It’s Not Cheating If You’re In Another Country
Becoming a vegetarian was pretty hard. In 7th grade I slowly gave up one type of meat at a time until I was down to fruits and vegetables and lots and lots of pasta but mainly just cheese. Starting to eat meat again was hard too, for about the first 5 minutes. Then it was so, so deliciously easy. Having been a vegetarian for 9 years, I thought that my body would have a hard time adjusting to meat again. Instead, my stomach welcomed meat home like it was the prodigal son.
My decision to eat meat again came about a month before a trip to South America after college graduation. Specifically, Colombia and Peru. My 3 friends and I planned on spending a good deal of time in Cartegena, Colombia with the family of my friend David who was traveling with us. I wasn’t about to sass someone’s great aunt by turning down her Carne Puyada in her own house. Momma didn’t raise no Ingrato Puta.
So, I decided to give myself a month in the states to prepare my body for the ride of its life. I began with unseasoned boiled chicken. It was cerimonial. It was free range. My roommate sat on the edge of her seat and watched me chew with my front teeth the smallest sliver of chicken you’ve ever seen. It was official. I broke the fucking seal. She clapped. I bowed.
The obvious next step was a beef tongue taco. And then everything gets fuzzy after that. I came to while sitting on a sidewalk in Bogota, Colombia eating some kind of lamb gyro heaven wrapped in foil. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to stop eating meat again when we get back home” my friend Christian said, also shoving his face full of corn tortilla fried in pig fat. “UGgsff Igh ahhm, duuhhff whaahavaah” which directly translates in to: This is kind of a low point for me, back the fuck off. Which Google translates to: Esta es un punto bajo para mi, la espalda de mierda.
Then I got food poisoning in Cuzco, Peru from what I can only guess via deductive reasoning was undercooked barbecue chicken on a kaiser roll. A traditional Peruvian dish. I thought I was dying of Cholera. I accepted my fate on the unisex multi-stall bathroom floor of the hostel. “It all comes to this,” I thought. “Seems about right. At least I’ve seen Machu Picchu and got that tattoo I wanted.”
So what I thought was a preventative measure of “preparing my body for meat” turned out to be the reason I got sick abroad. I could have just done what my other vegetarian traveling partner did and stuck to non-meat dishes. For two days he ate nothing but potatoes and ketchup and almost passed out while watching the 3 of us devour half a roasted chicken carcass each with our bare hands. Fueramos animales.
What did I learn? Make sure your chicken isn’t pink, and eat whatever you want. And yeah, a year later I’m still eating meat and not ashamed to say it. And you know what? 75% of the time, it’s not even organic.
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