MEAT OF THE MATTER

If food is a (if not the) primary relationship of our lives, and we define ourselves by our "isms," (e.g. Sniff* "I'm a Realist," "I'm a Pacifist," "I'm a Hypnotist"), then I am, very clearly, a Meatist.

photo by Michael C. Berke

I have tried on other guises, though it is always half-heartedly. Something about motherhood and leaving my 20's far behind made me feel that perhaps my lusty relationship with meat--particularly red meat--might be somehow...unhealthy, tawdry even.

In short order: I started feeling weirdly guilty about being a fundamentally carnal creature (Oh no, now I've lost the Vegans in the group).

I can look at my history and see that:

• Veganism would be the guy who ordered soymilk, beeped me on the nose at the end of the date and picked me up in a Woody station wagon where the tailgate was held shut with twine. Supersmart, quirky-funny with no visible pores, but also believed physical contact is "distracting" or frivolous. Yielding and dry as a cup of dried millet, pouring through my hands.



• Vegetarianism might be the kind fellow who was probably very good for me, the perfect gentleman who had no self-destructive tendencies or lurking places, and is a good, reliable father and provider. Cool, dry hands. I might be very, very happy if I kept preventative blinders on...if it weren't for the fact that, dammit, Meat knows where I live.
  
• Meatism satisfies me every time with seemingless effort--yes, (ahem) even on the kitchen table. Meat is smart, rich, complex, sexy, drool-worthy. Vegetables might nourish my cells, but meat feeds my soul. This is why a New York strip makes me weak in the knees and I am utterly unable to resist. Only Meat has ever provided this delicious paradox: so perfectly exciting, and yet exactly what I expect.

So, Meat is the lover and true self to whom I return again and again, occasionally eschewing for a misguided day or so without enthusiasm. Why? Because only in meat is there the capacity for lust. And a life without lust is like microwaved turkey bacon: a sad, pale, flabby little imitation of possibility.

photo by Tim Chambers

Of course there are as many "admirable reasons" as there are Vegetarians (and Vegans, who are just plain fascinating). My friend the Little Bush Dog went Vegetarian very quietly. No fanfare, no self-consciousness. She said she would and she did. I'm still not completely sure of her reasoning or exactly how she executed the transformation, it was a process. Could it be an awareness of her morality, good health, or a definite moral superiority over mine? After New Year's, gone were the tales of sanity-saving trips to Chik-Fil-A with the 4 and under crowd; on were the vivid recounts of her brother--aptly nick-named "Meat"--and his carnivorous exploits (touting a giant, sloppy-slick pan of ribs in front of her recently-transformed self, eating every last one, then leaving the dirty pan in her sink). I live for her Meat-stories. She knows it and she doles them out like porn.

There is an hilarious sequence in Augusten Burrows' book, Magical Thinking, where he meets a man who on their first date reveals a simple desire to eat nothing other than meat. Pretty much ever. At every meal. Burrows has to keep from leaping over the table and/or weeping with sympatico.

At this point in my life, I would be squirming in my chair if I met someone like that. Vegetables provide balance, after all, I sternly remind myself. You can't be a a carnivore 100% of the time....right? And yes, I DO like vegetables very much (especially when they are a side to meat). And of course, I suspect nearly all the margaritas, of which I was historically very fond, are meat-free.

But what I would really like, is a 25 ounce Delmonico brushed with pepper-butter, grilled medium rare, brought to me sitting under a cascade (read: MOUND) of blue cheese. Is that so wrong? !

Seriously. I love steak and I love whole-fat dairy products. If Paula Deen and Bobby Flay had a baby, I think I would eat him.

(How many men have asked me: "You have a tapeworm, don't you?" )


Maybe the occasional compulsion to forgo meat is about some need to deprive myself of an identity other than motherhood.

I can't help but think that Vegetarians are devoid of a sense of humor. This is probably along the lines of some of my other famously faulty thinking, however, consider the following:

There is a beautiful and fascinating blog called Vegan Yum-Yum (http://veganyumyum.com/), written by a talented young married, who was recently featured on Martha Stewart. Do not get me wrong, I am intrigued & impressed by Vegans and by her, and I am completely immersed until I get to her entry called "Fake Meat." She takes gorgeous pictures, but this one is just...unappetizing.

Really, why is it that Vegetarians are always looking for something which "looks and tastes just like meat!". Because, DUH, it can't be.


Something about all of this--my own complicated feelings on lust, motherhood, and this fake meat business--suddenly reminds me of watching Nora Ephron's thinly iced confessional, Heartburn, where Meryl Streep twists an earring as she describes her former marriage (to future huband Jack Nicholson) as two people speaking to each other through their pet guinea pigs. "I was always whipping up little salads for them in the Cuisinart, and knitting extremely small sweaters, speaking in very small voices."

Hmmm.

Maybe, at 24, the writer of Vegan Yum Yum doesn't require the lust that meat provides? I'll say it again: Only in meat is there the capacity for lust. And I don't want a snack, a surrepititious indulgence, I want a steady diet.

I certainly don't want politely table-scaped textured vegetable protein when what I'm really crying out for is a down and dirty steak.

I don't know if you can have meat and marriage too. I'll have to do more research.