I'm No Carnivangelist

I feel like I've still got a lot of 'splainin' to do about this meat thing.

I'm not interested in preaching the gospel of meat. In fact, I completely respect anyone's dietary restrictions, whether they are for ethical, religious, health or any other reason.

I admire vegans. I really do. Vegans are better than me. Some people think vegans are smug but I think they are entitled to lay claim to the moral high ground. And I really, truly believe that if everyone followed a vegan diet, the world would be a much better place. But, it's NEVER EVER going to happen. Not in my lifetime, anyway.

In the meantime, if I leave the 3 strips of bacon off the sandwich, does the pig get to live? No.

Okay, that's a simplistic argument. But really, I guess my idealism has taken a step toward realism. I hate the fact that humankind evolved as it did, raising and killing animals for food. I wish it weren't so.

Anyone who has spoken to me in the last year knows that I loved Michael Pollan's book "The Ominvore's Dilemma" (don't get me started about corn!). I read that book just as I was coming to terms with the fact that I was eating meat in broad daylight. And the one thing that struck me the most about the book was that Michael Pollan, the man who probably puts more thought into what he eats than just about anyone else on the planet, is not a vegetarian.

Maybe, instead of abstaining, we can eat meat in moderation. Choose meat from producers that treat animals well, give them space, and don't pump them full of hormones or antibiotics. (Yes, I know my last entry was about foie gras but really, I agonized over it.)

I think that people place dietary restrictions on themselves for peace of mind. It worked for me for 17 years. As I get older though, I realize that (and this is sad to admit) what I do doesn't really make much of a difference. I vote, and Bush wins - twice. I don't own a car, but does that really help anything in a country where the roads are clogged with SUV's? I turn off the tap while I'm brushing my teeth and at the same time, I know that somewhere in Las Vegas a golf course is getting watered. And so, after 17 years of abstaining from meat, what in the world has changed? Nothing. So what's a bacon sandwich now and then?

Foie Gras Faux Pas

One unintended - but very welcome - consequence of becoming a meat-eater is that people start inviting you over for dinner. Our social lives have vastly improved. (Veggies take note: your carnivorous friends and co-workers have dinner parties that they don't tell you about. Trust me, they do.)

Thankfully, we came out in time to be invited to a French Christmas Eve dinner last year at the home of our friends Gibouille and Elise.

This is the kind of event that strikes both excitement and fear in the heart of a born-again carnivore. At a restaurant we can pick and choose the meat we feel comfortable with; at someone's home you have to eat what you are served. Or at least try it. Mom said so.

I was a little nervous as we set out...Christmas Eve dinner with a bunch of French people? Please, God, don't let there be any organ meats or gelatinous textures. I was not ready for that.

We arrived fashionably late at 7:30, and were the first guests there. I had a Ricard and helped to set the table. Then I had a beer. And another beer. And a kir. Around 9pm, the other guests started to arrive. We had champagne.

I was standing in the dining area with the only other American there. Everyone else was outside smoking. Gibouille came in and dropped a baking sheet full of bacon-wrapped prunes on the table. "Amuse bouche," he said, and went out to join the smokers. I hadn't eaten all day and scarfed down 7 or 8 of them.

Finally, more champagne was opened and everyone came to the table. We had a toast, then Gibouille and Elise started to serve the first course. Foie gras.

Oh god, there it was. The most politically-incorrect of all meats. A slab of foie gras the size of a pork chop was sitting in front of me.

I'd never had foie gras before. I'd never had liver before. I'd never even had duck before. I thought about politely saying something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but I don't eat foie gras," but I'm sure no one would have heard me. The French people were busy letting out little shrieks of glee, making loud yummy noises, and saying things like "oh la la" (yes, French people really do say that!). I looked over at Jason - he was digging right in - and he shot me the look that means, "This shit is goooood."

The room was spinning a little. I didn't know if it was the alcohol or the scent of tortured ducks in the air. The foie gras was mocking me, daring me to eat it. On my right shoulder, an angelic miniature Morrissey begged me not to savour the flavour of murder. On my left, a tiny evil Anthony Bourdain said "Don't be a pussy. Do you really want to humilate yourself in front of half the French waiters in the city?"

I confided in the guy sitting next to me. "Ummm, I've never had foie gras before. I'm a little afraid of it."

"Oh my god, this is the best thing. You have to eat this," he said. He prepared a piece for me - a little bread, a lot of foie gras, a little fig compote. I took a bite.

I was surprised...it doesn't really taste meaty. It's a little sweet, a little savory. Oh yes, I get it now...it fills your mouth with velvet. It's so smooth and delicious. It doesn't taste like torture at all. It's like ambrosia. I'm amazed. I'm impressed. I'm overwhelmed. I'm going to be sick.

No one notices as I leave the table, they are all too wrapped up in their foie gras-induced ecstasy. But the bathroom is not far from the table and when I come back, everyone knows.

"Did you just get sick?" Gibouille asked.

"Yeah...but I'm okay now," I say. I sat down and KEPT EATING. This, my friends, is the most punk rock thing I've ever done in my life. Oh yeah I felt like crap, but I was NOT going to miss the rest of this dinner.

What followed:

cream of mushroom soup with truffle oil

buckwheat crepe with smoked salmon and creme fraiche

lemon & vodka sorbet

roasted chicken
(I took a nap during the chicken course. It was okay because this is when the French people started singing and by the time I woke up from my nap they were still singing and my chicken was still waiting for me.)

wild boar cooked in wine with celery root puree
(This course was amazing! I still dream about it. While I was eating it I happened to glance at my watch and it was 1:30 am. This was some serious eating.)

roquefort cheese tart with carmelized pear and salad

Phew. No one had room for the chocolate mousse. Then our friend Freddo arrived, fresh from his shift at Fleur de Lys, carrying a cake in the shape of a log. I laughed at the log. (I've since learned that this is a traditional French Christmas cake, ooops).

It didn't really matter that I'd just spent 5 hours eating the largest dinner my life. When Hubert Keller sends a free cake your way, you eat it. So I ate it. I don't know how.

Jason & I were up all night. We ate nothing the next day. But we will always have fond memories of our first meaty Christmas. And foie gras? Well, wait til I tell you about our trip to Paris...

VGML

I have a confession to make. Okay, no, I have two confessions to make.

1. I have been on 22 flights in the last two months. Yep, I have a carbon footprint so big that I could stamp out the sun. (Hey, what do I care? I don't have kids!)

2. I love airline food. Honestly. I love airline food in the same way that I loved TV dinners when I was a kid. Do you remember TV dinners? The kind that came in a foil tray, that got cooked in the real oven? Sure, they were always disgusting, but there was something so exciting about peeling back the foil to reveal what secrets lie beneath. What will it be? Will it be cooked all the way through or frozen in the middle? What is the dessert? Can I really eat Salisbury steak without puking? It was the element of surprise, combined with the challenge of eating something so disgusting, topped off with a warm dessert, all in a neat compact tray. I get the same thrill every time I fly.

Well, not every time. If you've been on a domestic US flight lately, you know that they don't give you food anymore. But on international flights (which are sometimes shorter than domestic ones) and in the rest of the world, they still give you food. Hey, at least it gives you something to pass the time.

Now despite the fact that I've been eating meat for over a year now, this was really the first big trip where I was out of the closet as a carnivore. Oh, sure, I nibbled a few bits of chicken last year in Thailand (and suffered food poinsoning from it) but until now, I've stuck to the veggie meal.

Let me tell you, getting rid of the veggie meal has made traveling a dream. For those of you who have never suffered through an airline veggie meal, let me share my pain of flights past.

It goes like this:
You book a flight, and at some point, on the phone or online, you opt for a special meal. The airline will present you with a dizzying array of special meals. Lacto-ovo vegetarian, vegan, low fat, low sodium, kosher, bland, halal ...

You choose lacto-ovo. That sounds safe.

As soon as you reach 30,000 feet, a flight attendant will come up and confirm that you have ordered a special meal. You feel special.

A few minutes later, she will return and plop your meal in front of you. Of course, meal service has not begun for the rest of the cabin, so you are getting jealous stares from all the other passengers. You have no drink.

Your meal is covered in foil and is labeld VGML. It has your name on it. Awww. You peel back the foil to reveal a veg mess. It's usually something like eggplant with mung beans and green beans and a little bit of tomato sauce over rice. It's the sort of thing I would expect to be served by those Food Not Bombs kids. Off to the side, is a half-frozen whole wheat roll with corn-oil margarine. A rotting salad with fat-free Italian dressing, with the texture of phlegm. A graham cracker. And a little dish of underipe melon with grapes.

Ummm, okay. Well, the veg mess is warm at least and the plane is freezing, so you eat.

Right around then, food service begins for everyone else. "Chicken or veggie lasagne?" they're asking. Veggie lasagne!!! Hey, wait. I could have eaten that! Why can't I have the veggie lasagne??? (Don't bother asking, they will tell you they don't have enough to go around. After all, you ordered the veggie meal.)

Soon your seatmates will have their meal. You stare (payback). They have veggie lasagne. And the same wilted salad, only they have full-fat ranch dressing! And instead of a graham cracker, they have real crackers, with a packet of real cheese. And instead of fruit, they have carrot cake. And a normal roll, with real butter. What gives? Didn't you order the lacto-ovo veg meal? Why couldn't you have these decadent delights??

My theory is that that lacto-ovo meal, the vegan meal, the bland meal, the low fat meal and the low sodium meal are ALL THE SAME THING. They just put a different sticker on it to make you feel special. BASTARDS.

Anyway, I can now tell you that flying without the dreaded VGML is like having a weight lifted off your shoulders. You don't even really have to eat any meat. And once you leave the American-owned airlines, the food improves dramatically. (Seriously, some of the best food I had in India was on a 1-hour Jet Airways flight....more on that later.)

I'm baaaccck!

Oh dear, poor, neglected blog. I am so sorry for having abandoned you. You see, I have been traveling since October, and I don't have a laptop. No, really.

I've been traveling for work. I've been traveling for fun. Don't believe me? I'll tell you. Since October, I have been to Washington DC, Tunisia, Barcelona, Paris (twice), Florence, Rome, Naples, Sorrento, Palermo, Nice, Las Vegas and India.

But good news, I have consumed more meat in the last two months than I probably have in the whole of my life. I've eaten ducks. I've eaten goats. I've eaten wild boars and milk-fed baby lambs. Truly, I have a story to tell about meat in all its glory. So please, don't give up on me, blog.

Fernet Branca, the carnivore's best friend

The night of our first real meat binge in Buenos Aires was a sleepless one.

Maybe meat is always like this, or maybe it was just my body in shock, but the meat sat like a rock in my stomach for hours. It was a very unpleasant feeling that I've become accustomed to lately. Meat makes you feel full. Those Atkins people have been telling us that for years. What I didn't realize is how long it takes to digest. Hours and hours.

And yet, it tastes so good that I'm willing to put up with a few hours of discomfort afterward. That's where Fernet comes in.

If you don't live in San Francisco (or Italy), maybe you haven't heard of it. It's a digestif. Some say that it tastes like Jaegermeister without the sugar. I don't really agree. But people seem to either really love or really hate this stuff. Thankfully I am in the former camp, because it works a magic on the digestive system that pharmaceutical companies could only dream of emulating.

Fernet is painfully trendy in San Francisco. Bartenders drink it. It is a drink for those in the know. Whatever. I like how it tastes (like licorice mixed with Underberg topped with a Ricola garnish) and it cuts through a pile of meat in your gut like nobody's business. A shot or two of Fernet, and you can get up and walk again.

I only hope that it becomes trendy in more places. I have tried to order it recently in Boston, Chicago, Washington, DC and Florida. What I got were puzzled looks from bartenders instead. Sambuca makes a poor substitute. As does congnac. (But they'll do in a pinch.)

Consider this a public service announcement. If you eat copious amounts of meat and can stand the taste of herby-licoricey alcohol, do yourself a favor and get your local bar to carry at least a bottle or two of Fernet Branca.

Meat Taboos & Thit Cho

I remember watching David Letterman one night years ago, probably when I was still in college. Julia Child was on the show and she was doing a cooking demonstration. She was hacking away at a duck.

She squawked, "You know, this method also works very well with baby seal."

Letterman nearly choked. "Baby seal? Jeez, Julia, what are you, some kind of monster?"

"What's the difference between a duck and seal?" she asked, still hacking away at the duck.

Fair point. What is the difference between a duck and seal? Or a dog and pig? Or a horse and a cow? Why do people think squirrels are cute but they run screaming from rats? Why is it okay to eat rabbit but not cat? Where do we get this stuff from?

And yet, most people don't seem to think about this much at all. Maybe I spend too much time thinking about it. Maybe I'm the one with the problem, not everyone else.

A few years ago, in our pre-carnivore days, my husband & I went to Vietnam. Now I had heard that they eat dogs in Vietnam. I prepared myself for this. I memorized the word for it (thit cho) so I could make sure we didn't accidentally wander into a dog restaurant. After human, probably no meat strikes more fear in the hearts of Americans that the thought of eating dog meat.

Anyway, although I wasn't surprised to find dog meat served in Vietnam, I was surprised to see that many Vietnamese people also keep dogs as pets. And I'm not talking about some scruffy guard dog chained to someone's fence. I mean floofy little dogs with shiny pink collars and little sweaters. That kind of pet.

So I was curious as to how people rectify that. How do you spend the day snuggling with your pet dog, and be okay with the fact that there's a thit cho joint just down the road? I was lucky to meet up with a Vietnamese colleague and after a couple of beers, we asked her.

"Easy," she explained. "See that dog? That's an eating dog."

And that was it. The wild-looking dogs with the pointy ears are for eating, and the others are for dressing up in little sweaters and cuddling with. Simple.

I guess meat taboos don't have to make sense. Everyone has their own. So if I'm okay with eating pig but not rabbit, alligator but not turtle, well, I guess I shouldn't lose sleep trying to justify it.


Note: I should mention here, before you go hiding Fido from your Vietnamese neighbors, that while dog is eaten in Vietnam, not all Vietnamese people eat dog. And it's not an everyday dish. It's expensive, and it is for special occasions. No one is ever going to serve you dog in place of another meat, give it to you by accident or roast your dog for the neighborhood block party.

Memphis Minnie's

"Ohmyfuckingod"

Jason had just tasted his first bbq rib.

"Is it good, honey?"

"Fuck!

"Yeah, mine's good too."

Jason was buried in his plate. He looked euphoric. I thought his eyes were going to roll into the back of his head. I felt the same way. We had a new drug, and its name was pork.

Ordering had been quite an ordeal. Behind us was a group of Japanese tourists, clutching a guidebook. I don't know which of us was more confused by the menu.

"Ummm, we're new to this meat-eating thing. What kind of animal is brisket? What's the difference between a rib tip and a tri tip? Is smoked pork the same thing as pulled pork?"

We were totally clueless. It felt weird. Exciting. Exotic. Like being in a foreign country. I'd been on this stretch of Lower Haight a thousand times, and I don't think I ever even noticed that Memphis Minnie's was there.

The food was fantastic. I don't know if it was really fantastic, or just fantastic for a guy who had never had bbq in his whole life and his wife who hadn't had it in about 20 years. I think it was really fantastic, because we've been back a few times since.

The ribs are our favorite. And the brisket. The greens aren't as good as the ones I make (they're too vinegary) but we don't go there for the vegetables. The smoked pork is great too, but it's chopped, not pulled. All in all, it's the best bbq you are going to find in San Francisco; the staff take this food seriously and seem to love what they do.

While we were eating there that first night, I was struck by how happy and enthusiastic the other patrons of the restaurant were. Everyone was chatting, passing bottles of hot sauce back and forth.

"Have you guys tried this one? It's amazing!"

There was a comaradarie among these carnivores, a conviviality that I had never experienced at say, Herbivore. Meat eaters are just more laid back, it seems. A little less concerned about what people think of them. They welcomed us into the fold.

Afterward we went to Molotov's for a shot of Fernet, to help us digest all that flesh. They had Reagan Youth on the jukebox. I played the whole album. Reagan Youth and bbq ribs all in one night! I felt like I was 17 again, and it was good.

Memphis Minnie's BBQ
576 Haight St. @ Fillmore
http://www.memphisminnies.com/