notes from an occasional carnivore

Wowza, am I glad I don't have any obligation to write ***WARNING MEAT REFERENCE AHEAD!*** I can talk about bones ands gristle and meat meat meat to my heart's content.

See, I've been off the meat wagon for two days shy of two months now. It's been interesting, to say the least. I've liked it, for the most part. My body feels lighter, even though I have no idea if I've lost any weight. The "number," as it is, is not the point. One day S. simply said "let's go veg for awhile," and I said "Okay." That was it.

S. had been fighting a cold/flu thing for a couple weeks and finally her body relented--last Friday, she launched into full blown illness. It seems to be moving fast, from her head to her chest, lots of coughing, lots of drainage. I feel so bad for her! Initially, when she started feeling crappy, she said to me "I want chicken." Upon further exploration of this statement, I learned that what she really wanted was chicken soup. The mother of all cure-alls. The moment passed, however, and we continued apace with the vegging out. Then, on Saturday, as S. lay in the guest room hacking up her right lung, I decided enough was enough. I was going to Whole Foods to buy the most P.C. chicken I could find so I could make my sick wife some nutritious soup. On the way to the store, I consulted my trusty gourmand and loyal blog partner, Stine, and asked her how she would prepare the soup. She gave me a rundown on the way she learned to make this elixir of goodliness from the Hungarians, and armed with her vast knowledge, I went shopping.

I returned home with a roaster, about 4 lbs., free-roaming, sourced from a farm 45 miles from Denver, no antibiotics, no hormones. It had been a very long time since I handled a whole chicken. I followed Stine's directions as S. slept, snoring softly in the other room. The smells were intoxicating, enough to get her up after about 40 minutes of cooking time and wander in the kitchen in her underwear, half-asleep, where she then pointed to the pot and rubbed her tummy. Her throat hurt so much that she didn't really want to talk. But I knew what she was saying.

Soon I was serving up some homemade chicken and rice soup (I'd precooked the rice), infused with the curative powers of garlic, ginger, black peppercorns and lots of quercetin (a natural anti-inflammatory found in onions). S. held the bowl in her hands and lifted it to her face, inhaling the aroma and letting the steam enter her clogged noggin. She ate it all, every drop, then went back to bed.

Soon thereafter, I ate a some pieces of chicken with rice. Very plain, just salt and pepper. I wanted to see how it tasted to me. Well, it tasted like chicken. A little greasy, but good. I'd say I ate half a breast, if that. And when I was finished, I was full. Too full, I decided. It was weird.

A week or so ago, S. and I had a conversation about eating veg, during which she said "I don't think I've really felt full since I stopped eating meat." This was an AHA! moment. S. is a fan of the full feeling. She likes being sated to the point of near uncomfortability. I'm sure it's deep seated in her, a void she fills, as there have been times when we've finished a meal and she's still hungry. She gets anxious, antsy. She's been working on this. And I think she's been rather successful, given that she hasn't complained about not having enough to eat since we tried to go vegetarian, even though it's obvious that it hasn't been easy for her.

But back to the chicken. I felt conflicted as I ate it. Like I was betraying something. I didn't feel like I was betraying the chicken, per se, but rather like I'd "given up" on something that I was successfully doing--a rarity for me, this consistency--and I needed to give myself permission to do it this one time. I am so conflicted about this whole meat eating thing, especially because I think there ARE humane and responsible ways to eat meat. It might take extra effort and a little more money, but it's worth it to seek out ethical purveyors and learn exactly where your food comes from. Frankly, I find a lot of vegetarian food to be wanting. Depth of flavor isn't the same. (My veg friends are taking up arms as I write this, I'm sure.) The chefs I most admire, including those in my own family, see vegetarian cooking as limiting, like painting with two colors. I can't help but agree. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm going whole hog :) back to the meat counter to rustle me up some sirloin. To the contrary--I have much more to think about now. I've been to chicken and back. I'm gassy, and the farts are fowl(sic). I'm thinking maybe the occasional meat here and there, but I'm not convinced that I want to go back to full blown meat eating at this point. All that said, hatch green chiles are plentiful this time of year, and I have a hankerin' for some pork green. Now if only I knew a neighborhood pig farmer...

I'm also gobbling up Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and enjoying what he has to say, even when he brings up things that I'd rather not read about. So many of us are so far from our food that we barely recognize it--its original form is lost, its essence supplemented with additives we can barely pronouce. It's unnerving to think of my neighbor, a young boy going on 5, and all the ramen noodles he ingests on a weekly basis. He loves them, and of course they're cheap. And with food prices going through the roof--a dozen organic, free range, veg fed eggs hit $5 at Whole Foods--I'm not sure how many options his Mom has at this point. She's working full time, frazzled, and ramen is EASY. That's one of the things S. said to me recently--eating vegetarian is a ton of work. It is. Moreso than meat eating, hands down. And none of us has more time, that most elusive of things that we wish we had in ample supply. It takes dedication and perserverance to stay this path, not to mention more money. But I'm not willing to give up just yet.

In the interest of full disclosure, however, I should mention that the soup rice--which was cooked in chicken stock--was so flucking good...