After one week with no meat, no refined sugar and no alcohol, I don’t feel especially virtuous.

Still, it’s clear that animals like me better, really they do. As I stroll through this peaceable kingdom, cows amble up from the meadow, just to lick my hand. Pigs squeal with delight as I pass by. Roosters crow their greetings. Salmon leap from streams and give me a finny high-five.

I feel more productive, plowing through work, then tackling jobs around the house. I confess a slight sense of accomplishment. And I’m bored.

Specifically, I am bored with my food. Whole wheat penne with pesto; pizza with spinach and roasted red peppers; black beans with salsa; hummus and flax crackers; baked sweet potatoes sprinkled with granola; the seemingly endless vat of homemade navy bean soup with tomatoes, carrots and kale.

And I wonder: am I getting boring, too?

I must decline an invitation from an Italian restaurant to sample new dishes and wines they are adding to the menu. I take a raincheck when a neighbor asks if I would like to share the venison she is roasting for dinner. I join a friend who is having a few people over for wine and cheese. I’m OK with my club soda and crackers. But I would prefer a buttery Chardonnay with brie.

On Day Eight I realize that I need to summon enthusiasm for the fare I’ve committed to for 31 days. As an adventurous eater, I ask myself: why do I embrace sea urchin yet turn up my nose at tofu? Perhaps it’s because I have tasted both and sea urchin is wild, creamy and sensual and tofu reminds me of a plastic bag distilled into squishy cubes.

So tomorrow I will buy a small container of tofu and marinate it. I will do my best to create a dish that is healthy and delicious.

If I still don’t like it I never have to eat it again. So there.

Day Eight. Twenty-three days to go.