Edging Towards Vegetarianism

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The ideology of this rapidly growing movement still implies an evolutionary hierarchy, with the human species in the penthouse, the animal kingdom in the middle and the botanical world in the basement. It seems to me this value-loaded stratification Turn the previous page upside down for face two, Is the steer (right) really "superior" to a tomato? is equally useful to those who enjoy eating meat. "Let's eat the losers, say modem Darwinists in pinstripes as they happily head toward a power lunch at a fancy steakhouse. They want it allthe meat and the potatoes-and make no bones about it. I admire their relentless consistency; it's just their environmental sensitivities that leave me hungering for something else.

Try eating vegetables, says my wife, whose interests include saving money on food and keeping me fit for work. She gives me a book also: The Vegetarian Epicure, by Anna Thomas, which first appeared 'in 1972 and is still available. Eating more vegetables and less meat speaks to my frugal soul. Dan Rather never says, "Romanian peasants are tightening belts tills winter; some have only steaks for dinner and won't see a cabbage for months." When peasants are in trouble, they get vegetables, not beef Lack of meat, wrote anthropologist Marvin Harris, poses a direct revolutionary threat to totalitarian regimes. In 1981, for example, the Polish government called for a 20% cut in meat rations and then had to declare martial law to restore order. Since I share some of the peasant's worldview but live in affluence, I have to save up for the tough winters ahead; and moving toward the vegetable end of the spectrum looks like a good way to take responsibility for the environmental consequences of my actions. But I also know that an intense craving for meat can suddenly strike-and, in my case, be swiftly satisfied.

In 1983, 1 was invited to join a small group that meets for a week every year to discuss organizational change. Our meetings take place at a famous health—and self spa south of Big Sur, California. Sometimes the founder of the institution joins our discussions. The 1983 session, my first, went well, but by the end of the week my body was in full revolt against the regime of sprouts and lettuce. So was the founder's. We formed a secret, carnivorous alliance to find hamburgers. Late that night, while a Pacific storm hurled rain, fog and angry waves at the mountains that plunge into the ocean, we slipped out the back door, tiptoed to his car and sped off to negotiate the dark, slippery hairpins on the coastal highway. Around midnight, after skirting landslides and other dangers, we found our meat. The pleasure lingers.

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