Bite Me

On Saturday night I went out for the juiciest steak dinner at STIX in Park Lane Hotel. I kicked off my meal with a clam chowder that is served in a large hollowed out bun and then followed it up with a 325 gram Black Angus steak, cooked rare. After I put away the whole slab of meat I looked down at my plate only to see the thick strip of fat from the sirloin remaining. I had done justice. It was so fucking satisfying. But I kept having these nagging thoughts about the poor beast that died to fulfill my hunger.

I was vegetarian once for about 6 months. This is way back when I was 13 years old I think. I had become vegetarian cause I made a deal with god at the time. I don’t remember what it was but he didn’t come through anyways. It was pretty stupid but I was raised with all those silly ideas in my head and I believed in what I was doing at the time. I was not that much of a carnivore back then so I did not really miss anything accepts burgers.

My Dad has been vegetarian for a long time and with no religious connotations I might ad. He just got sick of the meat. After dinner the other night I felt like becoming a vegetarian. It sucks that all these animals have to die just so I can feed my face and my desires. But I love meat. I love bacon on Sunday morning, ham sandwiches when I get home from work, grilled tandoori chicken, pepperoni on my pizza, and so much more. I could go on forever. None the less, in a moment of over zealous assertiveness, I pledged to become a vegetarian. I vowed that come Monday I would be watching the hams and beefs run through the field, never fearing that they might end up in my belly.

But I gave up when I saw this…

I could so chew a nice thick slice of rump right now. And how about them briskets? Carpaccio? I like my meat rare.