I am a vegetarian. And with that statement, I am sure you are already dreading my next sentence, expecting a bleeding-heart “meet your meat” ramble about why I (unlike you) live with a clear conscious because I didn’t butcher that adorable pig from charlotte’s web. I will not do that in this piece, nor would I if I was sitting across from you during your steak dinner.
Quite to the contrary, during my time as a vegetarian, the preaching and prodding more often comes from the person with the steak in front of them. The middle-aged men I work with often remind me animals were put on this earth to eat, and at grill outs I never hear the end of the jokes about my soy burgers. My boyfriend is usually respectful about my diet. In the beginning, however, he grilled me a few times on my reasons for not eating meat (his family raises hogs and cattle). But surprisingly, the most constant protest and teasing has come from my own family. My father objects, my grandfather laughs, and my stepmother gets defensive. “Well I’m sorry we all don’t like tofu!” “Yeah, but think of all the poor plants your killing.” “That Boca burger looks like a delicious piece of cardboard, want some real meat?” …I have heard these comments more than a couple of times.
The funny thing about the uproar that follows people’s discovery that I’m a vegetarian is that I never offer up my reasons for not eating meat unless directly asked. I decided not to eat meat for a multitude of different personal reasons. I also keep my opinions about meat personal as well. I am not a P.E.T.A. crusader who will confront you about your leather jacket or the Tyson chicken fingers in your fridge. I am probably as big of a P.E.T.A. basher as any hunter, honestly. I don’t have much against hunting either, which is another view that surprises many of my macho male co-workers.
I am not a vegetarian because I disagree with the killing of cute innocent animals. People need food, and dying is an unfortunate part of life. I am a vegetarian because with the rise of factory farming, I don’t know where my food has come from. Nor do I know whether an animal was allowed to stand up and leave it’s cage in order to live a life. I cannot support a market that is disease-ridden and is guilty of repeated inhumane practices. I decided to go vegetarian for health reasons as well. Livestock from most farms are no longer fed a grass fed diet, compromising the nutritional value of the meat. Also, our digestion system is made to only digest meat around two times as week. That’s a far cry from the American diet that commonly includes meat products in every meal. I understand that I have other options that fit into my ideology of how meat should be produced. Free-range and family farmed raised meat products are available at some grocery stores and are becoming more popular. But they are also significantly more expensive than subsidized meat, and rarely available in restaurants and hosts’ homes. So at this point in my life I have decided to simply abstain from meat products all together. Another thing I found surprising about taking on a meat-free lifestyle is that people are intimidated by having a vegetarian join them for dinner. Often I am asked, “well, we are fixing a roast, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and green beans, but what can you eat?” I find this comment so amusing because although I might not be interested in the entrée (which almost always includes meat), I am more than satisfied making a meal out of the side dishes.
If someone asked me “what is the hardest part of being a vegetarian?” I wouldn’t respond with what forbidden meat I now crave. Nor would I discuss the lack of options in food establishments (although Applebee’s menu is the absolute worse, I can fine more vegetarian options in a bar-b-cue joint). The majority of my trouble comes from the never-ending remarks and preaching I receive from the meat-eaters. Who assume vegetarians are the self-righteous ones.
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