We did it. We broke the New Rules. We at meat, at home, in San Francisco. Well, now that we were going to burn in vegetarian hell, we might as well have fun with it.
I don't know about Jason, but I kinda always imagined that SOMEDAY I would eat meat again. I imagined myself as an old woman, eating loads of meat and having three-martini lunches. I kept little mental notes about what I'd like to eat if I did eat meat. I would think things like "If I ever eat meat again, I'm going to try that taco truck." Or "If I ever eat meat again, I'm going to fly to Philadelphia and get a cheesesteak."
So, as far as I was concerned, someday was here. Time to indulge our meat fantasies. But while we fessed up to our friends about tasting meat in Argentina, we were not ready to "out" ourselves as full-time carnivores just yet. Instead, we started having secret meat dates.
I think we really had two important things to accomplish:
1) Eat meat memories from our childhoods
2) Try all the meat things that we never even knew existed back when we ate meat...like bahn mi and tacos al pastor.
My mom was a South Philly Italian, and I grew up in multi-culti south Florida, so I had lots of meat memories that I wanted to catch up on - hoagies, macaroni with pork gravy, escarole soup with chicken broth, Jamaican meat patties, matzoh ball soup, Cuban picadillo, salami and more salami ...
Jason grew up in Ireland in the 70's & 80's, so his meat memories weren't quite as warm and fuzzy as mine. Although he wanted to eat some lamb (something I'd never had), pretty much all of it was new to him.
So, for our first official secret meat date, I took Jason for his first taste of real southern bbq.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The Downward Spiral, Part 3
So I know what you're thinking, yeah yeah, you had some beef in Argentina and you never looked back. You caved and started eating the hot dogs you bought for the dog.
No, that's not what happened. We returned to our normal life and our normal diet Rules. It was fine. For about a year.
Then sometime in the middle of 2006, I decided that we needed to try Korean food. We are enthusiastic San Francisco restaurant-goers, and we've tried just about every ethnic cuisine we can get our hands on. But for some reason, we never tried Korean. I guess we just thought it was all meat. But I'd read a review of New Korea House in Japantown and it talked about tofu soup and oyster pancakes, so we figured it would be a good place to try, with enough things we could eat.
We weren't prepared for the assault on our senses when we walked in. The smell of grilling meat nearly knocks you over from the minute you cross the threshold. And it smelled good.
We sat down and looked at the menu. We decided on a spicy crab soup and bbq shrimp. The waiter came to take our order.
Waiter: "Minimum two orders to bbq at the table."
Me: "Oh, sorry, we didn't realize. What should we do honey? Two orders of shrimp? There's nothing else here we can eat."
Jason: "Let's get the beef."
Me: "What? Really? Are you serious?"
Jason: "It looks really good. Everyone else is eating it."
The poor waiter stood there, while we hashed out our ethical crisis. He wasn't amused.
Jason: "We'll have the beef too."
Me: "You're eating it. Not me."
Okay, now you know what happened next. The beef came to the table, and it wasn't scary at all. It was fabulous. It was marinated and slightly sweet, and sliced very thin. We grilled it at the table and ate it with all the lovely kimchi and banchan that came with it. The shrimp were good too. And the spicy crab soup was sinus-clearingly delicious.
The meat had a weird effect on us. We were giddy. We drank beer and grilled meat, and all around us people were drinking beer and grilling meat and it was fun.
We started rationalizing again. Okay, this was bad. This is not organic meat. Who knows what kind of meat this is? But we're in Japantown. At a Korean restaurant. That's almost like traveling. That's almost like the New Rules.
We felt like little kids. Little kids with a secret.
New Korea House
1620 Post @ Buchanan
No, that's not what happened. We returned to our normal life and our normal diet Rules. It was fine. For about a year.
Then sometime in the middle of 2006, I decided that we needed to try Korean food. We are enthusiastic San Francisco restaurant-goers, and we've tried just about every ethnic cuisine we can get our hands on. But for some reason, we never tried Korean. I guess we just thought it was all meat. But I'd read a review of New Korea House in Japantown and it talked about tofu soup and oyster pancakes, so we figured it would be a good place to try, with enough things we could eat.
We weren't prepared for the assault on our senses when we walked in. The smell of grilling meat nearly knocks you over from the minute you cross the threshold. And it smelled good.
We sat down and looked at the menu. We decided on a spicy crab soup and bbq shrimp. The waiter came to take our order.
Waiter: "Minimum two orders to bbq at the table."
Me: "Oh, sorry, we didn't realize. What should we do honey? Two orders of shrimp? There's nothing else here we can eat."
Jason: "Let's get the beef."
Me: "What? Really? Are you serious?"
Jason: "It looks really good. Everyone else is eating it."
The poor waiter stood there, while we hashed out our ethical crisis. He wasn't amused.
Jason: "We'll have the beef too."
Me: "You're eating it. Not me."
Okay, now you know what happened next. The beef came to the table, and it wasn't scary at all. It was fabulous. It was marinated and slightly sweet, and sliced very thin. We grilled it at the table and ate it with all the lovely kimchi and banchan that came with it. The shrimp were good too. And the spicy crab soup was sinus-clearingly delicious.
The meat had a weird effect on us. We were giddy. We drank beer and grilled meat, and all around us people were drinking beer and grilling meat and it was fun.
We started rationalizing again. Okay, this was bad. This is not organic meat. Who knows what kind of meat this is? But we're in Japantown. At a Korean restaurant. That's almost like traveling. That's almost like the New Rules.
We felt like little kids. Little kids with a secret.
New Korea House
1620 Post @ Buchanan
Saturday, August 25, 2007
The Downward Spiral, Part 2
So Jason & I boarded our plane in Argentina,with our dirty little secret and a pound or so of beef lodged in our large intestines. What would we do when we got home to San Francisco? It was all so deliciously forbidden. Would we tell our friends? Would the lure of meat be too strong?
Surprisingly, no, it wasn't. After coming home, the whole meat-binge adventure seemed more like a dream. We eventually fessed up to our friends - the carnivores congratulated us, and the veggies just shook their heads. But back in our old veggie-friendly surroundings, it was easy to fall right back into our old way of eating. We started eating by the Rules again.
But something more subtle was happening to us, and I blame the dog. About six months before we went to Argentina, we adopted the world's most adorable mutt puppy from SF Animal Care & Control. We named her Stella, like the beer.
Getting a puppy was a huge step that impacted so many parts of our lifestyle. We had a little life in our hands now. We crate trained, we went to puppy classes, we raced home from work to walk her, and suddenly, we had meat in our refrigerator.
Trying to be the best puppy parents we could be, we shelled out for Natural Balance dog food. If you are unfamiliar with this stuff, it looks like a big salami. Mmmmm, salami. You have to store it in the refrigerator, and you have to cut it up yourself. With a knife.
At first, I was completely disgusted. The dog food had its own shelf in the fridge. I had a special knife for the dog food. I had a special cutting board for the dog food which I covered with paper towels, just for good measure, so the meat wouldn't touch any of our food. I wiped up the crumbs with a special sponge. Besides the Natural Balance, we bought other meat products, on the advice of the dog trainers. Hot dogs. Ewww. Hot dogs in our fridge. I hope none of our friends come over and see them in there and think we're eating them.
But after a year or so, I became desensitized to the meat. It started sitting on the shelf with the rest of our food. The special knife was forgotton. I even used our forks to scoop out the canned stuff. It just wasn't disgusting anymore. It was a fact of life. And I guess in some way, this helped to eliminate the 'yuck' factor when I eventually did make the transition from semi-veggie to full-on meat eater.
Is it ironic that I am blaming an animal for making me a carnivore? I don't know. But I do know that Stella is really really happy when we cook bacon.
Surprisingly, no, it wasn't. After coming home, the whole meat-binge adventure seemed more like a dream. We eventually fessed up to our friends - the carnivores congratulated us, and the veggies just shook their heads. But back in our old veggie-friendly surroundings, it was easy to fall right back into our old way of eating. We started eating by the Rules again.
But something more subtle was happening to us, and I blame the dog. About six months before we went to Argentina, we adopted the world's most adorable mutt puppy from SF Animal Care & Control. We named her Stella, like the beer.
Getting a puppy was a huge step that impacted so many parts of our lifestyle. We had a little life in our hands now. We crate trained, we went to puppy classes, we raced home from work to walk her, and suddenly, we had meat in our refrigerator.
Trying to be the best puppy parents we could be, we shelled out for Natural Balance dog food. If you are unfamiliar with this stuff, it looks like a big salami. Mmmmm, salami. You have to store it in the refrigerator, and you have to cut it up yourself. With a knife.
At first, I was completely disgusted. The dog food had its own shelf in the fridge. I had a special knife for the dog food. I had a special cutting board for the dog food which I covered with paper towels, just for good measure, so the meat wouldn't touch any of our food. I wiped up the crumbs with a special sponge. Besides the Natural Balance, we bought other meat products, on the advice of the dog trainers. Hot dogs. Ewww. Hot dogs in our fridge. I hope none of our friends come over and see them in there and think we're eating them.
But after a year or so, I became desensitized to the meat. It started sitting on the shelf with the rest of our food. The special knife was forgotton. I even used our forks to scoop out the canned stuff. It just wasn't disgusting anymore. It was a fact of life. And I guess in some way, this helped to eliminate the 'yuck' factor when I eventually did make the transition from semi-veggie to full-on meat eater.
Is it ironic that I am blaming an animal for making me a carnivore? I don't know. But I do know that Stella is really really happy when we cook bacon.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Regrets, I've had a few
New rules - we'll eat meat while traveling if it is part of the cultural experience.
But, oh, the things we've already missed. We tasted no pho in Hanoi, no ham in Madrid, no jerk chicken in Jamaica, and no mole in Oaxaca. Here I am, the most food-obsessed person I know and I have missed out on all of these great things. And the worst regret of all? Japan.
You would think that a pescatarian would do alright in Japan. You'd be wrong. The Japanese like to sneak meat into even the most vegetarian-looking foods. So we probably should have known better before we set off looking for what the guidebook called the oldest-best-most revered ramen noodle shop in Tokyo.
Suffice it to say that Tokyo is not an easy city to navigate if you are a lost westerner with zero knowlege of Japanese and only a minimal guidebook map. We set off at noon, to have lunch at the famous ramen shop. After about 2 hours, we were starving and ordered some noodles from a street vendor to tide us over. A few more hours passed, and we were still wandering - lost - in the general neighborhood of the ramen shop. We're fighting. Our feet hurt. We're cold. But we are not giving up. We have spent so much time and we are so close, we have to find this place.
We find a bar instead. We drink beer and feel better. They offer us some little snacks. No, thank you. We are looking for ramen.
Off we go. It's now dark. Lunch has turned into dinner. We have been circling the same neighborhood for over FIVE hours now looking for the noodles. Finally a kind stranger takes pity on us and leads us by the hand to the shop which, I'm sorry Lonely Planet, NO ONE could possibly find with the crappy map you provided.
Ha. We're here. We've settled in. Food at last. What's that? Oh, it's all pork broth?
We left.
LEFT!!! What the hell was wrong with us?
But, oh, the things we've already missed. We tasted no pho in Hanoi, no ham in Madrid, no jerk chicken in Jamaica, and no mole in Oaxaca. Here I am, the most food-obsessed person I know and I have missed out on all of these great things. And the worst regret of all? Japan.
You would think that a pescatarian would do alright in Japan. You'd be wrong. The Japanese like to sneak meat into even the most vegetarian-looking foods. So we probably should have known better before we set off looking for what the guidebook called the oldest-best-most revered ramen noodle shop in Tokyo.
Suffice it to say that Tokyo is not an easy city to navigate if you are a lost westerner with zero knowlege of Japanese and only a minimal guidebook map. We set off at noon, to have lunch at the famous ramen shop. After about 2 hours, we were starving and ordered some noodles from a street vendor to tide us over. A few more hours passed, and we were still wandering - lost - in the general neighborhood of the ramen shop. We're fighting. Our feet hurt. We're cold. But we are not giving up. We have spent so much time and we are so close, we have to find this place.
We find a bar instead. We drink beer and feel better. They offer us some little snacks. No, thank you. We are looking for ramen.
Off we go. It's now dark. Lunch has turned into dinner. We have been circling the same neighborhood for over FIVE hours now looking for the noodles. Finally a kind stranger takes pity on us and leads us by the hand to the shop which, I'm sorry Lonely Planet, NO ONE could possibly find with the crappy map you provided.
Ha. We're here. We've settled in. Food at last. What's that? Oh, it's all pork broth?
We left.
LEFT!!! What the hell was wrong with us?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The Downward Spiral, Part 1
So, there I was, happily vegetarian-with-fish for 16 years. And then in 2005, the hubby and I went to Argentina.
It seemed like a good idea. I mean, I know they are famous for their beef, but they are famous for their cheap wine too. And they have Italian food. Gnocchi. I love gnocchi! I could eat a lot of gnocchi for sure.
Well, no, as it turns out, I can't. I can tell you from somone who has tried, gnocchi gets really tiring after about 3 days. And if you ever find yourself in Buenos Aires, do not - repeat DO NOT - order fish.
Enter my mother-in-law. She had always wanted to see BA and asked if she could meet up with us there. Had we been on our own, I'm sure Jason & I would have made it through the vacation, fueling up on $3 bottles of Malbec and occasionally choking down another plate of gnocchi. But there we were, sitting across from Breda, while she oohed and aaahhhhed over the fantastic quality of Argentinian beef, cooked over an open fire.
This continued on, night after night, until finally Jason gave in. "Give me a bite of that," he said.
I shot him a look, "Are you sure?"
"Yep"
"You're sure you're sure?"
"mmmmmmmmmmmmmm"
So, I did it too. I was nervous. I took a bite of the steak. I tried to shoo the words 'cow corpse' out of my head. It was okay. I didn't feel sick, like I thought I might. Mostly I thought , "I don't really miss this."
But it continued this way for the rest of the vacation. A bite here, a few bites there. Jason ordering his own steak and me grabbing half of it off his plate.
And why not? Here we were in Argentina. How could we go to Argentina and not try the beef? It's not like it was USDA horrible inhumae feedlot beef. This was grass-fed. Happy cows come from Argentina. And you know what? They are already dead. It's not like that cow's going to come back to life if I don't order the steak.
So we made a new pact - we'll eat meat when we are traveling. No meat at home. No horrible American hormone-laden antibiotic-injected beef. But if we happen to find ourselves in a new place, and eating meat just happens to be part of the overall cultural experience, well then so be it, we will eat the meat. (Now what other famous meat places can we visit?)
At the airport, waiting for our flight home, I ordered a salami sandwich. God, I used to love salami and it's really the only meat I ever craved. So, I snarfed down my last bit of meat before returning to American soil, where the rules would kick back in. Then I ordered another salami sandwich, just because I could. The second one wasn't as good as the first. I felt kinda sick.
I'd post a photo here of us eating steak in Argentina, but there aren't any. Like French aristocrats covering their heads to hide the shame of devouring the adorable ortolan, we made sure not to take any photographic evidence of our fall from grace.
It seemed like a good idea. I mean, I know they are famous for their beef, but they are famous for their cheap wine too. And they have Italian food. Gnocchi. I love gnocchi! I could eat a lot of gnocchi for sure.
Well, no, as it turns out, I can't. I can tell you from somone who has tried, gnocchi gets really tiring after about 3 days. And if you ever find yourself in Buenos Aires, do not - repeat DO NOT - order fish.
Enter my mother-in-law. She had always wanted to see BA and asked if she could meet up with us there. Had we been on our own, I'm sure Jason & I would have made it through the vacation, fueling up on $3 bottles of Malbec and occasionally choking down another plate of gnocchi. But there we were, sitting across from Breda, while she oohed and aaahhhhed over the fantastic quality of Argentinian beef, cooked over an open fire.
This continued on, night after night, until finally Jason gave in. "Give me a bite of that," he said.
I shot him a look, "Are you sure?"
"Yep"
"You're sure you're sure?"
"mmmmmmmmmmmmmm"
So, I did it too. I was nervous. I took a bite of the steak. I tried to shoo the words 'cow corpse' out of my head. It was okay. I didn't feel sick, like I thought I might. Mostly I thought , "I don't really miss this."
But it continued this way for the rest of the vacation. A bite here, a few bites there. Jason ordering his own steak and me grabbing half of it off his plate.
And why not? Here we were in Argentina. How could we go to Argentina and not try the beef? It's not like it was USDA horrible inhumae feedlot beef. This was grass-fed. Happy cows come from Argentina. And you know what? They are already dead. It's not like that cow's going to come back to life if I don't order the steak.
So we made a new pact - we'll eat meat when we are traveling. No meat at home. No horrible American hormone-laden antibiotic-injected beef. But if we happen to find ourselves in a new place, and eating meat just happens to be part of the overall cultural experience, well then so be it, we will eat the meat. (Now what other famous meat places can we visit?)
At the airport, waiting for our flight home, I ordered a salami sandwich. God, I used to love salami and it's really the only meat I ever craved. So, I snarfed down my last bit of meat before returning to American soil, where the rules would kick back in. Then I ordered another salami sandwich, just because I could. The second one wasn't as good as the first. I felt kinda sick.
I'd post a photo here of us eating steak in Argentina, but there aren't any. Like French aristocrats covering their heads to hide the shame of devouring the adorable ortolan, we made sure not to take any photographic evidence of our fall from grace.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Pesky-tarians
Ah yes, pescatarians - the bastard step-child of the vegetarian world. I can already hear all the 'real' vegetarians out there groaning, because there is no one they love to hate more than the I'm-vegetarian-but-I-eat-fish set. I get it. I know that fish is not a vegetable. But let me take a moment to defend the pescatarians.
First of all, pescatarian is a really terrible word. It's ugly, and outside of veggie/foodie circles, not everyone knows what it means. So, as a pescatarian, you often have to default to calling yourself vegetarian. It's just easier. If you are going to a wedding or you're traveling in a foreign country or going to someone's house for dinner, you can just say you are vegetarian and you get to have something to eat that won't have bacon in it. Simple.
Second, I believe, as most pescatarians do, that there are higher and lower life forms. If I remember correctly from 5th grade biology class, it goes something like this ... algae-plants-mollusks-crustaceans-fish-reptiles-birds-mammals. I do not for a moment believe that a clam is anywhere near the equivalent of a dog/cow/pig/human on the life form chain and while I did feel the slightest twinge of guilt the first time I steamed up a batch of live clams for linguine, I got over it really really fast.
Anyway, if I should accidentally refer to myself as 'vegetarian' at some point in this blog, I do apologize to all the real vegetarians out there.
First of all, pescatarian is a really terrible word. It's ugly, and outside of veggie/foodie circles, not everyone knows what it means. So, as a pescatarian, you often have to default to calling yourself vegetarian. It's just easier. If you are going to a wedding or you're traveling in a foreign country or going to someone's house for dinner, you can just say you are vegetarian and you get to have something to eat that won't have bacon in it. Simple.
Second, I believe, as most pescatarians do, that there are higher and lower life forms. If I remember correctly from 5th grade biology class, it goes something like this ... algae-plants-mollusks-crustaceans-fish-reptiles-birds-mammals. I do not for a moment believe that a clam is anywhere near the equivalent of a dog/cow/pig/human on the life form chain and while I did feel the slightest twinge of guilt the first time I steamed up a batch of live clams for linguine, I got over it really really fast.
Anyway, if I should accidentally refer to myself as 'vegetarian' at some point in this blog, I do apologize to all the real vegetarians out there.
Going Cold Tofurky
All through high school, I flirted with vegetarianism, like a good little punky-goth girl should. Notably for a few months after skipping school to watch 'Faces of Death' with my friends, and then again when I got the Smiths 'Meat is Murder' for Christmas in 1985. I couldn't even listen to the title track.
But it never really stuck, until one day in college, when I was eating a bean and beef combo burrito from Burrito Brothers. That was it... the last piece of cow I would eat until well into my 30's.
What was my motivation for giving up meat? This is a question I had to answer a lot in 17 years. But mostly, it was just the realization that meat eating, for most people in the USA, is totally hypocritical. Sure, I'll eat meat if I can walk into a grocery store and buy a slice neatly wrapped in plastic. Just don't remind me that it ever used to be a living breathing creature not unlike my pet dog. And I thought that was wrong. I still do.
But then I started feeling a bit unhealthy. Oh, and I was craving shrimp. So, I started thinking - If I were left to my own devices, and I were hungry, and there were no supermarkets around, what would I eat? I definitely wouldn't kill a cow, or a pig, or really any mammal. I might kill a chicken because I don't really like birds, but that would still be a stretch. But hell yes, I would kill me some shrimp. I killed cockroaches all the time just for coming in my house and a shrimp is really just an aquatic cockroach, right? And fish, well, they're bigger but still, I could kill one if I had do.
And so, one day in 1989, I became a pescatarian.
But it never really stuck, until one day in college, when I was eating a bean and beef combo burrito from Burrito Brothers. That was it... the last piece of cow I would eat until well into my 30's.
What was my motivation for giving up meat? This is a question I had to answer a lot in 17 years. But mostly, it was just the realization that meat eating, for most people in the USA, is totally hypocritical. Sure, I'll eat meat if I can walk into a grocery store and buy a slice neatly wrapped in plastic. Just don't remind me that it ever used to be a living breathing creature not unlike my pet dog. And I thought that was wrong. I still do.
But then I started feeling a bit unhealthy. Oh, and I was craving shrimp. So, I started thinking - If I were left to my own devices, and I were hungry, and there were no supermarkets around, what would I eat? I definitely wouldn't kill a cow, or a pig, or really any mammal. I might kill a chicken because I don't really like birds, but that would still be a stretch. But hell yes, I would kill me some shrimp. I killed cockroaches all the time just for coming in my house and a shrimp is really just an aquatic cockroach, right? And fish, well, they're bigger but still, I could kill one if I had do.
And so, one day in 1989, I became a pescatarian.
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