But why fake meat? I’m an animal lover and that love doesn’t end when I get hungry.

I don’t miss meat, but here’s what I do miss: Aromas. Experiences. Methods. Traditions. And as for that last one, traditions, I’ve been creating new ones for over 30 years.

This cookbook recalls the tastes and sensations from my meat-eating days, even though they were so long ago. My grandmother’s meatballs, burnt on one side. Stuffed clams at a cafe along the bay, crusty on top, my teeth scraping against the hard shell. My favorite pizza burger from a diner underneath a midtown office building. Reaching for spareribs from the Chinese restaurant, in a white foil bag, each one smothered in caramelized sauce that you sucked off your fingers.

The point isn’t always to completely recreate the inspiration. Often, it’s an invocation, a rough translation. Some are more realistic than others. Could a vegan Philly Cheesesteak trick anyone? Most likely. But will someone mistake a cauliflower wing for a piece of chicken? Probably not. Instead it suggests, hey, a cauliflower wing is its own delicious thing. And I’m going to call it a wing because it invokes a wing. And you can’t stop me.