I am the world’s most hopeless vegetarian. Mostly because I eat meat. In my heart I am committed to not eating animals. In my mouth, I am not.
And I’m not the only one. It turns out that 30 percent of vegetarians admit to eating meat when drunk. This made me laugh a lot when I heard it. Drunk is the enemy of willpower and, for one in three, it’s also the enemy of vegetarianism.
A survey of more than 1700 people in the UK by highly credible sounding company Voucher Codes Pro, found the following:
Initially, respondents were asked ‘When drunk, do you ever eat meat?’ To this, over a third of respondents (37%) admitted that they did so. The remaining 63% of respondents were adamant that they never ate meat when drunk.
Following on from this, respondents who disclosed that they had eaten meat when drunk were asked to disclose how often they did so. Respondents were presented with a list of possible answers and were asked to select which applied to them. Results were as follows:
1. Every time you are drunk on a night out– 34%
2. Fairly often – 26%
3. Rarely – 22%
4. Occasionally – 18%Next, the same group of respondents were asked to indicate which foods they were most likely to eat when drunk. Again, respondents were presented with a list of possible answers and were asked to select all that applied to them. The top 5 meats for vegetarians to eat when drunk were:
1. Kebab meat – 39%
2. Beef Burgers – 34%
3. Bacon – 27%
4. Fried Chicken – 19%
5. Pork Sausages – 14%
I really relate. My attitude to eating meat is….well, inconsistent.
A little while ago, I was making dinner. Yes, I know. You’re riveted. Actually, it was a pretty exciting situation for my family because with life so busy, one of the many balls I’ve dropped has been the one called ‘Home Cooked Meals’.
OK, let’s be honest, that particular ball is rarely in the air. It’s in a cupboard under the stairs.
So there I was, feeling pretty smug about the fact I’d defrosted a lamb rack and was going to roast it with some potatoes. Frozen peas were my final key ingredient. Julie Goodwin, watch your back.
But when I took the rack out of the plastic and went to put it in the baking tray, it was just…so…. tiny. It broke my heart a little bit, thinking about the size of those baby ribs. And then I got teary. Actually teary in my eyes.
Who cries while they’re trying to make dinner, seriously WHO DOES THAT?
“I just can’t do this,” I announced dramatically before fleeing the kitchen. My family barely blinked. They thought it was weird enough me trying to cook dinner in the first place. The histrionics were far less remarkable to them.
My husband finished cooking the lamb that night for the family, and I ate scrambled eggs.
My 30-year career in vegetarianism has been very patchy, characterised by wild inconsistency and gross hypocrisy.
It began as soon as I learned what veal was, around age 12. The thought of eating a little milk-fed calf turned my stomach and killed my appetite. Bye bye vienna-schnitzel.
This was followed swiftly by lamb and all other baby animals (including animals that were fully grown but just small, like quails and also ducks). Things progressed from there until by 17, I wasn’t eating any red meat at all. I maintained this position for a decade and for many of those years, I didn’t eat chicken either.
I wasn’t a proslytysing vegetarian, but my motivation was for animals and my distaste at the idea of eating them.
Fish and seafood were the only animals I ate, despite wishing fervently that I’d be able to say “I don’t eat anything with a face or a mother.” I missed the taste of bacon and sausages the most and I never forgot quite how delicious they were.
But then one day, after 10 years of absolutely no red meat, I had a mouthful of lasagna at a friend’s house. I can’t even tell you why I did it. It just … happened. What I do remember is how quickly the dam burst. It was the most delicious lasagna in history. I quickly scoffed a whole piece and then went back for seconds.
Over the next few months, I scurried back up the food chain until I was once again eating most meat except veal. My approach to meat eating has always been heavy on denial – I need my food not to look like an animal. I don’t like blood. I don’t like shapes that resemble body parts. That’s probably why I can wear leather but would never ever ever wear fur. Shoes do not look like cows. Neither do sausages.
Lately, little things are pushing me back down the vegetarian path. Like the lamb rack. And the YouTube video someone sent me featuring a tiny pet piglet whose owner took it to the beach on a leash. It was so adorable my computer nearly ovulated.
At the markets recently, I wandered past one of those baby animal farms. I stood for ages watching the little piglets and calves, transfixed by their cuteness. I ate vegetarian pad thai for dinner that night. And I haven’t eaten any type of pig since – they have the intelligence of a three year old, did you know that?
I’m also hugely troubled by factory farming. Any meat or chicken my family does consume is free range and I always ask before I order it in restaurants.
Yes, I’m THAT person.
If I had more discipline and conviction, I would stop eating meat altogether or even become a vegan. It’s a decision I struggle with at most meals. Sometimes the animals win. Sometimes my tastebuds do.
Before I continue, I have a favour to ask. Please don’t write to me explaining why I should or shouldn’t eat meat. Please don’t send me links to distressing videos. And wherever you sit on the meat-eating spectrum please do not be defensive. By telling you how I feel about eating meat, I am not implicitly criticising your position. This is not about telling you what to eat. Or wear. Or think.
All the vegetarians I know are very low key about their choice not to eat meat. None of them will try to ram tofu down your throat in a bid to convert you. But I’ve noticed many meat eaters will take someone else’s decision not to eat meat as a thrown-down gauntlet which they immediately pick up and use to glove slap you over the head.
Hunting for chinks in the vegetarian’s ethical armour, the meat-eater’s first question is always “Do you wear leather?”
They tend to issue this challenge snidely, confident it’s the killer punch that will deliver an instant moral victory. Many vegetarians or semi-vegetarians or wannabe vegetarians do wear leather shoes. My hand is up. I have several leather jackets and belts. I even have a pair of leather pants. But fur of any kind? I’d rather wear a hair shirt made from Britney Spears’ discarded extensions.
Everyone has different lines about what they eat and wear. These lines may shift over a lifetime or even a day. For some it’s “anything with a face”. For others it’s “anything with a mother”. Some won’t touch red meat but are cool with everything else. Others eat only seafood. Some people will wear leather but not fur. Some will only wear certain kinds of fur. Others eat everything except rabbits because the idea of chowing down on a bunny is too confronting.
Then there are those vegetarians who turn a blind eye to a donor kebab when blind drunk at 3am. APPARENTLY THERE ARE A LOT OF THEM. Whatever.
Someone’s choice about what they’re comfortable eating is a personal one, not to be mocked or disparaged just because your choice is different.
I did have a chuckle the other day when I heard someone say: “If God didn’t intend us to eat animals, he wouldn’t have made them from meat.” Clearly, that’s my problem.
Do you struggle with such thoughts? Is it just me?
This post originally appearred on The Glow and has been republished here with full permission.
DEBRIEF DAILY