The Naked Truth

At the end of last year in the Philippines, we were treated to lechon.

The pigs, two of them, were brought to the house the night prior to roasting. They were killed before dawn thirty feet from our bedroom window, behind an old granary on a concrete slab overlooking a field. Laying in bed, Dave heard frantic squeals right before the pigs met their end. It was quick, he said, just a burst of noise and then nothing. I'm glad I slept through it.

I'd planned to wake in time to see them prepared for the roasting pit. The food journalist in me was determined to watch the whole process - the killing, the bleeding, the removal of hair, the gutting, the anus-to-mouth skewering.

In fact, I missed most of it. I forgot to set my alarm. Or did I? By the time I got there the lechonero and his assistant were stitching up bellies, rinsing big floppy livers and coils of intestine and stomach, slitting bladders and emptying bile onto the grass. The pigs' faces wore sweet, peaceful smiles. Their hairless skins glowed pale pink, like babies fresh from a hot bath.

Four hours later I lay a piece of that skin on my tongue and savored its salty fattiness before shattering it with my teeth.

I've always eaten meat, but since moving to Malaysia my consumption has increased. Ironically, it's during this same period that I've also been closer than ever to my meat before it is meat. This is no alien concept to those of you who grew up with wet markets, with live chickens killed to order, whole pig halves hung on hooks, ox tails intact and sprouting hair, and whole skinned sheep heads displayed on tables, lifeless eyes bulging.

But where I grew up, in 1970s midwestern United States, meat was meat and animals were animals. The former, trimmed or chopped and wrapped in plastic or displayed in a sterile, refrigerated butcher case, had no connection with the latter, which one might see on TV or caress in a petting zoo. Meat was something you ate. An animal was something you might raise as a pet.

Pigs are intelligent animals, I know, at least as intelligent as dogs. I befriended one decades ago, when I worked at my agricultural university's large-animal veterinary facility. He recognized me after only two days - trotted right to the edge of his pen every morning when I entered the barn, pointed his snout up at me, and grunted until I scratched his bristled head. He had a name and came when called, turned around on command. Back then, I never gave him a second thought when, at home on the weekends, I tucked into my mother's pork chops. Lately I've thought of him every time I'm face-to-face with a lechon.

I love animals. I mourn for the frogs and lizards squished flat on the road in front of our house. I'll go out of my way to move a snail from a well-trod piece of concrete to a safe patch of wet dirt. I ache for homeless dogs and cats and over the years I've adopted many, not one of them a planned acquisition.

So how can I do it? How do I watch a vendor grab a chicken by its feet, suspend it over a barrel, and slit its throat? How do I watch its body jerk as it bleeds to death, and then turn around and carry its head-on, feet-on carcass home to the soup pot? How can I rub a cow's head and look into its limpid eyes, as I used to do when we hiked in northern California's parks, and then salivate over the thought of a grilled steak? How do I witness the indignity to which a pig is subjected when it's killed (or, if not witness it, read about it in gruesome detail) and still rub my hands with glee at the thought of lechon?

Lately, chefs and writers and farmers and food bloggers have been arguing for the importance of getting up close and personal with what's on our plates, formerly living protein included. In a piece about staying on a working farm in Tuscany in the February issue of Bon Appetit, Ann Hood writes about the satisfaction of witnessing the cycle that brings pig to the plate in the form of prosciutto (well, not all of the cycle - she wasn't there for the slaughter), noting that it's given her a 'new respect' for the meat she eats. She writes:

There is something about knowing the pig whose head you are eating that makes it more palatable.

Really? I have my doubts. If I knew an animal well enough to actually respect it, could I end its life (or have someone else do it in my place) just to fill my belly and satisfy my palate? Honestly, if I knew the pig whose head was on my plate I'd never put it in my mouth in the first place. I don't, and won't ever, eat dog or cat - or raise a pig as a pet, for that matter - for that very reason.

It's a very good thing, I think, that more and more carnivores are truly aware that pork and beef and lamb used to be pigs and cows and baby sheep. And it's a good thing that we know more about how they got from the one state to the other, if only because shedding light on the process might attract support for more humane living (and killing) conditions for the animals that we consume. But some arguments for looking one's dinner square in the eye border on the extreme, intimating that those of us who can't - or wouldn't even if we could - go the distance to know our meat aren't quite morally qualified to eat it.

Two weeks ago we visited a lechon shop in Mindanao, and watched the preparation of lechon post-slaughter to post-spit. At one point I wandered over to the pen in the corner of the shop where a few cute suckling pigs awaited their fate. I looked down at them, out the door at the spot where they'd soon be killed, and over at their brethren browning on the spits. And turned my head and walked away, quickly. And then ate lechon for lunch later that week.

I know that the seared-on-the-outside, pink-within slab on my plate used to be part of a living, breathing being. And that's as much as I want to know. When it comes to 'knowing' my meat, I'm going to buck the trend and admit that I have my limits.

Comments

[a]

Thanks for this great and thoughtful post. I've also eaten meat my whole life but feel there are some truths many meat eaters need to confront. Many girls I went to middle school with became long term vegetarians the week we had to disect a rat in biology class. It seemed like the first and only time many people had ever given their meat consumption a though.

The issues you bring up go further than just the meat we eat. We could easily segue into a discussion about the clothes we wear. That's messy as well.

[luckyfatluke]

I really enjoyed this article. Its good that people acknowledge that meat was once a living, breathing animal. Perhaps now there might be a shift in awareness and appreciating what we eat more. Once, meat was expensive and something you ate once a week if you were lucky. Part of the reason for this was that the animal was reared properly, had room to move around, and were fed a quality diet. In the case of beef it needs to be hung well, which is also expensive because the meat dries out weighing less, and also takes up storage room. Back then without hormones it took time for the animals to grow to a weight that they could be sold. It all adds up to an expensive process. Good animal husbandry is. Butchering too was a noble art, making sure the animal was not distressed and dies painlessly. Then everything was used from nose to tail. I guess what I'm saying is, its about respect. People are distressed when they see the conditions battery chickens are bred in, yet theyre responsible as consumers for only being prepared to pay £3.50 ($6.80)for a chicken in the supermarket. Buy your meat from someone who loves what they do and takes care in rearing and butchering a quality animal. Finally, feel humbled that animal has died for your enjoyment.

[Laura]

Good on you for being so insightful and frank with yourself. I personally don't have too much problem thinking that my protein was once a sentient being- I attribute it to the cycle of life and turn my thoughts to pleasanter things- but I do feel comforted knowing that it led a decent-quality life. Death is inevitable, but a tortuous life is not!

That said, I wouldn't eat dog or cat either, no matter how comfortably it was raised.

[Cakespy]

I have to say I am with you. I eat meat, but (for better or worse) I am with you--I have my limits. I don't need to "know" it first.

[Annie]

I hear you. My mom once brought a chicken home and I went out to the yard to *play* with it for many days (more like talking and looking at it). Next thing I know, the chicken was killed (not in my presence) and we had it for dinner. When I found out, I could not eat it (and I'm dubbed the chicken queen in my household because I love chicken--eating it, that is). I've just finished Barbara Kingsolver's book, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" and she talks about eating the meat you raise and it has helped me better understand how we can eat meat we've raised as a living thing. If you can find that book, it's a very good read.

[cupcake]

Hey, what about live seafood? Many people think I am a whim for refusing to order live fish and other seafood to be killed and cooked.

Cupcake

[Kevin]

Well put. I'm a hunter, and most of the meat I eat is from animals I've killed. But I feel even that's going far, nevermind to expect it of anyone else. I certainly could not have the animals I eat as pets, or otherwise be emotionally attached, and claim that it enhances my moral standard or enjoyment of the meat afterwards.

[Li]

I love meat, I always have. But I also love animals and do sometimes admit to a pang of guilt when I think about the living breathing animals.

I don't think I'd ever want to 'know' the animal before I eat it but having said that, I'd like to know that they had a good life and were killed in a painless and humane manner.

And no way could I ever eat dogs, cats, monkeys, horses, rodents or insects (the latter 2 being that I just can't stomach the thought).

[Hazza]

Very thoughtful article. I always try to look at it from different angles. Humans are naturally emotional beings, especially in modern times when we can get attached to anything, from an electronic item to a pet goldfish. From this respect, I can understand why we find it hard to stomach the thought of eating an animal, especially one that we have got to know and maybe had some affection for. However, removing emotions from the equation, how different is eating a pig compared to eating a horse or a dog? Personally, I would not consciously eat any meat apart from the "usual" ones. However, if someone told me that the dish I just had was cat meat, I would not puke or feel sick about it. Like many, I prefer to be ignorant about how the meat got to my dish and enjoy the meal. The abbatoirs and butchers have been paid to ensure that the diner is detached from the whole slaughtering process, so I guess they are doing their job well when I can enjoy my Sunday roast.

[cyn]

it might not be a bad idea to get to 'know' our meat since it teaches us to respect life in all forms and not to waste food. i've been to restos where meat is practically served in the kilos and platefuls of leftovers are continually thrown out without a second thought.

this article has been so humbling..it is certainly a good reminder that we've seem to have lost our regard and sense of responsibility for the lives of the more defenceless creatures. it'll definitely make me think twice before wasting again!