Being Meatless

Disclaimer:  this post is in no way trying to change anyone's choices or lifestyle.  I do not judge.

I spent some time on the porch earlier, leafing through a magazine.  Yes, I still get one of those retro forms of media, Better Homes and Gardens, to be exact, mostly because it's so cheap to subscribe.  Of course, the fact that I can "leaf through" it in less than half an hour and then be ready to chuck it says something, I suppose.  I can easily recall a time when I cherished those magazines, tearing out recipes, articles, coupons.  I'm sure I "read" them several times before I was ready to get rid of them.

Anyway, there's always a section on food in these magazines, and although there's a token vegetarian recipe here and there, most of the focus is still on meat.  In America, the focus is still on meat, right?

I grew up, like most everyone else, in a house in which dinner revolved around meat.  I recall that as a kid, I didn't even know the names for chicken or beef or pork.  It was all meat.  In my house, that was usually ground beef, cooked on top of the stove, and served with boiled potatoes and some mushy canned vegetable.  I can't tell you how many times I was made to sit at the table until I finished my dinner, chewing the same piece of meat over and over again until I finally took a chance on swallowing.  And I did so only so that I could get back outside to play with my best friend who lived next door.  I had another friend at school who always talked about having steak for dinner.  I had no idea what steak was.

And most of my life was lived with meat as the main feature of any meal.  I could not imagine a meal not based on meat.  Even eggs and home fries had bacon on the side.

Several years ago, I decided to try an experiment.  I was going to not eat meat and see if I missed it.  For the first couple of years, there was one day that I found myself missing meat.  I know, I know, everyone thinks it's Thanksgiving.  It's not.  It's St. Patrick's Day.  I missed that once-a-year treat, corned beef.  But now, all these years later, I don't even miss that.  I am no longer a meat-eater.

It's not a big deal, really.  There're a lot of food choices out there.  Unless I find myself at a Cracker Barrel or Bob Evans, I never have a problem finding something to eat.  Regionally, some places are easier than others.  But in my own house, no problem.

So today, I leafed through that magazine, past the glossy pictures of pulled pork and grilled chicken, and I thought how grateful  I am that I am not a slave to meat.  In the supermarket, I sail right past the meat counters.  In restaurants, I zoom straight to the vegetarian section of the menu (small as it may be).  At a buffet, I fill my plate with meatless wonders.  At home, I consider how many vegetables I can fit into a saute pan.  Life is so much simpler when there's no meat to dominate the conversation.

Again, to each his own.  For me, I am in love with being meatless.