Crazy About Meat

I grew up in Protestant Indiana, which meant that we ate all the major food groups: pork, chicken, beef, fish. Plus the usual side dishes. But dinner was defined by the meat we’d eat, or on a few rare occasions by the conspicuous absence of meat on the table.

Holidays were marked by their special meats – the Easter Ham, the Thanksgiving Turkey, Memorial Day hamburgers, Independence Day hot dogs. So it came as quite a surprise when I left Indiana and found out there were folks in the world who did not eat meat at all. Over time I became one of them, more than once. But I’m eating a BLT as I write this, so you know how that all turned out.

My first go round with vegetarianism was during the hippie era, when braless maidens and long haired guys, both scented with patchouli and wearing bandanas on their heads, would prepare large meals in the park for big gatherings of red-eyed people. And those communal meals would consist of rice and beans and vegetables, some fruit, maybe bread. But never any meat.  It was principally a financial matter, rationalized by a two dimensional moral imperative. Rice and beans are cheap, meat is expensive. Got any spare change? Peace and love, man.

What started as Fiscal Vegetarianism among people with little cash morphed into Social Vegetarianism, in which all the trust fund babies assuaged their social guilt by eating what the poor people eat. Rice and beans, man, it’s a complete diet, man. It’s where it’s at. Power to the people!

Then after trips to India to smoke ganja and hang out with the swamis and saddhus, they’d return with Spiritual Vegetarianism. Raise your consciousness, man, reach for a higher evolution. And they’d show drawings of tiger’s intestines versus cow’s intestines to explain why humans should not eat meat. Hare Hare.

So there I was, with my well thumbed Tassajara Bread Book and Moosewood Cookbook, still trying to figure out whether eggs and cheese were really in or out, when I made a simple intuitive discovery. After 3 ½ years of eating vegetarian, I was feeling listless and lethargic. So I ate some meat, and immediately felt better. That started my next period of Pragmatic Omnivorism, which lasted 20 years or so.

Then, in response to a specific health challenge, I tried Holistic Vegetarianism of several brands and flavors for a number of years. I got deeply into macrobiotics for a while, in which brown rice and Asian vegetables predominate and spices are disdained. Think bland, with soy sauce. I did juicing. I did wheatgrass. I even did the holy grail of Hollywood celebrities, raw food veganism.  

When I said I “did” raw food, I mean I studied it seriously, followed its precepts carefully, even interned for 3 months as a raw food chef at a vegan restaurant. Net effect? I lost a little weight, but my health issue didn’t shift at all until I started taking a prescription medication. I celebrated the first positive lab results by having a steak dinner, and I felt much, much better.  

The other day a good, old friend accused me of poisoning myself, because I continue to eat meat. He doesn’t, so he claimed the moral high ground. And this gets me down to the main issue I have with vegetarianism today. It’s socially divisive and isolating.

For God’s sake, eat what you want to eat, and I’ll eat what I want to eat, OK? I’m not stupid about food, so why treat me like I am? I don’t carry around a copy of “The Vegetarian Myth” to beat you up with, even though it is a well reasoned deconstruction of every major tenant of vegetarianism, by a 20 year vegan who ruined her health with the practice.

Hey, I love you, OK? I want you to enjoy your chickpeas and tofu to the max, dear one, I really do.  What you eat is perfectly ok with me, no kidding. So give me a little space to enjoy my steak, medium rare please, will you? And I’ll do the same for you and your Tofurkey. Because I recognize something in myself, which is something we both share.

And that is, that I’m crazy about meat, dearheart, and yes, so are you.

Love, David

Photo & text © David Kinne