If so, Rage! [an anagram]

Article recently read: celebrates the delicacy of eating the fattened livers of force-fed ducks. Dismisses the opinions of folks protesting the manufacture of these duck livers as uninformed if not uninspired. Complains that said protesters should busy themselves griping in front of big poultry farms pushing dead abused chicken into the American market rather than bother with a few thousand innocent force-fed and killed ducks.

Blog commentors agree with this view by and large.

I go and throw up.

I used to eat meat. I particularly loved chicken livers. They were cheap and tasty with a bit of sage and I really didn't think twice about it. Then, basically on a dare, I became a strict vegetarian. And that -- with the exception of a plate of crabs at a pool-side feast one year -- was that. I never became a vegetarian with any political or social goals. I just figured it wasn't that hard to do and further, I'd save some money and get healthier.

Years pass.

Here I am reading this article and I get the same feeling that I got not long after I quit smoking years ago: it's all marketing. I smoked for years. Despite the fact that family members died of lung cancer. Despite the fact that I kept getting sick. I smoked because I smoked. And that was that.

Until I went cold turkey.

And before long, I started to have these feelings of anxiety. But it wasn't just lack of nicotine. It was the feeling that for so long I'd been duped into buying smokes. I felt like I had been abused by marketing.

And I feel the same way about meat. I quit eating red meat around age seventeen and I cut everything else -- poultry, fish -- from the diet maybe three or so years ago. And reading this article brought back the same feelings that I had when I quit smoking -- I felt like through all those years eating meat, I had been a pawn in a marketing game.

Because we don't need to eat meat. It is, in fact, the ultimate created need. We are sold the idea that we need to eat meat. We are sold the idea that we need to eat the dead flesh of a bird for dinner. We are sold the idea that we have to use our superior intellect to fatten and kill lesser beings for the purpose of giving thanks or fulfilling our culinary curiosity.

Fact is: we pleasure in the death of innocent beings.

And I will not be a part of it anymore. I am made sick by this article I read today. My old leather jacket will become siding. My dress shoes memento mori.

Alas. I am no saint. Who knows how many animals suffer on my behalf. I do my best, but I'm a realist.

And I am not condemning sustenance. There are people who depend on meat in lieu of alternatives. I have no right to judge and I ask forgiveness from you my friends for being so egotistical.

But where someone makes the effort to order such a dish as foie gras, in light of what that represents -- nothing more than sheer luxury, a created need -- I can not hold back my criticism.

Food should be something enjoyed that nourishes the body and celebrates and sustains the diversity of our ecology. The fattened livers of force-fed birds don't qualify as such.

What, No Turkey?

Field Trip!!

Veggie Thanksgiving Ideas

Ok. So inquiring minds wanna know: What makes for a hearty Vegetarian Thanksgiving Dinner? And I don't mean Tofurky.

Give me ideas.

The Revolution Will Be Made of Ham?

My sons are obsessed with ham sandwiches.

I don't know why. Perhaps it is their first act of rebellion. The ham eaters versus the vegetarians. Hmm.

I am wondering if any of you of parenting-experience have this sort of thing happening. I just let them go ahead and eat whatever they want so long as it's relatively healthy. By the same token, I only cook veggie (and mostly vegan) at home.

I feel like if I try to 'make' them eat a certain thing, I'm sure to raise a Dick Cheney. So, I let 'em go and figure out their own taste. That said, they of course depend on me for either making or buying the grub. Thus, they are huge fans of tofu and seitan.

Hey, Jerky!

The greatest display of jerky I even did see was at a truckstop somewhere around Fort Stockton, TX.

I remember this because MJ and I both commented at the time that this was indeed the greatest display of jerky we had ever seen. We were on the road from San Diego to New Orleans, and as Texas just happens to be between the two we spent a few days exploring the Lone Star state.

Now please, before you go marking me as some East Coast ninny who wouldn't understand Texas even if I switched brains with a longhorn, know that I've got family in Houston and friends in the state's capitol.

Ok. Now you can go on marking me as an East Coast ninny.

It's the truth: I don't freaking understand Texas.

My first impression of Texas came driving south from Alamogordo, NM. We had visited near the Trinity test site and were on our way to El Paso. From the first city to the next, we followed one straight two-lane highway. Every now and then a car would pass us doing 120mph. F-16s were actually more common traveling companions. On either side of the road every three miles or so stood a sign reading: 'Do not leave vehicle. Beware live munitions'.

So it was a surprise to us as we entered the great state of Texas that, despite the fact that there was no sudden increase in the amount of traffic we'd encountered in the desert, we were now driving on an eight-lane highway.

Must get busy out there in the middle of nowhere during rush hour. (Ok. Ok. Sorry. That was ninny-ish of me to say.)

Anyhow, we ended up blowing through El Paso and figured we could hit San Antonio by nightfall.

Wrong.

I think there must be some sort of space-time problem going on out there in West Texas. Because, I swear, it took us four hours to travel 50 miles at 110mph.

We ended up in Fort Stockton.

A couple of interesting things along the road to Fort Stockton and just beyond. We were lucky enough to find a restaurant dedicated (in a cultish way) to the NFL announcer John Madden. Kinda freaky. We also saw the world's largest wood carving of a woodpecker. Impressive.

When we pulled into town, we found the local convenience store to ask if there was a safe place to camp for the night. Lady behind the counter was as kind as could be. She closed up shop, led us to her trailer park, and gave us a free pad. With all due sincerity, it's folks like these who make America great.

We awoke the next morning having survived a blistering windstorm that literally would have blown us away in the night had we not secured our tent with metal spikes. We had the rain-cover over the tent and in the middle of the night, a particularly evil-looking, but somehow pathetically adorable cat wandered between it and our hemisphere. All night it just stood there, hiding out from the wind, watching us.

The next morning we took off towards San Antonio. And out there along that highway, we found the jerky.

Now, it should be stated that neither MJ nor I eat beef jerky. I haven't had a taste of cow since I was a teenager. But something about that Texas truckstop brought out the appreciation I have within me for people who love their local cuisine.

For here before us stood a nine-foot tall bulletproof cabinet of the finest and most varietal beef jerkies known to humankind. It was truly a sight to behold and an image I will never forget.

MJ used the bathroom. I got a cup of coffee and a pack of Swedish Fish.

Yeah, I'm a ninny.

Now, you think that would be the end of the story. And on any reasonable blog, it would be. But this is no reasonable blog. And so, I submit to you:

I spent years in the wilderness wondering what I had missed in not purchasing any of the finest and most varietal beef jerkies West Texas had to offer. I questioned my beliefs. Shook a feeble fist everytime I passed a poster of Gandhi.

But then. One day. Someone by the name of Stonewall entered my life and saved my jerky-soul.

Stonewall is the producer of "the incredible, animal free, all natural, jerky substitute"!

Yes! Because if there is one thing a vegetarian needs: it's a jerky substitute.

In fact, the stuff is made out of defatted soy flour, yeast, wheat, and spices.

And it's a damn fine jerky.

I eat it every chance I get. And that's why now, next time I'm in West Texas, I'll be able to go up to the counter and say, "Gimme some Stonewall's".

To which they'll likely reply, "Bug off, you East Coast ninny".