Diary of a Vegetarian

The end of the year is traditionally the time to look back and decide whether this was an annus horribilis or whether there were some lights at the end of the tunnel. People are also asked to draw up lists: best cd, best film, most important event, etc… and trend watchers are asked to predict what’s hot and what’s not in the new year so we all know what to do in order to “belong”.

Not being a trend guru myself, I wouldn’t have a clue as to what’s going to be in. I have, however, detected a certain trend which has been going on for a couple of years now and which has most definitely hit the food industry. I’m talking about the eternal search for extremes and kicks.

I believe it first started with travelling. Summer holidays all of a sudden turned from a peaceful, relaxing sojourn at the coast or an easy hike up a hill to survival of the fittest. Unless your holiday includes meeting some unknown, indigenous tribe in the deepest heart of the jungle, you are so not with it.

The next thing to follow was the way you spend your free time. Forget crosswords or knitting. Searching for kicks or practicing extreme sports rule the day. If you want to be cool, you have to go bungee-jumping, hang-gliding or sailing around the world with your hands tied behind your back.

And so now it is time for the food industry to follow the same pattern. The kick for the extreme. Carnivores are no longer happy simply chewing on boring old steak or chicken. That is so yesterday. Weird things are the way forward.

There is, for instance, the obvious revival of offal. Again, I’m not referring to common liver or kidney. No. Been there, eaten that. I’m talking about udder, stomach or pancreas (forbidden in certain countries, on offer in others). I’ve recently come across a number of articles, complete with recipes and references to recently published cookery books, giving praise to these particular delicacies. Apparently, these are “lost flavours” and we are told it is time for rediscovery. Every country has its own traditional dish, featuring these yummy ingredients: Fegatini in Italy (chicken liver), Leberkäse in Germany (tongue, kidney, heart, spleen), Haggis in Scotland (sheep’s stomach filled with liver, heart and lungs) and – my favourite – Andouillettes from France (intestine filled with, well, intestine and stomach). Why my fave? Simply because this one is only for the die-hard carnivores who don’t mind the very strong flavour which is reminiscent of the stable (what a lovely way of saying something tastes like sh*t). Hey, our great great grandparents thrived on this stuff. And I know for a fact that this is true.

My mum’s parents had a farm and whenever a pig was about to turn from living being to meal, the brain was the first to be eaten. Immediately fried, it was offered to the man who did all the chopping and killing and carving (the local serial killer if you like). Every time my mum told this story, my dad – a convinced carnivore – visibly shuddered.

Thankfully, my childhood diet didn’t include these delicacies. The only revolting thing I do remember was the main course which was always served at festive occasions: cow’s tongue in Madeira sauce. No wedding anniversary or confirmation was complete without it. It inevitably had us kids vomiting in our plates. I was too young to know that alcohol evaporates during cooking and always had the false hope the Madeira wine would numb me before swallowing mouthfuls of meat. Swallowing being the operative word. Too frightened to bite into it and eager to get the ordeal over and done with. More than the taste of the meat, however, what I remember clearest is the way cow’s tongue looked. I’d wander over to the fridge for a drink and there it was. Huge. Raw. The tip curling upwards. I’d spend the rest of the day drinking tap water and avoiding the fridge as if it were haunted.

I guess that’s another reason why I turned vegetarian. I was traumatized into it.