that strange little block of non-melting hope was the start of something beautiful.
9. When soya milk was 50p and slightly questionable
Before oat milk turned up with its neutral flavour and barista cred, we had soya milk – and only soya milk. It was watery, often weirdly sweet, and came in a carton that bulged in suspicious ways if left too long at the back of the cupboard.
If you were lucky, you could find brands like Plamil, Granose, or the deeply beloved Soleil, which came in blue and white cartons and cost around 50p a litre. It didn’t froth, it curdled in hot drinks, and its flavour fell somewhere between malted cereal and raw tofu. But we persevered, because the only other options were cow’s milk or… water.
There was also Provamel, which was smooth, slightly thicker, and came in those sleek white cartons that made you feel like you were living the high life. It was the posh person’s soya milk. If someone had Provamel in their fridge, you knew they shopped at Waitrose and probably owned a tofu press.
Back then, you didn’t have a wall of plant milks to choose from – no almond, oat, cashew, rice, hemp, or pea. You had soya. It split in your tea. It separated in your cereal. And it left a faint aftertaste that lingered longer than it should have.
But we were loyal. Because despite all that, it was cruelty-free, affordable, and felt like a lifeline. And on a good day, if you chilled it just right and poured it over a bowl of bran flakes, it was… actually quite nice.
10. Taking your own shampoo to the hairdresser
Not because you were fancy, but because almost everything on their shelf was tested on animals. Back then, finding cruelty-free hair products wasn’t easy, and explaining your ethics mid-trim was part of the experience. You’d politely hand over your carefully chosen bottle of shampoo (probably from a health food shop or Lush), trying to strike the balance between friendly and firm.
It always sparked a conversation: “Wait, your shampoo’s vegan too?” And off you’d go, explaining animal testing, lanolin, and why no, beeswax isn’t vegan either, all while trying not to flinch under the scissors.
Sometimes the stylist was curious, sometimes confused, and sometimes they’d squint at your bottle like it might bite them. But whether it was awkward or enlightening, it was always a tiny act of activism, and proof that being vegan meant thinking about everything, right down to your hair wash.
11. Vegan labelling was non-existent (so we became expert detectives)
Back before every other product proudly wore a “VEGAN” badge like a medal of honour, we had to rely on our wits, and our ability to decipher the tiniest font imaginable. There were no reassuring green V symbols, no dedicated free-from sections, and certainly no apps to scan barcodes. Just a packet, a magnifying squint, and a hope and a prayer.
We became ingredients list detectives, trained to spot the hidden animal products lurking under vague names like “natural flavourings” or “emulsifiers.” Was E471 plant-based or animal-derived? Who knew! You had to either memorise the full E-number cheat sheet or carry around a crumpled one in your bag like a vegan Bible.
Whey powder was our nemesis. So was casein, lactose, albumen, cochineal, and anything with the word “derived.” Even things that seemed vegan, like crisps, crackers, cereal, often betrayed us with a sneaky milk powder or an ambiguous glaze.
And just when you thought you’d cracked it, you’d find a product that changed its ingredients without warning. One week your favourite biscuit was safe, the next it had a mysterious “milk solids” thrown in. Betrayal never tasted so sweet.
Shopping took twice as long, required full concentration, and often left you standing in supermarket aisles muttering things like, “Is shellac the bug one?” under your breath.
But it made us thorough. It made us careful. And, let’s be honest, it made us a bit smug when we could recite half an ingredients list from memory. Who needed labels when you had sheer paranoia and the eyesight of a hawk?
12. We always had a bowl of beans soaking (whether we remembered or not)
Before the days of pre-cooked lentils in pouches and tinned chickpeas on every supermarket shelf, being vegan meant thinking ahead – like, 12 hours ahead. Because if you wanted to eat beans, you were going to have to soak them.
Black beans, butter beans, kidney beans, all in rotation, all demanding to be submerged overnight in a big old bowl of water. And heaven help you if you forgot. No beans for you, and no plan B. You’d just sadly push the bowl further back on the counter and promise tomorrow would be stew day.
This wasn’t a quirky habit, it was a way of life. Every vegan kitchen had a dedicated soaking bowl. Some of us had multiple bowls, lined up like legume experiments, with a tea towel gently resting on top as a sign of commitment. Bonus points if you labelled the jars with cooking times, because half the battle was remembering whether it was 40 minutes or 2 hours of simmering (or both? Who knew!).
There was something oddly grounding about it, like we were reconnecting with the land… via butter beans. It taught us patience. It taught us portion control. And it taught us how to identify undercooked pulses by mouthfeel alone.
Now we can just rip open a pouch or pop a tin, but somewhere deep down, there’s still a part of us that feels smug when we remember to soak something overnight.
13. Making a vegan roast took all day (and it was still a bit dry)
Before the days of ready-to-roast plant-based centrepieces, making a vegan roast meant rolling up your sleeves and preparing for battle. There were no meat-free roasts in the freezer aisle, and Christmas didn’t come with a neat little “vegan option” sticker. You were on your own.
You’d start with a nut roast, lovingly made from ground nuts, lentils, breadcrumbs, grated veg, and at least 14 herbs and spices. It took hours. You’d press it into a loaf tin with shaky confidence, bake it for an eternity, and pray it didn’t come out too crumbly… or too solid… or tasting faintly of soap.
Gravy had to be homemade too, from scratch, of course, using veggie stock, onion, Marmite, and a fair bit of whisking. Potatoes were hand-mashed (no shortcuts), and the veg had to be roasted with love, because it was probably the most exciting part of the plate.
By the time everything was finally ready, you were too exhausted to enjoy it. And no matter how much effort went in, there was a 98% chance the nut roast would be at least slightly dry.
But it was tradition. It was effort. And it was proof you didn’t need meat to make a meal feel like a celebration, just stamina, determination, and a tolerance for vaguely crumbly textures.
14. Lentils were basically a food group
Before jackfruit took over and seitan became a buzzword, we had lentils – specifically, the humble red lentil. Cheap, cheerful, quick-cooking, and endlessly versatile, they were the unsung heroes of early vegan cuisine.
Red lentils formed the base of everything: soups, dahls, curries, shepherd’s pies, lentil loaves, and more bolognese attempts than we care to admit. They broke down into mush with alarming speed, but that was part of their charm. They were comforting, filling, and easy on the budget. Brown and green lentils came out for special occasions, or if you wanted something with actual texture.
A big bag of dried lentils in the cupboard was practically a vegan rite of passage. No label required, we all just knew they were in there. Alongside the soy sauce, the nutritional yeast, and that half-used pack of TVP.
They weren’t glamorous, and they definitely weren’t trendy, but they got the job done. And honestly? They still do. If lentils had a fan club, old-school vegans would be the founding members.
15. Being vegan was a personality (whether you wanted it to be or not)
These days, being vegan can be just one part of who you are. But for a long time, it was your whole personality. Not because you were shouting about it, but because you had to constantly explain yourself.
At parties: “No, I don’t eat cheese. Yes, even if it’s organic. No, not even on special occasions.”
At restaurants: “Could you check if the soup’s made with chicken stock? Yes, I know it’s just the broth, but…”
At the doctor’s: “No, I’m not deficient in anything. Yes, I take B12. No, I don’t just eat salad.”
Even at the bank: “Actually, can I opt out of the leather cheque book?”
Every interaction was a potential pop quiz, and every meal was a public service announcement. People had questions, and you had the answers, whether you liked it or not. You became the unofficial vegan spokesperson for your office, your friendship group, your entire extended family.
It was exhausting… but also kind of empowering. Because in explaining yourself over and over again, you got really good at knowing your stuff. And somewhere along the way, you wore that “difficult vegan” label like a badge of honour.
Looking back, it’s hard not to laugh (and wince a little) at the things we once considered normal. Dry nut roasts, crumbly sausages, weirdly sweet soya milk and that trusty bag of red lentils, they were the foundation of our diets and the backdrop to our values.
But more than that, they were the building blocks of a movement. Every awkward restaurant conversation, every DIY shampoo moment, every late-night label-reading session at the back of a shop aisle – it all mattered. Because those everyday struggles made veganism visible. They sparked conversations. They created change.
Today, plant-based living is easier, trendier, and far more delicious, and we’re thrilled about that. But for the old-school vegans, the tofu warriors, the VEEZE survivors, the ones who soaked beans like it was a part-time job, we see you. We remember. And we thank you.
So next time you pick up a vegan steak bake or grab a tub of dairy-free Ben & Jerry’s, spare a thought for the pioneers who came before. They walked so you could run… to the plant-based aisle.
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Featured photo © David Zarzosa/Adobe Stock/Vegan Food & Living
