A piece of meat

I love food. Rather, I love eating, hence I love food. And if you know me, you also know that it shows. But that goes beyond the topic of what I’m about to rant on today.

My favorite food is meat. Perhaps 85% of my meals include meat, and I know that right now you are disgusted and judgemental and yes, you are right, but let me get on with the ranting. Tonight, exceptionally, my dinner did not include any meat. Later on, I stumbled across an article online talking about a hunter who likes to take photos with the animals she kills and then post them on social media with taunting captions. So that’s where this whole thing is going.

I come from a small village, where to get something, you needed to work for it. You want a salad? You need to grow it first. You want apples in winter? Gotta make the reserve in autumn. You want meat? Well, you’ll need to slaughter an animal than you have been feeding for months, perhaps even years.

Since I was a kid, I remember distinctly this tradition that we had around Christmas. We would all gather at our house or the house of a relative, and we would slaughter a pig. That was such a festive moment, the whole process, the conviviality, it was really so much more than just killing an animal and eating its flesh. I remember all the preparations, everyone would get together around 5 in the morning, we would get a big fire going on because we would need a lot of hot water during the day. Everyone would contribute in some way. It was usually my grandfather who would do the actual slaughtering, because he was extremely efficient, meaning that the animal would not suffer a lot. On the rare occasions where the pig was too strong and would manage to get free, which only extended its suffering, I recall distinctly that my grandfather was always distraught. He was feeling genuinely bad because he hadn’t managed to keep the suffering of the animal to a minimum.

Then the process would involve cleaning the pig thoroughly, splitting it into pieces, preparing the pieces for conservation, and also cooking abundant food for anyone who’d helped in the process. And we would have meat for the whole winter. We would always slaughter one pig, never more. The same would go for chicken, we wouldn’t slaughter more than what we needed.

I didn’t realize it then, but looking back I would say there was a sense of respect towards these animals we were killing. Do you think that’s an oxymoron? It might look like it is, but I really believe that there was respect. There never was a question of “how many” animals would get killed. It was always one because that one animal was more than enough for the whole family. And the process itself would be such that the animal would not suffer unnecessarily. What is more, this whole ritual of slaughtering an animal for food was done in full conscience of who that animal was. More often than not, these animals were born with us, we fed them, we took care of them, we knew them.

Now, I live in a big city, and I just go to the local joint and order chicken wings. The order I get usually is the one with 10 pieces of wings. For each one of my meals, at least 3 chickens have died. Of course, I don’t know these chickens. I haven’t killed them myself. I just pay the guy at the counter, and then I enjoy the deliciousness that they serve me. A guilt-free pleasure of pure tastiness.

I read somewhere that in chicken farms male chickens, as soon as they are hatched, are ground into meat pulp and fed to other chicken. Because, of course, what would you do with useless animals instead of feeding them to their siblings? And that’s not even the worst thing that’s happening out there. There are other various gruesome details that pop up periodically from different sources in front of me, but I cannot and will not refer to all of them separately.

One of the things I remember, however, is that I saw somewhere that we collectively need to reduce our meat consumption by as much as 90%, otherwise things are looking very grim for us. Us being humans. I was pretty alarmed when I read that headline, you can imagine. I mean, meat is my favorite food. You’re telling me to eat 90% less of my favorite food?! What madness is this?!

But I think I get it. Thinking back to how things used to be for me and compared with how they are now, I realize that I have lost my respect for life itself. A piece of meat at the supermarket is soulless, its life has been drained before it reaches the shelves. I’ve never seen the animal before it died. I don’t need to kill it or watch it die. It has been done for me by others. Now, it’s just… meat.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love meat, and I always will. I will not convert to veganism, nor will I start preaching it. I’ve never been one for extreme trends. But perhaps, just perhaps, the next time I crave meat, I will give it some thought.