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| After the horsemeat scandal, are you still a meat-lover? | After the horsemeat scandal, are you still a meat-lover? |
| (about 2 months later) | |
| Unless you've eaten a lukewarm, soil-like bowl of Beanfeast, cooked over a single gas ring stove on a windy beach in Scotland, you will never understand the drudgery of being a vegetarian in the 1990s. | Unless you've eaten a lukewarm, soil-like bowl of Beanfeast, cooked over a single gas ring stove on a windy beach in Scotland, you will never understand the drudgery of being a vegetarian in the 1990s. |
| Back when Portobello mushroom burgers and halloumi skewers sounded more like elocution exercises than dishes, I was being brought up by a vegetarian mother and, well, let's call him a hungry father. We rarely ate meat at home, choosing instead those delicious packets of Beanfeast, Quorn chunks and, if things got really heady, some fried paneer. | Back when Portobello mushroom burgers and halloumi skewers sounded more like elocution exercises than dishes, I was being brought up by a vegetarian mother and, well, let's call him a hungry father. We rarely ate meat at home, choosing instead those delicious packets of Beanfeast, Quorn chunks and, if things got really heady, some fried paneer. |
| Of course, my grandmother – a vet's wife and lifelong country girl – treated vegetarianism the way I treat particle physics; no matter how many times the basic tenets were explained to her, she still got a bewildered, vaguely threatened look on her face whenever it was brought up. So, while she studiously avoided feeding us peas, she was forever serving up faggots. And, being a somewhat slow-witted eight-year-old, I ate them. With gusto. | Of course, my grandmother – a vet's wife and lifelong country girl – treated vegetarianism the way I treat particle physics; no matter how many times the basic tenets were explained to her, she still got a bewildered, vaguely threatened look on her face whenever it was brought up. So, while she studiously avoided feeding us peas, she was forever serving up faggots. And, being a somewhat slow-witted eight-year-old, I ate them. With gusto. |
| I loved meat as a child. The smell of bacon made my eyes roll and my heart race. I spent barbecues dazzled by the smoky, charred visions being tonged and turned by our one truly foodie friend, Etienne. I once swapped my entire sticker collection (including shinies, furries and jellies) with a boy in my maths class for a bite of his Peperami. I loved it; I just didn't really understand it. | I loved meat as a child. The smell of bacon made my eyes roll and my heart race. I spent barbecues dazzled by the smoky, charred visions being tonged and turned by our one truly foodie friend, Etienne. I once swapped my entire sticker collection (including shinies, furries and jellies) with a boy in my maths class for a bite of his Peperami. I loved it; I just didn't really understand it. |
| When I finally flew the lentil-feathered nest and went to university, I was lucky enough to move in with a girl who hated chilli, but loved meat. While I had been brought up on packed lunches of throat-burning cheese and brinjal pickle sandwiches, but barely knew one end of a sausage from the other, we were a perfect dining pair. She kept cooking meat until I learned to love it, and I kept cooking spicy food until she crumpled into a sweaty heap. | When I finally flew the lentil-feathered nest and went to university, I was lucky enough to move in with a girl who hated chilli, but loved meat. While I had been brought up on packed lunches of throat-burning cheese and brinjal pickle sandwiches, but barely knew one end of a sausage from the other, we were a perfect dining pair. She kept cooking meat until I learned to love it, and I kept cooking spicy food until she crumpled into a sweaty heap. |
| However, coming to eating meat relatively late in life, I still had a very child-like attitude to how the things I was frying and trying were actually made. In my head, a cow (hopefully an ugly one), would grow to a ripe old age, do a lap of honour around his field and then be slaughtered. His lovely bovine humps would then be sectioned, sliced up and sold as burgers, steaks, mince, lasagnes and pies. | However, coming to eating meat relatively late in life, I still had a very child-like attitude to how the things I was frying and trying were actually made. In my head, a cow (hopefully an ugly one), would grow to a ripe old age, do a lap of honour around his field and then be slaughtered. His lovely bovine humps would then be sectioned, sliced up and sold as burgers, steaks, mince, lasagnes and pies. |
| Of course, I knew this was an idealised vision. I knew about intensive farming. I saw industrial agriculture at fairly close quarters each time we drove past the sausage factory in my granny's nearest market town. I remembered the Morrissey lyrics and read the "meat is murder" leaflets handed out at anti-war demonstrations. | Of course, I knew this was an idealised vision. I knew about intensive farming. I saw industrial agriculture at fairly close quarters each time we drove past the sausage factory in my granny's nearest market town. I remembered the Morrissey lyrics and read the "meat is murder" leaflets handed out at anti-war demonstrations. |
| I campaigned against factory farming, read Jonathan Coe's What a Carve Up! and looked at terrifying photos of pigs bred on steel-slatted floors, chained so tightly they couldn't reach their piglets. Even before Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall told the nation about our poultry horrors, I was berating people in pubs for eating battery hens. | I campaigned against factory farming, read Jonathan Coe's What a Carve Up! and looked at terrifying photos of pigs bred on steel-slatted floors, chained so tightly they couldn't reach their piglets. Even before Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall told the nation about our poultry horrors, I was berating people in pubs for eating battery hens. |
| But, while the environmental and ethical arguments against eating meat were clear in my mind, I, like many others, found it all too easy to slip under a felt-like blanket of double-think. Mass-produced meat was bad. But this sausage? This delicious sausage my friend has lovingly cooked for me? Oh, this one's probably fine. And anyway, it's dead now. Too late. Might as well just pour the gravy and not think about it. | But, while the environmental and ethical arguments against eating meat were clear in my mind, I, like many others, found it all too easy to slip under a felt-like blanket of double-think. Mass-produced meat was bad. But this sausage? This delicious sausage my friend has lovingly cooked for me? Oh, this one's probably fine. And anyway, it's dead now. Too late. Might as well just pour the gravy and not think about it. |
| The sausages were just the tip of the meatberg, of course. Following a particularly debilitating warehouse party in Birmingham, and subsequent soul-crushing trip down the M6, my friend Alice and I committed what we still refer to as, "the Burger King incident". I ate microwaved lasagnes in east London greasy spoons, £2 fry-ups in railway arches in Leeds and towering burgers in silent pubs. But that meat? Each time it was "just a one-off". Next time I would go to the butcher, check my sources, spend the extra money and buy something proper. | The sausages were just the tip of the meatberg, of course. Following a particularly debilitating warehouse party in Birmingham, and subsequent soul-crushing trip down the M6, my friend Alice and I committed what we still refer to as, "the Burger King incident". I ate microwaved lasagnes in east London greasy spoons, £2 fry-ups in railway arches in Leeds and towering burgers in silent pubs. But that meat? Each time it was "just a one-off". Next time I would go to the butcher, check my sources, spend the extra money and buy something proper. |
| But in recent days, as the horsemeat scandal broke across Britain, the true, titanic horror of modern meat-production has reared up before my eyes like a tidal wave. As news of internationally transported entrails broke over my head, amid the swirling foam of a supply chain so complicated it reads like a smuggling plot, I suddenly couldn't double-think anymore. Findus has pulled away my felt-like blanket and I am left cold, shamed and worried about what I've been eating.To find out that beef is now no longer a description of cow meat, but more of an umbrella term for anything with four legs and long eyelashes is quite something. | But in recent days, as the horsemeat scandal broke across Britain, the true, titanic horror of modern meat-production has reared up before my eyes like a tidal wave. As news of internationally transported entrails broke over my head, amid the swirling foam of a supply chain so complicated it reads like a smuggling plot, I suddenly couldn't double-think anymore. Findus has pulled away my felt-like blanket and I am left cold, shamed and worried about what I've been eating.To find out that beef is now no longer a description of cow meat, but more of an umbrella term for anything with four legs and long eyelashes is quite something. |
| So, as Lent approached, it seemed a perfect opportunity to sever my ties with meat altogether. Sure, I could go back to haranguing my one remaining local butcher about his supply chain, leaving work early to get to the shop before he closes, spending more money than I'd like on expensive cuts of meat, buying and chopping the spine out of whole chickens. Or, I could simply save myself the worry. Give it up. | So, as Lent approached, it seemed a perfect opportunity to sever my ties with meat altogether. Sure, I could go back to haranguing my one remaining local butcher about his supply chain, leaving work early to get to the shop before he closes, spending more money than I'd like on expensive cuts of meat, buying and chopping the spine out of whole chickens. Or, I could simply save myself the worry. Give it up. |
| Just stop eating it altogether. Wave goodbye to meat and go back to halloumi, Quorn, lentils, slow-roasted aubergine, tofu, paneer, chickpeas, veggie sausages and, well, vegetables. | Just stop eating it altogether. Wave goodbye to meat and go back to halloumi, Quorn, lentils, slow-roasted aubergine, tofu, paneer, chickpeas, veggie sausages and, well, vegetables. |
| Because to be squeamish about eating horse but OK with eating cows is, of course, hypocritical. So, why not just eat neither? When what's on your plate is no longer a meal, but an untraceable collection of global floor-sweepings, perhaps it's time to quit while you're not too far behind. | Because to be squeamish about eating horse but OK with eating cows is, of course, hypocritical. So, why not just eat neither? When what's on your plate is no longer a meal, but an untraceable collection of global floor-sweepings, perhaps it's time to quit while you're not too far behind. |
| I suppose, in the end, the horsemeat scandal has simply left me longing for some peace of mind. A little reassurance. Some equine-imity, if you will. And if that means swapping burgers for Beanfeasts, then that's what I'll do. NF | I suppose, in the end, the horsemeat scandal has simply left me longing for some peace of mind. A little reassurance. Some equine-imity, if you will. And if that means swapping burgers for Beanfeasts, then that's what I'll do. NF |
| 'It's time to stop paying for the unknown' – three writers on their relationship with meat | 'It's time to stop paying for the unknown' – three writers on their relationship with meat |
| Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall: If I say that almost all the meat I cook and eat at home is from the animals we rear ourselves, it might get a few peoples' backs up. I realise it smacks of privelege – and it is indeed a privilege to be able to afford to eat that way. But I don't think anyone should feel forced to eat anonymous processed meat of unknown origin. It is a choice. A harder choice for some than others, but, given that we don't need to eat meat – vegetarianism is an option open to everybody, and can be a cheaper way to cook and eat – it is a choice nonetheless. At River Cottage these past few days, we've been retweeting the following pledge, which I like because it offers different ways for different people to take up the challenge: "I pledge that from today I will not buy anonymous meat of unknown origin. I want to know what it is, where it came from, what it ate and how it lived." | Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall: If I say that almost all the meat I cook and eat at home is from the animals we rear ourselves, it might get a few peoples' backs up. I realise it smacks of privelege – and it is indeed a privilege to be able to afford to eat that way. But I don't think anyone should feel forced to eat anonymous processed meat of unknown origin. It is a choice. A harder choice for some than others, but, given that we don't need to eat meat – vegetarianism is an option open to everybody, and can be a cheaper way to cook and eat – it is a choice nonetheless. At River Cottage these past few days, we've been retweeting the following pledge, which I like because it offers different ways for different people to take up the challenge: "I pledge that from today I will not buy anonymous meat of unknown origin. I want to know what it is, where it came from, what it ate and how it lived." |
| For some it might mean choosing their meat at farmers' markets and farm shops, where they can meet farmer-producers and get a first-hand account of how the meat is raised. For others it might mean a return to the high-street butcher, where any self-respecting professional will give honest answers about the quality and origin of their product. For die-hard supermarket shoppers, it might mean a switch from big brands and own-label products to meat that has been independently audited – by the RSPCA for their Freedom Foods label, or by the Soil Association to indicate organic standards of feed and welfare. | For some it might mean choosing their meat at farmers' markets and farm shops, where they can meet farmer-producers and get a first-hand account of how the meat is raised. For others it might mean a return to the high-street butcher, where any self-respecting professional will give honest answers about the quality and origin of their product. For die-hard supermarket shoppers, it might mean a switch from big brands and own-label products to meat that has been independently audited – by the RSPCA for their Freedom Foods label, or by the Soil Association to indicate organic standards of feed and welfare. |
| We should never forget that we vote for the food we get every time we hand over money for it. Where meat is concerned, it's time to stop paying for the unknown, and the third rate. The price may be just too high. | We should never forget that we vote for the food we get every time we hand over money for it. Where meat is concerned, it's time to stop paying for the unknown, and the third rate. The price may be just too high. |
| Felicity Lawrence: The jokes about horsemeat were good – shamburgers being an anagram of Shergar's bum is my favourite – but as the adulteration scandal spread into its fifth week, humour has generally given way to a wave of disgust among consumers and to the bigger question: is it time to rethink how we eat meat? | Felicity Lawrence: The jokes about horsemeat were good – shamburgers being an anagram of Shergar's bum is my favourite – but as the adulteration scandal spread into its fifth week, humour has generally given way to a wave of disgust among consumers and to the bigger question: is it time to rethink how we eat meat? |
| My own meat-eating habits changed irrevocably after a stint undercover in a chicken factory where I was investigating how chicken breasts with Flemish and Dutch labels were being repacked for a supermarket as fresh British chicken with revised sell-by dates. Dressed in cling-filmed trays like samples from an operating theatre, supermarket meat might look pristine and safe, but nothing was quite what it seemed on the label. | My own meat-eating habits changed irrevocably after a stint undercover in a chicken factory where I was investigating how chicken breasts with Flemish and Dutch labels were being repacked for a supermarket as fresh British chicken with revised sell-by dates. Dressed in cling-filmed trays like samples from an operating theatre, supermarket meat might look pristine and safe, but nothing was quite what it seemed on the label. |
| I have since tried to buy from a local butcher or direct from producers at markets. I spend what I always did on meat, because that's still what I can afford, but I eat less of better-quality stuff instead. I hope that by cutting out the long chains and big retailers, more of my money gets back to the producers. Most of us in affluent Western countries eat more meat than we need; cutting back could help the environment – and spare us the current yuck-factor, too. | I have since tried to buy from a local butcher or direct from producers at markets. I spend what I always did on meat, because that's still what I can afford, but I eat less of better-quality stuff instead. I hope that by cutting out the long chains and big retailers, more of my money gets back to the producers. Most of us in affluent Western countries eat more meat than we need; cutting back could help the environment – and spare us the current yuck-factor, too. |
| Not on the Label: What really goes into the food on your plate, by Felicity Lawrence is published by Penguin. Buy it for £7.99 from guardianbookshop.co.uk | Not on the Label: What really goes into the food on your plate, by Felicity Lawrence is published by Penguin. Buy it for £7.99 from guardianbookshop.co.uk |
| Steven Poole: Right now, I'm so hungry I could eat a … oh. Apparently I already did. Still, if we thought our "beef" pies were delicious at the time, the only harm we've suffered is the potential psychic discomfort of these belated revelations. Ignorance is bliss. Proverbially, it's better not to know how laws and sausages are made. Surely this wisdom is more generally applicable? | Steven Poole: Right now, I'm so hungry I could eat a … oh. Apparently I already did. Still, if we thought our "beef" pies were delicious at the time, the only harm we've suffered is the potential psychic discomfort of these belated revelations. Ignorance is bliss. Proverbially, it's better not to know how laws and sausages are made. Surely this wisdom is more generally applicable? |
| I've always eaten meat, and frankly I'd rather not know too much about what's in it. I'll leave that to the experts. Modern industrial food processing, so despised by organic-food fanatics, is surely wonderful proof of human ingenuity, making the inedible delicious. | I've always eaten meat, and frankly I'd rather not know too much about what's in it. I'll leave that to the experts. Modern industrial food processing, so despised by organic-food fanatics, is surely wonderful proof of human ingenuity, making the inedible delicious. |
| If you're going to eat flesh, it's pernickety to make arbitrary distinctions between mammals. Guts-on-toast cook Fergus Henderson's Nose to Tail Eating cookbook is a foodie's waste-not-want-not manifesto. Well, why not cow-to-horse eating? If there's a stringy nag lying around in the abattoir, it would be disrespectful not to grant it the power of posthumously giving pleasure to us all. | If you're going to eat flesh, it's pernickety to make arbitrary distinctions between mammals. Guts-on-toast cook Fergus Henderson's Nose to Tail Eating cookbook is a foodie's waste-not-want-not manifesto. Well, why not cow-to-horse eating? If there's a stringy nag lying around in the abattoir, it would be disrespectful not to grant it the power of posthumously giving pleasure to us all. |
| So I have no plans to change my carnivorous habits. I do already buy free-range chicken (it tastes better), and my bacon is Spoiltpig. I'd think it gratuitously cruel to insist that what ends up on your plate should also have been thoroughly miserable while alive. | So I have no plans to change my carnivorous habits. I do already buy free-range chicken (it tastes better), and my bacon is Spoiltpig. I'd think it gratuitously cruel to insist that what ends up on your plate should also have been thoroughly miserable while alive. |
| Once I gave up eating beef after I made friends with a cow at the bottom of the garden where I was staying in France. It lasted six months, until one day a dark buzzing in my bloodstream screamed "Burger!" and I relented. The lesson is that you shouldn't become too intimate with the species you plan to scoff. After all, this could have happened to me with a sheep, or even a particularly charismatic fish. | Once I gave up eating beef after I made friends with a cow at the bottom of the garden where I was staying in France. It lasted six months, until one day a dark buzzing in my bloodstream screamed "Burger!" and I relented. The lesson is that you shouldn't become too intimate with the species you plan to scoff. After all, this could have happened to me with a sheep, or even a particularly charismatic fish. |
| You Aren't What You Eat, by Steven Poole is published by Union Books. Buy it for £10.39 from guardianbookshop.co.uk | You Aren't What You Eat, by Steven Poole is published by Union Books. Buy it for £10.39 from guardianbookshop.co.uk |
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