I was tricked into eating meat (and I liked it)
I had been a vegetarian for 13 years. But when a new suitor fed me some foie gras, it changed everything
Topics: Life stories, Ethics of eating, Vegetarianism and veganism, Food, Life News
He said, “You should try this,” as a plate of mysterious golden morsels landed on the table.
“But what is it?”
He smirked. “Just try it. You’ll like it.”
I reached and grabbed the delicate-looking thing and plopped it in my mouth. My taste buds exploded. I hope it’s not meat, I kept thinking, though I said nothing. My mouth was busy having an orgasm.
”It’s foie gras,” he said, and I nodded. I don’t know French, but he knew I was vegetarian.
“Goose liver,” someone at the glossy black table added, helpfully.
“Sorry,” he said, and 13 years of denial crumbled as I shrugged and told myself that I was ready for it anyway. I liked it. I was not uptight. I was having the best sex of my life with this man. I was wearing a new dress.
I became vegetarian after watching a PETA film about pigs going to the slaughter. The soundtrack was “Carmina Burana.” I remember sitting cross-legged in our living room in Warsaw, Poland, in tears, arms and brain going numb from what I was seeing on our dinky black-and-white TV. By the time the film was over, I had made the decision that I was never going to eat meat again. Shortly after that I almost died from a form of anemia. My panicked family members reworked my menu, and I started putting on weight. We moved to a small town in Canada where I developed two ambitions: to be liked and to be skinny. I refused to eat with my family.
I achieved both of my ambitions. I became a thin girl who was a sensitive vegetarian. Certain boys flock to that type, and I carried my tortured self around, clad in black and cigarette smell, and if asked, talked about animals’ furry faces and innocent eyes. My diet was vodka, salads and defiance. I liked being looked at, but not touched.
I love animals. As a child my chosen future profession was “Queen of Animals.” When I was six, I had a hysterical fit when I realized what chicken was made out of. So the predisposition had always been there. But my vegetarianism was not ideological, it was more like a corset: It kept me thin, and the thinness — in my mind — kept the boys close by, looking.
In my 20s, I moved to Toronto. I was interviewing a woman who worked with troubled teenage girls for a story for the school paper, when she said something along the lines of, “Some of the girls are vegetarian, but that’s just another name for an eating disorder.” The woman was overweight, single; I pitied her. At home I was having OK but infrequent sex with a beautiful elfin vegan who thought high heels were ridiculous. We ate lovely vegetarian meals because he was a good cook, but my body was hungry.






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