Breaking Veg; Etiquette

I made the decision to become vegetarian when I was eighteen.  I was surrounding myself with people who shared many of my own convictions, people that practiced a more compassionate lifestyle, and inspired me to make changes to my own choices of what I had always perceived as normal behavior.  I hadn't really been considering it, but I knew many people whom I respected greatly already practicing a vegetarian lifestyle and I remember it finally hitting me one day.  I recall having the conversation in my mind pretty clearly, asking myself from a philosophical perspective, "why do I consume other animals?"  I didn't really have a rebuttal, no answer I felt sufficed, or that left me feeling content with the lack of discretion in my diet.  That was the moment that really changed my relationships with animals and people, but it took a little longer to develop my deep kinship with plants.

Like most vegetarians I've known, going cold turkey was a deceptively daunting endeavor.  The first two years of my personal quest to abolish meat from my diet proved to be fairly challenging.  If I was to describe the eating habits of my adolescence in five words, I'd probably choose: salt, butter, pig, chicken, and wheat.  I'd also regard myself as having a rather particular palette at the time, and didn't venture far beyond the aforementioned ingredients, so my dietary spectrum remained painfully (and embarrassingly) narrow.  I just didn't appreciate much in the way of vegetarian food, and what showed up on my radar was primarily sugar, cheese, bread, pasta, potatoes, broccoli, and corn.  Aside from the broccoli, I don't know that I'd refer to any of those items as vegetarian fodder, but merely food that is acceptable for vegetarians to eat by default.  So for about two years I bounced back and forth between my new "vegetarian" diet and choosing to only avoid red meat.

It was around this time I met someone so vastly different from all of my close friends, but almost immediately I felt I could relate to more than anyone else.  To make a long story much, much shorter, we quickly became best friends, and eventually we sparked a romantic relationship.  She had been a strict vegetarian for almost a decade, but at the time we were both struggling with our dietary concepts.  This relationship dynamic helped finalize my transition into a completely meat free diet, while it led her to explore a meat friendly one.

It's been about six years or more since that period of my life, and there have been times I really thought I wouldn't ever eat animals again.  I spent two years working as a cheese monger, a job which included cutting high end charcuterie meats on a daily basis, and I never once wavered.  So much of my spiritual enhancement has stemmed from my dietary choices, and I have such a better relationship with food now (however obsessive it may be, I can say it's much, much healthier) than I did 9 years ago.

I've experimented with restriction in many ways, and now I think it's appropriate to also experiment with self control and moderation.  My views on meat consumption have never really stopped evolving, and right now I'm in a place where I'm curious to discover whether my body requires meat consumption in order to achieve mental and physical balance.  I feel it's important to offer myself this option.  So... how do I now introduce meat back into my life?  How can I feel any sense of contentment while committing such acts I've found to be so deplorable?  I want to remain present with the fact that another beings life was sacrificed for my own nourishment.  I want to offer some sort of appreciation for their sacrifice.  I want to be able to enjoy my meal without a heavy cloud of guilt weighing me down so heavily that it hurts.  Should this process be so dramatic?  Am I crazy?  Will I require therapy after this is done?  Is there a even a proper way of doing this?

I considered several avenues.  First, I decided I wanted to raise chickens for their eggs, and eventually when these hens had stopped laying and were nearing the end of their life, I would slaughter and eat them.  After much deliberation I decided this presented far too many challenges to be considered a viable option.  Next, I thought I'd go spear fishing, or hunting, but this would require transportation that I don't have, equipment I don't have money for, and if this whole meat eating thing didn't workout then I'd be stuck with guns, knives, and other otherwise useless items filling my already crowded space.  I've always felt that if I was going to eat an animal, I needed to be the one to end it's life.  I finally came to the conclusion that this was not a possibility for me, at least not at the moment.

I work at a farmers market once a week selling organic produce for a local farmer.  I've been to his farm, I've seen how his vegetables are grown and how he raises his animals.  I sincerely approve, he has a relationship with all the livestock on the farm, they receive proper nutrition, it feels humane, and I could imagine modeling my own farm after his practices.  Unfortunately, he only sells his beef and pork at the market.  I'd like to at least start off with something more nutritionally substantial.  I started exploring some of the stalls at the market I've adamantly avoided.  Eventually I chose Spur Valley Ranch, who happen to be just two stalls down from my own.  They sell chicken and quail eggs, along with the whole animals, which they raise and butcher themselves at the farm.  They also raise rabbit, which, again, is sold basically whole (skinned, head and forelegs removed).  I spoke with Andy, one half of the mother-son duo who head up the farm, at great length about how his animals are raised.  He happily answered all my questions, and I could tell he felt very confident in the quality of his product.  After a few weeks of intense debate, I finally built up my courage and purchased a small rabbit.  Andy assured me of it's freshness, telling me he had butchered the rabbit that morning.  I thanked him for his help and patience with me, and returned to my booth.  At some point that afternoon I realized that I was about to participate in something quite different from my normal kitchen rituals, and this excited me.  I was going to experience new flavors, textures, and procedures that I'd never really known, and that opportunity to learn shed some new light on this whole process.  Now I was getting a little pumped.

I arrived home, and immediately got to work.  After studying the process of deboning a rabbit, removing all of its less than desirable pieces, and then portioning it, I felt I was ready.  I opened the package and removed the rabbit.  I can't recall feeling that uncomfortable or disgusted in quite some time.  I will save anyone reading this all the gory details, but I have to admit that my initial feelings of disgust quickly evolved into fascination.  I was intrigued by these methods that I was completely unfamiliar with, and suddenly became engrossed with seeing this project through.  It wasn't easy, and it took a while to break down the rabbit into pieces ready for cooking, but I felt that I did a sufficient job and was ready to get to cooking.  From there, it was smooth sailing.

The most common google search result for a rabbit recipe I came across, called "Lapin du Moutarde" or Rabbit in Mustard Sauce, a very traditional dish, was an easy choice.  I partially cooked the rabbit in a pan with some butter and oil, removed it, added some shallots and mushrooms to the same pan, added some mustard and herbs, deglazed the pan with some sherry, returned the rabbit to the pan, added some stock and covered the pan to let it all simmer.  When the rabbit was done cooking, I removed it to a platter, added some cream and parsley to the pan to finish the sauce, and poured it over the rabbit pieces.  The giving of Thanks felt necessary, and my girlfriend suggested a Japanese blessing that the internet claims translation to in many ways, including "Thanks to all that helped prepare this meal", which I felt was appropriate.  Itadaki Mas!  The sauce was amazing, offering a depth of flavor I could not recall, and was really my favorite part.  Eating the rabbit itself was tasty, and I was quickly reminded of the chewy texture that meat offered.  This part I found less than pleasant, and I longed for something more familiar, and as I do with most meat based recipes I've wanted to replicate in a vegetarian fashion, I began to consider what I'd use as a replacement for the rabbit.  I decided to give it up for the moment, and just enjoy my supper.

I was curious as to whether or not I'd start to feel sick, as many vegetarians and vegans have reported upon accidental consumption of animal products, but I didn't.  I did, however, feel satiated by a much smaller amount of food, and I found that to be somewhat intriguing.  Overall, I'd have to say I enjoyed the experience, but it's been difficult to psych myself up about doing it again.  I appreciated the process of breaking down the animal, along with knowing the person that raised and killed it, and the freshness of which I received it, provided me with the more intimate relationship that I desired.

From here, I've been contemplating what route I'd like to take.  The prospect of experiencing a seemingly endless variety of dishes is incredibly exciting.  A few weeks have passed since my first attempt at cooking and eating meat, and I have not tried it since.  I wanted to see how my body responded to a somewhat regular intake of meat protein, but I'm having a lot of trouble.  I imagine that if I decide to include meat as part of my regular diet, it won't really be all that regular.  This might turn out to be a much longer experiment than I had initially foreseen, but I'm looking forward to exploring my passion for food by discovering all the new possibilities, and I'm elated.