a few words on meat
We have, of late, had several letters in SFR from angry vegetarians, specifically angry at our food writer, Gwyneth Doland who, as faithful readers know likes her meat.
I have been a vegetarian since I was 13 years old (so that's more than 20 odd years in human time; at least five in emotional development). Nonetheless, I really could care less about other people's meat-eating habits. This could be because I am a nonjudgemental, live-and-let-live, compassionate, almost saint-like being. Or it could be because my own raison de vegetarianism is so typically random that it is, really, no reason at all. The boy describes the philosophy for my vegetarianism as such: "You don't eat meat because you just don't eat meat." Yes, as with many of my major life choices, it all comes to tautology. And boys. To wit:
Back when I was 13 (I'm not handing out years here. But there was no Internet, feathered hair was OK and David Bowie was the God of my universe), I attended a Quaker Camp that featured, among other oddities, a "vegetarian table." And there was a cute boy at that vegetarian table so, quick as you like, I, too, became a vegetarian. Post-camp, either one, or both, of my parental units made the mistake of either saying, implying, or looking like they were thinking "we'll see how long this lasts" and, thus, no more red meat or chicken.
Perhaps this is why I really don't care if others eat meat around or near or in front of me. And perhaps this is why I haven't really minded boiling ground beef daily for the last two weeks in an attempt to talk Kita into eating. The recommended diet, when she gets on one of her "my kidneys are failing and I don't want to eat" kicks is to boil white rice and meat and see if that can coax her back into chowing down. Thus, my vegetarian house mostly spells like boiled meat, or dog sick, which is fine because it gives me just one more good reason to never have anyone over (except the boy who, among his other excellent qualities, can't really smell anything). For the last few days, though, boiled meat hasn't been tempting to Kita. Nor has the tuna, which is the backup. I just got off the phone with the vet who thinks it's time to try boiling a chicken (I assumed he meant one that was already dead...maybe I should call back?).
So that will be my next adventure when I get out of here: boiling a chicken. Something I've never done in my entire life. But, truth be told, I'd probably sacrifice a goat if it would help Kita (who am I kidding? I'd probably perform human sacrifices on almost everyone I know if it would help).
Besides, think of all the meat I didn't eat the last two decades or so.
I have been a vegetarian since I was 13 years old (so that's more than 20 odd years in human time; at least five in emotional development). Nonetheless, I really could care less about other people's meat-eating habits. This could be because I am a nonjudgemental, live-and-let-live, compassionate, almost saint-like being. Or it could be because my own raison de vegetarianism is so typically random that it is, really, no reason at all. The boy describes the philosophy for my vegetarianism as such: "You don't eat meat because you just don't eat meat." Yes, as with many of my major life choices, it all comes to tautology. And boys. To wit:
Back when I was 13 (I'm not handing out years here. But there was no Internet, feathered hair was OK and David Bowie was the God of my universe), I attended a Quaker Camp that featured, among other oddities, a "vegetarian table." And there was a cute boy at that vegetarian table so, quick as you like, I, too, became a vegetarian. Post-camp, either one, or both, of my parental units made the mistake of either saying, implying, or looking like they were thinking "we'll see how long this lasts" and, thus, no more red meat or chicken.
Perhaps this is why I really don't care if others eat meat around or near or in front of me. And perhaps this is why I haven't really minded boiling ground beef daily for the last two weeks in an attempt to talk Kita into eating. The recommended diet, when she gets on one of her "my kidneys are failing and I don't want to eat" kicks is to boil white rice and meat and see if that can coax her back into chowing down. Thus, my vegetarian house mostly spells like boiled meat, or dog sick, which is fine because it gives me just one more good reason to never have anyone over (except the boy who, among his other excellent qualities, can't really smell anything). For the last few days, though, boiled meat hasn't been tempting to Kita. Nor has the tuna, which is the backup. I just got off the phone with the vet who thinks it's time to try boiling a chicken (I assumed he meant one that was already dead...maybe I should call back?).
So that will be my next adventure when I get out of here: boiling a chicken. Something I've never done in my entire life. But, truth be told, I'd probably sacrifice a goat if it would help Kita (who am I kidding? I'd probably perform human sacrifices on almost everyone I know if it would help).
Besides, think of all the meat I didn't eat the last two decades or so.
posted by Julia at 12:50 PM
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