Don't tell Anthony Bourdain, but I'm a vegetarian. Many of you probably have heard this story about why I became vegetarian, so you can skip down to the next paragraph to avoid yet another rendition. For those of you who don't know, or simply can't get enough of the tale, my decision to become vegetarian is tied directly to one of my favorite radio turned television shows ever, "This American Life." A couple years ago, during one of the first-aired TAL television programs, reporters toured an Iowa pig farm. I've seen farms before, and I can't drive 60 minutes from my condo in Milwaukee without passing at least a quasi-farm, but something was different on this farm. Before entering, visitors have put on sterile suits. Why? Well, these pigs were essentially genetically homogeneous. These genetically engineered creatures never get to run amuck, to play in the mud, or do anything remotely pig-like. It was sad. And disturbing. And I decided I did not want to be apart of it anymore. I know that not all animals are treated this way, and that organic/free range farming is becoming more popular. However, it is highly unlikely that the meat I can afford, or the meat that will be used at my favorite restaurants will come from farms where the cows are grass fed and chickens roam free. So, I am opting out. I am not saying that people who eat meat are terrible people, some of my best friends are carnivours. Most, really. But, that's why I don't eat meat. I believe animals should be treated well, and that pigs should be able to get dirty.
Being a vegetarian in Mexico hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be, especially since I'm living on my own and can choose where I eat (mainly quesadilla and torta stands where quesillo and eggs are aplenty) and what I but from the grocery store. But, there was one thing I wasn't prepared for, grandma. My friend, and fellow teacher, was kind enough to invite me to his grandmother's house two Saturdays ago for her birthday. They were going to have tacos. I saw his aunts preparing the pork meat in a pot on the grill outside, and knew I was toast. There is no way to tell a Mexican grandmother that you don't eat meat. There aren't many vegetarians here, and no one really seems to understand how its possible that I don't eat meat, not even chicken. My friend basically said there is no way around it, I would have to suck it up and have some tacos. So, like any good guest taken in by a kind family, I took a corn tortilla from the stack and filled it with a small portion of pork I told myself came from a happy pig on a ranch just outside of town, added salsa and limon, and took a bite.
Luckily I was in charge of the meat portion in my tacos because all I kept hearing during lunch was "they'd be better with more meat."As is the case with most traditional, simple home cooked meal, it was delicious (as was the strawberry-filled birthday cake). But, this doesn't mean I'm a full blown carnivore now. Even with the little lie I told myself about the pig, I don't think I can keep that lie going every time I order carne asada or a steak taco. So, with that momentary lapse, I am back to being vegetarian. That is, until someone else's grandmother works all day preparing a traditional meal centered around meat.
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