Thursday, December 8, 2016

Blog Post 2 - Confession of a Meat-Lover

Confession of a Meat-Lover

Throughout history, the concept of a human male has been closely intertwined with the idea of “strength” or “raw power.” In my case, this vision directly translated over to my eating habits. In short, I love meat—all kinds of meat. Steak, fish, crab legs, chicken wings; I’m proud to call myself an avid “meat-a-tarian.”
Unfortunately, I was born into the wrong religion. My entire family and relatives are Buddhists. My uncle is a monk who lives in a Chinese temple, where a vegetarian diet is mandatory. Last year, when I travelled back to visit him with my family, I felt a sense of dread approach me. Already, my mother had warned me not to expect much for lunch as we were eating at the temple. I couldn’t help it. The idea of life without sirloins or steamed mussels disgusts me so much I could puke. A world without meat is a world without culinary pleasure…
  At least, that was what I thought before I arrived at Yan Tang Mountain. 
  High in the misty peaks of a mountain range in southern China, I climbed up a life’s worth of stairs and found myself surrounded by damp, red temples, the smell of incense fogging up my nose. Sacred statues stared back at me from the windows. My uncle greeted us warmly and gave us a brief tour of the temple. I thought to myself: I didn’t belong here. The people here were monks. They didn’t eat meat. 
Lunch was served in a prayer room with the Buddha watching over me. All the food was vegetarian. I sat before a soup made from vegetables and vermicelli. I could see the ugly mushrooms staring back at me, the hideous brussels sprouts, and the gloomy bottom of the bowl—clear and meatless. This was sure to be the worst meal of the trip, I thought. Then I tasted the soup. 
My tastebuds jumped a little when the liquid touched my tongue. It didn’t taste icky; it was salty, briny, and delicious. To my surprise, I found myself going up for seconds, thirds, and maybe even a fourth helping. Dumbfounded by the exotic taste composed of seemingly tasteless greens, I couldn’t stop eating until my stomach was round. My parents were probably surprised, but said nothing; they waited until I was finished. 
  I walked out of the temple that day wondering if I had made a mistake. Was meat the end-all, be-all of flavor? Previously, I would have believed so. That meal had challenged my belief however. Was the vegetarian life all as bad as I made it out to be? Perhaps vegans over the years have adopted dishes themselves that satisfied their tastes in ways meat never could. It was a world of food and flavor that I may never get the chance to discover in my entire life.

Today, I am still a Buddhist and a frequent visitor to Steak N’ Shake at the same time. However, the memory of that wonderful dish in the mountains has never faded from the memory of my tongue. 

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