Tasty Is the Flesh
Let’s just say it right away: I understand why people become vegetarians or even vegans. I really do. Once you’ve looked into the sad eyes of an innocent lamb, just before it’s led with its little friends and the rest of its loudly bleating family to the fully automated slaughterhouse and torn apart there in front of the wide-open eyes of its loved ones, you start to think differently about the piece of meat lying on your plate.
I, too, have tried several times to join the ever-growing cult of supposedly better people. In vain. With my eating-disordered ex-girlfriend, I spent several months stuffing myself with broccoli, nuts, and hummus until I finally staggered, half-starved, into a Burger King. There a kind employee nursed me back to health with cheap animal leftovers, thick fries, and an extra portion of mayonnaise, before releasing me back into the wild.
The relationship failed shortly afterward. For years afterward I kept turning into a temporary vegetarian whenever I happened to see one of those gruesome PETA videos from slaughterhouses—where newly hatched chicks were immediately thrown into the grinder because they were the wrong sex. Or squealing pigs were beaten to death with shovels simply because the workers were bored at three in the morning.
No, as a meat-eater I don’t want to support this perverse system of factory farming either. Meat is cheaper and more widely available than ever before, but also of poorer quality than ever. One food scandal follows the next. Who can still bite into a bratwurst, a steak, or a döner with a clear conscience?
And yet I still eat meat. Why? Because I like the taste. And because my body practically screams for it when I’ve denied it for a week. Then my thoughts revolve only around torn-apart animals; I feel like I could stuff the entire refrigerated meat counter into myself. Fried, grilled, boiled—give me meat, right now!
Once, while eating with a Japanese friend, I asked him why so few Japanese people are vegetarians. He calmly replied: “Because everything has a soul.” What did he mean by that? That it ultimately doesn’t matter whether we eat meat, fish, or salad. Every meal means suffering for other living beings—whether they can scream loudly or feel pain in ways that we can barely comprehend scientifically or socially.
Just because some of you, for whatever reason, have decided not to shove dead animals into yourselves anymore doesn’t automatically make you better people. Even if you like to believe it does. The future doesn’t mean total abstinence; it means greater awareness. Mass quantities of meat sold at dumping prices—those days should soon be over. But a balanced diet with high-quality products should still be achievable.
Yes, I try to reduce my meat consumption and focus more on fresh fish and crisp vegetables. First, because it’s healthier, and second, because it actually tastes better. A raw piece of salmon with soy sauce and rice—I could die for that again and again. But a good organic steak or a fat cheeseburger from my favorite place a few streets away—those I can’t and don’t want to give up.