Carnivore

I was a vegetarian for 8 years – a strict, reading all the ingredients and looking for the tiniest bit of animal product, kind of vegetarian. But one day I’d had enough. Being a vegetarian was hard. And I wanted meat again.

My first bite of meat, after 8 years without, was Tyson Chicken Tenders – frozen, packaged, crispy-coated chicken that tasted to me like I had ripped off a piece of live chicken flesh and began gnawing. Needless to say, it made me sick.

But I persisted, the next time going for fast-food chicken on the long drive home to New Jersey from Cincinnati. Had I not learned my lesson just days before when my friend and I cooked up the Tyson Chicken Tenders in her kitchen in Cincinnati? But this time the fleshy white meat went down a little easier. It made me a little nauseous, but I kept it down.

My next brave attempt was Thanksgiving turkey. And here’s where I found that love of meat again. Though I still couldn’t eat meat off the bone, I didn’t know how to cook it yet, and my consumption consisted of only chicken and turkey so far; after tasting that juicy bird smothered in gravy at the Thanksgiving table, I knew I would not go back to being a vegetarian.

So I began experimenting. I ordered a chicken sandwich when out to dinner. I tasted small pieces of the chicken breast my mother cooked at home. I tried deli turkey again. And yes, I even went back to Tyson Chicken Tenders occasionally (though I still can’t really stomach them). It was all good. I was back to eating meat and my life was so much easier!

But, like a gateway drug, I knew I couldn’t stop at poultry. Soon I was craving juicy hamburgers, sausage sandwiches, those slices of kielbasa wrapped in dough my aunt makes, and every once in a while, a few slices of bacon. Going to parties or out to restaurants made these cravings easy for me. I had choices here, and could sample a number of savory treats created by others. But cooking the meat on my own was another story.

When I learned to cook, teaching myself through experimentation, I was a vegetarian. Ask me to whip up a meatless dish stocked with veggies, whole grains and cheeses and you have yourself a meal. But ask me to handle and cook meat and we have a problem. First of all, until recently, I couldn’t even look at, let alone touch raw meat. It made my skin crawl. It made my stomach stick. It made me remember why I was a vegetarian in the first place.

But learning to cook meat was, to me, a task to be conquered, a goal to reach. So I started learning. I asked for advice, I read cookbooks, I experimented, I tried. And I am learning. Still.
I can now cook a few meats – hamburgers, chicken breast, bacon, sausage, tacos with either ground beef or turkey, and a few others. But handling it still freaks me out. And I still need it fully cooked. I need my hamburgers to be brown – without a hint of pink. I need my bacon and sausage crispy. I need my chicken done. And I admit I am a little freaky about it.

Just last night I freaked out when Ron cooked chicken on the grill for us. I usually cook chicken longer than necessary, just to make sure it is done. When I do this, I am in control, and can poke and prod the poor little white meat until I am satisfied that I have cooked it thoroughly. But when someone else cooks it, you never know. So I made him keep my chicken on the grill at least 15 minutes longer than what he said was necessary. It couldn’t be “gooey” I told him. And he laughed at me, but kept the chicken on the grill until I was satisfied. When it finally reached my plate, I admit, the chicken breast was slightly charred. Taking my first bite, knowing that quite possibly it could be under-cooked, I was a bundle of nerves. The chicken was good, of course and my worrying was all in vain. But I can’t help it, it makes me nervous.

It’s not about getting salmonella or mad cow disease or any of the other plagues brought on by the consumption of meat, although those issues do make me wary. It is more about the “ick-factor” for me. Eating meat is just gross, sometimes! And as satisfying as it is to consume Thanksgiving turkey, a nice cheeseburger hot off the grill, a thick Italian sausage sub with peppers and onions, and crispy bacon dipped in maple syrup at breakfast, I cannot get it out of my head, sometimes, that I am eating animal flesh. Gross!

I am still going slowly, taking baby steps. I still cannot eat meat off the bone. I still can’t stomach more than a small bite of steak. And I still, for the most part, stick to chicken and turkey, with a few burgers or sausage links here and there. And I’m slowly learning to cook meat. Although touching it still gets to me. Gosh, what am I going to do when I have to cook my first Thanksgiving turkey? I’m not reaching in there!