why I am no longer a vegetarian, part 2

Then comes Thanksgiving and a potluck dinner with a group of friends who have frequent vegetarian potlucks. The vegetarian potluck was always done with some caveats, i.e. you can bring meat for your own consumption if you need to, a concession to the Atkins people. Once we gathered for pizza and there had been pepperoni and salmon pizza and no one had flinched. I knew if my sons were to willingly participate in Thanksgiving I’d need to bring them Turkey. So I put it out to the group. Would anyone else want Turkey if I cooked it? I figured I hear from a couple people, perhaps the other parents and cook a small breast for the kids. I started a landslide.

The debate still rages in the group: to eat meat or not to eat meat? Some members of the community abhor meat to the point that they don’t want to be in the same room with people eating meat. My stomach clenches as I repeat someone’s words: “I find meat repulsive.” I feel pushed away. I feel judged for my food choices. I hear my mind go into judgment, calling the vegans fundamentalists. I know if I let myself be judged I return to my mind controlling the eating. I return more likelihood of eating poorly, of being uncomfortable in this body again. I struggle with getting the mind out of the way and accepting my friends with all their vulnerabilities and limitations. This is another chance for me to learn about God and man in the collision of personal values, a ritual meal and whether or not we sacrifice a Turkey for our consumption.

Enough people wanted Turkey that I ended up cooking a 13 pound hen and a compromise was struck. The turkey would not enter the house but stay warm and cozy over a BBQ fire in the yard. The vegans wouldn’t have to enter the house and witness the sacrifice. The children could have their drumsticks. We would have our bird and eat it too, bringing the contraband to the table one plate at a time.

I laughed at myself. The woman who just a few months before wouldn’t cook meat at all is now in charge of the whole dam bird. I gave it my attention for days before the event. Moving it from the freezer to the refrigerator and finally to the sink to finish defrosting. Washing it lovingly, taking out the small gifts inside of organs and neck. Boiling those to make stock for gravy. Dressing the bird with olive oil and finding an appropriate pan. (I had given away my roasting pan years before when I last became a vegetarian.) Putting the bird in the oven early in the day and lovingly watching and basting it for hours. Giving the bird enough time to sit before carving it. Allowing the bird to become ready for the feast. Making gravy as my Grandma had taught me. I was worried about having to use rice flour, but to make the gravy accessible to all those gluten-intolerants I tried. I put the drippings, the stock, small tender pieces of neck flesh into a caste iron pan, and slowly stirred in the rice flour grue. I stirred in one direction as Grandma taught me. She said it would keep the gravy from getting lumpy. The gravy got very lumpy, looked like dumplings practically. Dam, I thought it was the flour and was very disappointed. But a miracle happened, by the time we ate it all the lumps had dissolved. Rice flour makes great gravy.

Then to carving this glorious bird. I had to clear off my counter to make enough space for the carving board. I had to sharpen the knives and make sure I had all the right tools. I removed the legs and arranged them on in the large shallow casserole I was going to use to serve the beast. I started in on the breast a bit hesitantly. I remembered it was important to cut perpendicular to the grain of the flesh, but I didn’t remember which direction that was. I was lucky and began in the right place. Slowly removing one beautiful slice of juicy flesh at a time, I had an epiphany. I said grace. I chanted my thanks to this magnificent beast. I knew this bird had lived a good life, a free range organic life. I acknowledged the life of the bird and the work of many hands that brought this bird to my kitchen. The flesh became a sensuous gift. Touching the flesh of the bird was like touching the flesh of a lover. Carving the bird became an intimate experience of flesh given in surrender to the receiver. The bird and I were to become one and I was honoring this beast by eating it with reverence. I was honoring this animal by lovingly consuming it.

And everything changed in that moment. Now I prefer to cook my own meat. Now I prefer to handle and bless the meat that I prepare for our table. I continue to purchase expensive meat, free range, organic beasts that I know lived a good life: wild animals; loved animals; animals nurtured by earth and by man. I touch their flesh with reverence and deep gratitude. I own my own flesh, my own animalness in this action of eating another animal. I ground myself to earth and the food cycle. I do so with great gratitude. I say thanks through the entire process of cooking and eating. I listen to my body. I don’t deny that I am flesh and blood. I don’t deny the tactile, fleshy, sensuous nature of this incarnation.