Viscera. Carcasses and gore. Parasites and rot and squirming insides.
For years, these were the thoughts that ran through my head when I was around meat. I had what I’d describe as an aversion to the stuff; it made my skin crawl, and my guts twist around. I refused to touch it. I couldn’t stand looking at it. Watching people eat it could dredge up my lunch.
More than an ethical choice, I felt a biological response of disgust and revolt.
So, what changed? How did it happen?
Well, turning 24 seems to bring out a compulsory identity crisis. Combine that with the anxiety of a cross-country move, mix in a few going-away party drinks, and you can find yourself making a lot of weird, surprising choices. It could have led me to much worse places than a slice of pepperoni pizza. It wasn’t really hunger, nor a craving—more of a morbid curiosity and a lack of inhibition. Even if you found something revolting to your core, years of hearing people talk about how they “couldn’t live without it” would make you curious too.
I’m not sure what I expected. It sort of flipped a switch in my brain. Something that had freaked me out for years suddenly didn’t seem that bad, if it was small and thin and drowned out by cheese and bread. Meat started looking less scary and more like actual food. It hasn’t all happened at once; I still can’t touch raw meat. Rare steak scares me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat ribs.
But honestly, the worst part? The let down. When you spend your life hearing people gasp when they learn that you’ve never tried something, you might expect it to be a little less… underwhelming?
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve grown to enjoy a decent burger. But was it an eye-opening, mind-blowing, breathtaking-electrifying-earthshattering-lifechanging experience? Not a chance. Everything tastes good between bread. You could probably feed me a person if you fried them up and stuck them in a bun with cheese on top.
Undoubtedly the worst offender of all: chicken. Mediocre flavor. Weirdly chewy, somewhat stringy? Nasty, pallid color. Unreasonably expensive. Seemingly an inferior alternative to tofu in almost every way. So bland people push it as an advantage in some sort of twisted coping mechanism.
If you’re the type of person who claims you want to cut down on meat for ethical reasons but simply couldn’t go without it, trust me—you totally could. Fusion and alternative cuisines have exploded after the hipster-vegan cultural boom in the 2010s. Even after these trends died down, the culinary experimentation has stuck, and I find myself asking why I didn’t go get cauliflower wings while chewing on karaage. There are tons of interesting (and high protein!) alternatives to try out, and reduce your meat consumption, even if just a little!
Why’d I bother then? Why keep eating it at all? Why “learn” to “like” meat?
Curiosity, for one. There’s a world of new dishes for me to try out! “Surely one of these will be life-changing,” I think to myself. Having more than one or two options on a menu sure doesn’t hurt either.
But if there’s one weird thing I’ve gotten out of meat, it’s a sense of community. Moving to a new city for the first time is scary! How do you make friends when you know no one? What do you ask people to do to get to know them? Well, everyone loves food, and party favor rules apply: saying you’ve “never tried” something is a surefire way to get plenty of kind invitations.
Maybe the food hasn’t been to my tastes quite yet, but the memories and bonds I’ve gained while trying peoples’ favorite foods have been infinitely more valuable. Dinner dates and kitchen nightmares. Stories of family traditions and cultural exchanges shared over home-cooked meals. Tummyaches and weird mouthfeels and every other ick that came with them; I’ve gained something lovely out of it all.
Disagree? Feel free to try and change my mind, so long as the meal’s on you.
