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Diary of a Carnivore
12 years ago
I am now thoroughly convinced that I can never be a vegetarian or vegan.
Lately, a hunger has arisen in me. No, not a hunger. A craving. An absolute need for a certain something that I have lacked for far too long.
Meat.
Not the fake, over-processed meat that came in my 44 cent frozen burritos, not the meager cubes of beef in my canned Chinese food, teasing little granules of crack that they were. No, I speak of real, freshly cooked, flavorful meat.
It was beginning to drive me mad. I drooled at the thought of a big, juicy steak. I began dreaming, literally dreaming, of racks of ribs glazed in barbecue sauce. The food network became my new porn channel. All I could think of was delicious meat, and no other food stuffs would satisfy me. I craved meat like a smoker craves a cigarette.
I could no longer resist the temptation. “No,” I implored myself, “You cannot spend money on such a thing! You need every penny you earn to move in a few weeks!” Yet, even though logic urged me against it, I could not resist the temptation.
I battled through my shift at work, the four hours ticking by more slowly than ever before, and all the while I could think of only one thing. Every car on the road, every red light was yet another obstacle between myself and my prize, but I eventually made it to the grocery store. I braved the disgruntled graveyard shift employees, the asshole college kids nearly running me down in the grocery carts they were riding, but I eventually completed my pilgrimage to the holy land; the meat section.
Oh, how glorious it all was! I found myself drooling over the packs of T-bone steak, eyeing the pork ribs in a manner I’m sure Jesus would not approve of. Eventually, I found what I’d been looking for.
I stole away with my prize; a pack of chipped beef steaks, and journeyed forth unto the registers. Upon the great electronic alter to the Food Gods I offered my six dollars that I really should not have squandered, paying homage to the elderly woman serving as keeper of the sacred food shrine with a sagely nod, and escaped the perilous Temple of Giant Supermarket with great haste.
Once back to my place of dwelling, I took great care in preparing my treasure using the ancient techniques passed down in my family for generations. It took an entire hour and tore my kitchen asunder, but I had created that which I’d for so long craved, that which I hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting in many, many years.
My grandpa’s breaded beef cutlets with a side of french fries.
Yea, and the taste was greater than that of the nectar of the Gods themselves! The eggs, the bread crumbs, the beef; simple as they are separate, they form a Holy Trinity of orgasmic flavor when combined and thrust into the sacred pan of frying!
And so, scorched and burned from the popping oil of Hades Himself, worn and weary from all of the work I’d done, I finally sit down in my chair and partake of my succulent feast, a simple meal as it may seem to the unknowing observer. And now, for the first time in countless ages, I find myself truly satisfied by a meal.
What, you may ask, is the lesson in this? I shall tell you; do not take your parents’ cooking for granted, for one day, when you are an adult and find yourself very far from them, you too shall crave the foods they made for you, and you have only yourself and your own money to rely upon when attempting to quell such a hunger.
To summarize further; I miss having money for real food… ;_;
Lately, a hunger has arisen in me. No, not a hunger. A craving. An absolute need for a certain something that I have lacked for far too long.
Meat.
Not the fake, over-processed meat that came in my 44 cent frozen burritos, not the meager cubes of beef in my canned Chinese food, teasing little granules of crack that they were. No, I speak of real, freshly cooked, flavorful meat.
It was beginning to drive me mad. I drooled at the thought of a big, juicy steak. I began dreaming, literally dreaming, of racks of ribs glazed in barbecue sauce. The food network became my new porn channel. All I could think of was delicious meat, and no other food stuffs would satisfy me. I craved meat like a smoker craves a cigarette.
I could no longer resist the temptation. “No,” I implored myself, “You cannot spend money on such a thing! You need every penny you earn to move in a few weeks!” Yet, even though logic urged me against it, I could not resist the temptation.
I battled through my shift at work, the four hours ticking by more slowly than ever before, and all the while I could think of only one thing. Every car on the road, every red light was yet another obstacle between myself and my prize, but I eventually made it to the grocery store. I braved the disgruntled graveyard shift employees, the asshole college kids nearly running me down in the grocery carts they were riding, but I eventually completed my pilgrimage to the holy land; the meat section.
Oh, how glorious it all was! I found myself drooling over the packs of T-bone steak, eyeing the pork ribs in a manner I’m sure Jesus would not approve of. Eventually, I found what I’d been looking for.
I stole away with my prize; a pack of chipped beef steaks, and journeyed forth unto the registers. Upon the great electronic alter to the Food Gods I offered my six dollars that I really should not have squandered, paying homage to the elderly woman serving as keeper of the sacred food shrine with a sagely nod, and escaped the perilous Temple of Giant Supermarket with great haste.
Once back to my place of dwelling, I took great care in preparing my treasure using the ancient techniques passed down in my family for generations. It took an entire hour and tore my kitchen asunder, but I had created that which I’d for so long craved, that which I hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting in many, many years.
My grandpa’s breaded beef cutlets with a side of french fries.
Yea, and the taste was greater than that of the nectar of the Gods themselves! The eggs, the bread crumbs, the beef; simple as they are separate, they form a Holy Trinity of orgasmic flavor when combined and thrust into the sacred pan of frying!
And so, scorched and burned from the popping oil of Hades Himself, worn and weary from all of the work I’d done, I finally sit down in my chair and partake of my succulent feast, a simple meal as it may seem to the unknowing observer. And now, for the first time in countless ages, I find myself truly satisfied by a meal.
What, you may ask, is the lesson in this? I shall tell you; do not take your parents’ cooking for granted, for one day, when you are an adult and find yourself very far from them, you too shall crave the foods they made for you, and you have only yourself and your own money to rely upon when attempting to quell such a hunger.
To summarize further; I miss having money for real food… ;_;
