Confessions of a meat convert

I’ve got a confession to make.

No – I’m not the one that’s been leaving washing up in the sink. Nor am I the guy who kept checking out that book you needed for the exam. I don’t even have some liquid addiction or carnal vice. But I did give up vegetarianism…

A lot of people come to university vegetarian and fail on the first few weeks. A lot of people come to university and take control of their dietary and ethical decisions for the first time in life. Swings and roundabouts really. I managed to avoid the stereotypical relapse in fresher’s fortnight; I’d been a vegetarian for 4 years already, and even though I seemed to share a kitchen with people who ate like panthers, I never thought of giving up so.

So here I am after 6 years of vegetarianism giving that phase of my life a send-off. So long, fairwell and thanks for all none of the fish. I’d been fairly stringent. Bar a drunken prawn cracker in Willow (do they even contain prawns?) and accidentally eating beef ravioli a few years ago (I did spend most of that lunchtime trying to fathom the earthy flavours). There were never any little forays, never any hankerings for bacon which I’ve never enjoyed, never forgot that fish are friends and that couscous was the stuff of a clean conscience.
But one night I changed my mind, strolled into MacDonald’s and had a cheeseburger. I’ve never tried to think about why I decided to eat animals again, but I seem to have put myself in the awkward situation of having to learn and try things most of you do everyday. So here’s what I’ve learnt so far about the world of meat since my baptism of fire and beef…

1) Lambtastic

Going into my third year of an English Literature BA, I’m well aware that “lambtastic” isn’t actually a suitable adjective. But I’d challenge you to find a better word to describe the delicious taste of lamb. My favourite nanny when I was just podgey platinum-blond toddler was Morrocan, and whilst saying this does makes me look like a complete chump it has a least filled me with a life-long love of Morrocan food. Tagines, hot salads, pickled lemons, pastilla…So when I was reunited with this forgotten pleasure I rediscovered a little part of me. If you’re not a particular fan of lamb, try it as substitute for beef in Bolognese or take the plunge and try a lamb, apricot and almond stew and it might just tickle your fancy.

2) People stop caring

I don’t mean the stop caring in general. Sure, I like to think my parents are worried about me whenever I fly anywhere and that my housemates maybe worry about when I inevitably start retching from Milky Bar Kids in Dusk, but people just don’t care like they used to. Before joining the carnivore club, everyone on Earth seems to worry about you’re vitamin intake. Are you getting enough protein? You must have to take B12 supplements? Your immune system must be non-existent? Well now no one cares. I’m pretty sure there’s something I might be lacking in my diet, but now no one gives a hoot. I don’t know if I’m experiencing an extreme version of Stockholm syndrome, but the passive-aggressive condescension wrapped in feigned-concern is sort of missed…

3) Menu mania

Going out for dinner used to be such a simple endeavour. You always rely on places to have a similar range of vegetarian food; something with butternut squash, things covered in cheese, a risotto with more wine in it then your glass. Those were the simpler days of life dictated by the little green “v” telling me what I could and couldn’t eat. Now I have to practice independent thought. And I don’t go out for dinner to think.

So it’s been a strange ol-time. I’m sure I’ll eventually get over the oddity that is eating meat. In the meantime, if I really have opened the meaty floodgates of all western depravity, I’ll let you know.