From vegoutmag.com
By Maya Flores
After trying over 100 vegan meat substitutes, I discovered that the real secret isn’t taste—it’s what these foods taught me about eating
The first time I tried a vegan meat substitute, it tasted like despair and paprika. It was a rubbery soy sausage I picked up on sale, and it almost put me off the whole category. The texture reminded me of chewed pencil erasers, and the flavour clung to my mouth like guilt after doomscrolling for 45 minutes.
But curiosity got the better of me—along with the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, not all of them tasted like gym mats and regret.
So I began a quiet mission. Not a formal spreadsheet (I’m not Avery), but a scrappy mental inventory: buy one new brand or type every time I grocery shop.
Tally what I liked. Notice what I tossed. Compare textures. Track bloating (or blessed lack thereof). I even started rating them mentally in categories like “Freezer MVP,” “Worst Breath After,” and “Belongs in the Compost.”
After a few years and more than 100 experiments, I’ve landed on a small rotation of winners that I actually keep rebuying.
This isn’t a list of the best vegan meats. It’s the ones that work for me. They’ve earned a place in my freezer, my bowls, and my busy Tuesday nights. And each one taught me something about how I eat, what I crave, and why “close enough” sometimes is good enough.
1. Daring Original Pieces – for that pan-fried magic
Daring makes a chicken substitute that gets this crispy-edge thing going when pan-seared, and I’m hooked. It’s not juicy like real chicken, but it shreds well and doesn’t go soggy in sauces. I use it in stir-fries, bowls, and even tacos when I’m out of black beans.
Why I keep buying it: It doesn’t try too hard. It has a basic, clean flavor and a firm texture that doesn’t fall apart. Plus, it cooks in five minutes flat—my personal gold standard. Sometimes I dust it with smoked paprika and nutritional yeast and pretend I know what I’m doing.
2. Beyond Sausage Hot Italian – when I’m craving “real”
There are moments when you want to fool your own brain. Beyond’s sausage does that for me. The fennel hits, the sizzle is real, and if I close my eyes, I’m right back at a Fourth of July cookout—without the next-day meat hangover.
Pro tip: Slice it into coins and crisp it in a skillet. Add to pasta or a grain bowl. Your taste buds will think you cheated. Your stomach will know you didn’t.
I’ve even brought it to a cookout once. I didn’t announce it was vegan. No one noticed. One friend asked where I got the “spicy kielbasa.” I just smiled and passed the mustard.
3. Hodo Thai Curry Nuggets – my shortcut to “I cooked”
This one isn’t pretending to be meat. It’s tofu, but it’s tofu with a storyline. The Thai curry marinade tastes intentional, not like an afterthought. I cube them smaller, sauté in a hot pan, and pretend I made takeout from scratch.
What I love: It saves me from flavour fatigue. It’s bold, spicy, and reminds me that tofu doesn’t have to be blank.
Also? Zero chopping required. As someone who has pretended to be too busy to cook just to avoid dicing onions, that’s a win.
4. Upton’s Naturals Bar-B-Que Jackfruit – for messy, nostalgic sandwiches
Jackfruit is a tricky one—it can go stringy and sad real quick. But Upton’s gets the texture just chewy enough, and their BBQ sauce avoids the overly sweet trap. I throw it on a bun with some slaw, and it’s a backyard BBQ without the clean-up.
Pro tip: Heat it in a skillet, not the microwave. It needs that bit of browning to shine.
It doesn’t hold up well the next day, but in the moment? It hits the spot—especially when you want food that feels a little chaotic and fun. Like something you'd eat in a lawn chair with sticky fingers and no regrets.
5. Gardein Chick’n Tenders – my comfort food secret
Yes, they’re a little processed. No, I don’t care. These are my emergency backup when the day implodes and I need dinner fast. I air-fry them, dunk in mustard, and pair with steamed broccoli. It's oddly satisfying.
Bonus: They hold up in wraps for next-day lunches. Cold. With hummus. You’re welcome.
I’ve even taken them camping. True story. Wrapped them in foil, tossed them on a grill, and handed one to a sceptical omnivore. He nodded slowly and said, “Not bad.” Which, coming from him, was practically an endorsement.
6. Tofurky Deli Slices (Peppered) – the lunch hero
I almost gave up on vegan deli slices. Too floppy, too salty, too fake. But the peppered version of Tofurky surprised me. It gives just enough bite, pairs well with avocado, and doesn’t taste like it was made in a lab (even if it was).
Use case: Toasted sandwich. Sourdough, vegan mayo, tomato, arugula, these slices. Done.
There’s something meditative about making a sandwich. It’s a little ritual I look forward to, and these slices have made it more fun—not just functional.
7. Abbot’s Butcher Chorizo – the brunch upgrade
I use this one for breakfast tacos, scrambles, or crumbled on top of beans and rice. It’s not greasy, and the flavour leans smoky, not overly spicy. It plays well with veggies and eggs (real or not).
Why it matters: Weekend brunch is sacred. This makes it feel special without requiring actual effort.
Also, if you add lime and a little cilantro, you’ll feel like you just levelled up without breaking a sweat. I’ve made tacos with this for friends and watched them do the “polite second bite” into a full-on “I need more” sprint. Win.
8. Alpha Nuggets – for my inner 12-year-old
These aren’t trying to be gourmet. They’re fun. They’re breaded. They taste like the school cafeteria if the school had a vegan chef. I eat them with ketchup and watch K-dramas. It’s a vibe.
Mental health note: Sometimes the most “nourishing” thing is eating something you want without explaining why.
I’ve learned to treat cravings with curiosity, not guilt. Some nights you need quinoa and kale. Others, you need nuggets and 12 episodes of “Crash Landing on You.” Balance.
9. Daring Cajun Pieces – for when I want kick without cooking
Same great texture as their Original Pieces, but with a mild heat and actual flavour. I don’t have to season them. I just toss them in with whatever vegetables are dying in my fridge, and I feel like a genius.
Key learning: The easier something is to prep, the more likely I am to actually eat it instead of defaulting to toast.
Honestly, that’s half the battle. I’ve learned that I don’t need more recipes—I need more forgiveness in my fridge. Something I can use without needing perfect ingredients or time or brain power.
What I learned by taste-testing my way through the aisle
My tastebuds got smarter
At first, I wanted vegan meat to taste exactly like the real thing. Now, I’m more into “good enough.” Texture and seasoning matter more than mimicking. Some of my favourites don’t even resemble meat that much—they just work in the meal.
It’s kind of like kombucha: it doesn’t taste like soda, but once you stop expecting it to, it becomes its own thing—bright, complex, oddly satisfying.
Labels lie, your gut doesn’t
Some products with squeaky-clean branding made me bloated. Others with scary ingredient lists felt totally fine. I stopped moralizing ingredients and started observing my body. My stomach became the real food critic.
I also stopped expecting perfection. A long list of ingredients doesn’t always mean “bad.” A clean label doesn’t mean “healthy.” I started judging based on how I felt after eating—not how the box looked.
The perfect one doesn’t exist
Every option has trade-offs: too salty, too bland, too expensive, too niche. But a small handful feel like friends now. Reliable. Familiar. Easy to call on when I need them. That’s more than I expected from a freezer aisle fling.
Some weeks I want spice. Some weeks I want simple. My “top 9” shifts slightly depending on mood, season, and how much patience I have. And that’s okay.
Final words: try, tweak, trust
Here’s the real magic: by trying so many different products, I started noticing more about how I eat than just what. I tuned into my habits, my mood-cooking patterns, and even how texture changes my appetite. I don’t just eat differently—I think differently now.
I’ve learned to treat my kitchen like a sandbox, not a science lab. Some meals flop. Some surprise me. And sometimes, a vegan chicken nugget is the tiny domino that keeps me from spiraling into cereal-for-dinner shame.
So if you’re on your own taste-testing journey, here’s my advice: try without pressure. Tweak without overthinking. And trust your taste, your gut, and your Tuesday-night self.
That’s the real flavour worth chasing.
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