Diary of a wimpy vegan: My gut feeling about the Happy Pear's vegan course 

Martha Brennan tried The Happy Gut Course in an effort to heal a life-long struggle with stomach issues. The journey was harder than she anticipated

Happy Pear brothers.

I’m one of those people that if bad luck is to be had, it’ll hit me right in the face. Sensitive skin? Check. Medical mysteries? Hit me. Finicky guts? Of course.

The first time I noticed the lovely stomach sensitivities I inherited from my father, I was sitting on the bathroom floor cursing the whipped cream in my hot chocolate.

As I’ve grown into adulthood, it feels like my mystery book of sensitivities only continues to grow, taunting me like a bad game of Cluedo I’ll never get close to solving. It was the cheese in the backyard with the wine! No narrowing it down there.

So when my friend Faye came across The Happy Gut Course from The Happy Pear I told her I’d join her on the fibre-filled, low FODMAP journey. I was also relatively egged on by my father, whose logic was that if I could figure out what was wrong with my gut he wouldn't have to give up bacon to figure out his.

Anyone with gut issues, which is one in five Irish people, may have already heard of FODMAPs. In simple terms, they’re basically carbohydrates that are hard to digest. High FODMAP foods can range from wheat and garlic and onion to some fruits like apples.

The idea of a FODMAP elimination diet is that you take one week to completely restrict your diet to gut-friendly foods. Each week thereafter, you reintroduce one of the FODMAPS, like fructose, to try to figure out which ones you can handle. Sounds easy enough, right?

What I didn’t realise was that the course I was about to embark on was not only going to be low fodmap, but also gluten-free, dairy-free, and completely vegan.

Weeks one and two 

Excitement. Rejuvenation. A new me. Can already see the glow.

This is what my food diary reads when I first head to the shop with my vegan shopping list in hand. "I don’t eat much meat anyway," I tell myself as I skip off to the tinned food aisle.

I had pretty much given up dairy for years by this stage, and my foodie notions put me ahead of the game for knowing where to find odd ingredients.

“The tahini is in the gluten-free section I used to buy it in college,” I tell Faye as she wanders our local shop. “I’m not even going to respond to that sentence,” she murmurs as she tries to figure out what tempeh looks like.

The first dish we make, pepper and leek based paella, was surprisingly filling and delicious. Even my mother approved, saying she might join me. “Sure it’s just eating fish for the week isn’t it?” 

We quickly realise that we'll need to halve the recipes we've been given. I give up on leftover paella by day three and Faye makes it to day four. After a celeriac soup leaves me on the bathroom floor mid-week, I decide not to touch another piece of Spanish food unless there's a prawn on it.

Weeks three and four 

More energy. Fewer costs. The same amount of wine.

After a couple of expensive shopping bills, my weekly groceries start costing significantly less. I proudly strut through the shop with my colourful basket, as I hide my bottle of wine underneath packs of grapes. I learn that not all wines are vegan. I choose not to care.

My breakfast never really changes, like most mornings I continue to eat the homemade granola I’ve been addicted to for years. I do add in a wonderful quinoa pancake recipe at weekends though.

Faye discovers the gluten-free section of Lidl, making our excessive oat buying a lot easier on the pockets.

I’m significantly less bloated by the second week and have a lot more energy. However, I can’t tell if this is from the lack of meat, the lack of FODMAPs, or simply having good weather.

Faye says that we will indeed be best friends for life after I inform her we can eat dark chocolate. Becoming vegan hasn’t reminded me to eat lunch, but she makes some lovely salads I emptily promise to recreate.

I see my boyfriend for the first time since the 'new me'. We get a takeaway from my favourite local restaurant. I order a steak sandwich and tell him to shut up before he opens his mouth.

Weeks five and six 

Weekends are empty. Our real vegan friend calls us weak. Faye vows to never eat an oat again.

As I near the end of my 'journey' I feel a lot lighter but still have no idea what’s causing my stomach issues except celeriac. The discovery is of no help.

I’ve managed to remain strict on weekdays, but nearly every Saturday night I face my lockdown weaknesses. With nothing else to look forward to, I deem it ok to have one homemade pizza night. Or two.

Surprisingly, I don’t feel awful afterward, and even my friend, Caoimhe, who’s been a strict vegan for two years now, gives me a pat on the back. She tells me it’s ok not to like tofu and that she’d never cook tempeh herself. If it wasn’t for Covid I would cry in her arms.

While I vow to keep on some of the yummy recipes I’ve learned, such as lentil bolognese and Vietnamese sweet potato curry, I happily dump the leek farm I began growing in my kitchen and head straight to the fishmonger, who’s been wondering where I’ve been.

One month later and I’ve noticed myself craving a lot less meat. I tell my dad that I don’t have much to show for my research, but I divulge all I've learned from the helpful online classes we took every week. I also tell him that I think reducing meat to once a week will help him.

He nods and walks off and I notice a ham is baking in the oven.