Getting used to life without the sins of the flesh is a lot like overcoming an addiction. Once upon a time meat was a daily drug for me and now, with lots of dedication, hard-headedness and the support of my local cud-chewers club (I love you guys!), I’m clean. It took a fair amount of neural rewiring to get my brain used to a diet sans meat. And even now the battle is yet to be won. Everywhere I go there are reminders of the carnivorous life that I used to live. Taunting me. Luring me in with the euphoria inducing smell of deep fried chicken.
Some see the struggle I go through to stay clean. A few even ask me if I would ever go back to the way I was before and I want to give them firm, resounding ‘NO’. I want to say to them that there is no way in hell that I would ever again consume the fibres that drape the skeletons of animals. And in truth, I probably wouldn’t. I could never see myself eating it regularly but as with every rule….well, here’s my exception.
If I was to ever consume meat again it would have to have come from the body of a creature that I myself spawned and raised from birth. I’d ensure that it is only fed organic food so as to keep it free from the antibiotics and growth hormones that are so prevalent in man meat nowadays. I’d care for the beast of course. Make sure it has the best possible life that I can give it. In its shed I’d place some straw on the ground for it to sleep on and give it an east-facing window so that it can get a beautiful sunrise every morning and never have an excuse to wake up late for work. That’s humane treatment, right?
When the time comes I, or rather Journeyman (he’s really good at this kind of thing), will take a blade to my dear progeny’s neck and slaughter it. Having hung it and bled it himself he will then proceed to flick the blade on that fatty layer between the hide and flesh and skin the beast. Then he’ll carve it and serve up a nice slab of long pig rump steak. I’d eat it raw. Not rare, not medium-rare. Raw. Right off the chopping block. Maybe a dash of salt to bring it round. And a single leaf of coriander placed ever so delicately like a ribbon on a forehead. Presentation is, after all, half of the dining experience.
To accompany this meal and wash it down, a glass of fine wine made using grapes grown in my own garden and stomped by the very same being whose butchered and buttered ass now sits on my plate. This is the only way to get the taste of real human sweat into the meal. You can’t get the taste of sweat from meat, no matter how you prepare it. Plenty of blood in there but no sweat. Sweat glands are in the skin and the hide tastes horrible. No, the essence of perspiration must be imbued into the wine directly from the feet of long pig working hard hours in the hot sun and then preserved for a few years.
Sounds tasty, right? But you know I’d never do anything like that because, I’m a vegetarian.
Guys, Journeyman and I are really curious to know, would you eat long pig? It doesn’t have to be a whole
person plate. Maybe just a taste, served up just how you like. You can be honest with us, we don’t judge here on the blogosphere. If it makes you feel anonymous and safe from persecution, you can comment as SWIM.