Choices

Lately I've been thinking about the relationship between food and money.  After my review of 8 oz Burger Bar, a friend emailed me to point out that not everyone can afford to buy responsible meat or frequent pricey restaurants that offer responsible options. At first I felt a kind of yuppie guilt, recalling days past when (if I'm honest with myself) I was a lot more thoughtful about issues of financial privilege and (because I had very little money) a lot more critical of any ideals--including environmentalism generally--that could only really be pursued by the wealthy. Have I lost touch with reality?

I've decided that I haven't.  Here's what I think now: regardless of how much money you have, eating consciously takes significant sacrifice. Most of the time it doesn't mean paying more for your food...it means eating different food.  It's not as if I now eat out exclusively at expensive restaurants.  I mostly eat at the same places I always did, except now I choose something vegetarian.  From an animal ethics perspective, eating consciously means ordering a bean burrito at Taco Bell instead of a chicken one, not giving up burritos altogether.

My grocery bills have dropped significantly since I began eating this way, and most of my restaurant bills are lower too. Eating a plant-based diet is less expensive--much less expensive--than a meat-based one.  And if you're eating 1/2 as much meat, you can afford to pay twice as much per pound for the meat you do consume.

Sure, not everyone can pay $10+ for a responsible hamburger every time they have the urge.  But neither can I.  Forbearance is a matter of sacrifice, not affordability; it's the willingness to go without.  Deciding not to order hamburgers at McDonald's takes discipline, eating less meat takes discipline--discipline a lot of people are not willing to exercise.  But having money doesn't make discipline easier.

I acknowledge that the sacrifices involved in trying to eat in a more thoughtful, responsible way will sometimes look different for people of different budgets.  Some people can afford to buy all the meat they want at Whole Foods and eat out only in pricey restaurants.  Some people can treat themselves to an expensive meal every time they feel like it.  (For the record, I am not one of those people.)  But for most people (myself included), eating and shopping responsibly takes thought and planning and a willingness to eat less meat.  Coming soon is my review of a restaurant that serves only conscious meat; that restaurant is not cheap, and I realize that not everyone can spontaneously decide to eat there.  But anyone can choose to pay more for meat and eat less of it, and anyone can choose to spend more money eating out if they eat out less.

Lots of people with money to burn eat lots of "irresponsible" food. Having money isn't a silver bullet.  Every person who thinks about these issues--regardless of income--has choices to make and priorities to weigh.  And--regardless of income--everyone will land somewhere different on the spectrum of conscious eating.

So I joined a CSA

Truth be told, I've been a near-vegetarian of late.  Deciding not to eat certain meat inevitably led to eating less meat, and eating less meat actually seems to agree with me.

But.  I haven't yet given up meat entirely, and I certainly haven't adopted the irrational hope that everyone else on the planet will become a vegetarian.  And so, even as a "limited" meat-eater, I care deeply about the issue of (to coin a phrase) conscious carnivorism.

To that end, I decided this week to join a CSA. For those of you (like me) previously unfamiliar with the concept, this means Community Supported Agriculture--a pledge of financial support to a community farm. In short, I pay $50 for a one-year membership and in return I get: 1) substantial discounts on the farm's products; 2) access to products the farm doesn't typically sell at markets; and 3) to pat myself on the back for helping a local farm manage its financial realities and risks.

CSAs take different forms--some deliver produce to your home each week, others (like the one I joined) bring your "share"--be it meat or produce--to a local farmers' market every week. The options depend on where you live and which farm(s) you choose to support. What is the same across the country is that by joining, you are making a commitment to yourself to eat fresher, healthier, more responsible food, and a commitment to your community to support sustainable farming practices (and the people who practice them).

Contrary to popular belief, buying food from local farms does not have to be pricier than buying from the grocery store. Sure, some foods--including meat products--are cheaper in the store. But many foods are substantially cheaper if you buy them directly from a local farm--say, through a CSA or at a farmers' market. The last time I went to a farmers' market I walked out with two large bags full of fresh produce--enough for two weeks--for less than $40. And I just placed my order for $5.50/lb chicken breasts, which I will pick up at the farmers' market on Sunday.

So that's my case to all you meat-eaters.  And now it's (finally) time for me to climb up on my soapbox and preach to that other audience, the committed vegetarians. You, too, should consider joining a CSA. Sustainable farming, humane farming, anti-agribusiness farming is important whether the farm is raising animals or growing corn.  For each of us it is, simply, an easy way to do something in line with our ideals.

Where to get a burger

When I moved to LA, the land of the thin, I expected (and found) ubiquitous sushi restaurants, menus paying homage to the low-fat, and frozen yogurt parlors.  (It sometimes feels like frozen yogurt is taking over the city; you cannot walk far in many neighborhoods without green and pink neon shining down on you from a Pinkberry knockoff--itself a knockoff of Red Mango--or a new take on "yogurt" and "locale"--a la "Yogurtland" and "Yogurt Stop.")

I did not expect to find great hamburgers, but they abound--from good fast food (In-N-Out Burger, Fatburger, Astroburger) to cranky, quirky mainstays (The Apple Pan, Hamburger Mary's, Father's Office) to the high end (The Counter, 25 Degrees--my favorite), LA knows how to do burgers. 

For the past few weeks I've been coming to terms with saying goodbye to the burger joint.  There are, of course, restaurants that serve some version of a "responsible burger"--Citizen Smith's was quite good, and I recently noticed one on the menu at Newsroom Cafe.  But there's something about a menu with nothing but burgers, fried food, and alcohol that warms my heart.

Well, my savior found me.  Two friends in two days sent me urgent emails (complete with emphatic! exclamation points!) describing the selection at 8 oz Burger Bar: humanely raised/hormone-free sirloin, grass-fed beef, free-range turkey, and primarily locally grown, organic produce.

And so I braved Melrose Ave. on a weekend night.  During the day that stretch of Melrose screams, music blaring out of storefronts, window displays crowded with drama (from leather, studs, and cowboy boots to teeny-tiny clothes made for the throngs of teenage girls that descend in the afternoons and on weekends).  At night, though, it's subdued with a vague hint of danger.  Quiet, dark alleys surprise you; a tattoo parlor looms over 8 oz's modest awning.  (There are also, of course, two hole-in-the-wall frozen yogurt places in the .7 miles between 8 oz and Pinkberry.)

I can't say I adored the design.  The lights are too bright, the cavernous, high-ceilinged space strangely open.  (To me, comfort food conjures images of warm, tight surroundings; there I felt oddly exposed.)

Still, I loved it.  The staff was laid-back, friendly, and eager to get drinks into our hands. The clientele was entertaining.  (To my left, a table of four Beautiful People engaged in conversation about a celebrity-studded event they'd recently attended and the failures of their respective agents to capitalize on the opportunity.  To my right was a girl who'd just decided to move out of her parents' home and was celebrating, with a male friend of uncertain intentions, her newfound freedom.  Around 8:30 a group walked in wearing cocktail attire, leaving me daydreaming about what series of events could possibly have led them to a burger dive, dressed like that, so early on a weekend night.  But it is LA, and maybe they were dressed up solely for their burger outing.)

At the waitress's suggestion I got the 8 oz (plus fancy cheese).  My crappy camera cannot do it justice; when it arrived, it literally glistened.  After the first bite, time stopped.  The crisp white onion and ripe tomatoes tasted like they'd come from a neighbor's garden.  The pickles were perfect.  Humboldt Fog oozed out of the sides and "special sauce" dripped down my fingers.  I hate messy eating, but in that moment I didn't care; I gave up on my napkin and slobbered my way through every last bite.  I licked my fingers clean.

As a side we had Truffled Potato Skins.  Unlike the thick, starchy standard, these were cut in long, thin slivers, mostly skin with just a hint of flesh.  They were surprisingly light, sprinkled with cheese and a solid dose of truffle oil.   By the end of the meal there was not a crumb in sight. 

The bill was reasonable, and I walked out smiling.  Thankfully burgers, fried food, and wine are still within reach.

The week of the vegetable

After the Organic Chicken Incident, I decided I had to get serious and start reading up on issues in ethical eating.  My plan for the week was to hit the Hollywood Farmers' Market on Sunday, buy meat from a local farm that I knew met all of my possible standards--no cages, no hormones, no unnecessary pain or cruelty, located in Southern California--avoid restaurants until I knew what I was looking for, and start reading.  The universe had a different plan. 

I did manage to find a suitable meat purveyor.  Halfway through my tour of the farmer's market I met a man from Healthy Family Farms in Ventura County.  His carefree, happy chickens were just what I needed....except that, due to increased demand over Thanksgiving, he was out of meat for the week.  (He did have some lovely, carefree, happy eggs and a suggestion to get on their email distribution list so I could pre-order in the future.)

When I got home I sat down to make my reading list.  Five minutes of Google searching later, I was overwhelmed.  There are zillions of books and websites about ethical eating.  I turned off my computer.

The rest of Sunday flew by and on Monday I went to work (where, frustratingly, people expected me to spend my time working), with the end result that I had a bunch of (organic, locally grown) vegetables, some week-old soy dogs, not an ounce of meat in my house, and no further information or decisions about what meat I could eat.

This was how I came to discover that I have no idea how to eat like a vegetarian.

Each meal I ate this week consisted of a single dish.  On the first night I made succotash out of fresh corn and frozen edamame.  It goes so well with grilled chicken; I had no idea what else to serve with it.  I combed my cabinets looking for ideas, but nothing I had on hand--chocolate chips, canned black olives, assorted teas--helped. Dinner that night was the biggest plate of succotash you've ever seen. 

The next night was a repeat, except with refried beans.  (I figured I needed protein.)  I wanted to eat more than one thing, but what?  Rice or a tortilla would have been obvious choices, except I don't eat white rice or white flour.  Beans and brown rice just didn't sound right.  Maybe the beans and the leftover succotash?  Again, I gave up.  (In an effort to make the beans look less sad, I covered them with cheese.  I also downed a glass of wine.)

Night three was...wait for it...leftover succotash.  As an afterthought I ate a soy dog. 

In sum, I have not had meat or a two-dish meal since Monday.  I am moderately hungry and extremely anxious to make and tackle my reading list.  I need meat standards, stat.

Given my inability to think creatively about what to eat other than meat, it's comforting to know that scientists are hard at work on a solution.  Apparently "the Dutch government and a sausage maker" are just a few steps away from growing artificial meat.

Is your chicken, um, organic?

My first meal at a restaurant after deciding to give up "unethical" meat was a celebratory dinner for my friend Maya. I'd assumed that very few restaurants would serve meat that I could eat, so my master plan was to find something vegetarian and call it a day. But by the time I got there I was starving and the chicken was calling my name, so I decided to ask how their meat was selected.

I have been a fussy eater for the better part of ten years; there is a long list of common ingredients that I do not eat. So I made my peace, long ago, with the inevitability of awkward conversations with waiters. When our waiter arrived I gave him my biggest, friendliest smile and started right in.

"Hi, how are you?" [Smile.] "I was wondering--how is your meat...um...you know, well....is it treated well?" [Pause, blush.] "I mean, like, is it, um, organic?"

I lowered my eyes, studying my napkin. I replayed the question in my head, trying to decide exactly how idiotic it was. I'd basically asked for a biography of their chicken dinner. And how could meat be "organic"?

Here is the beauty of LA. Without missing a beat the waiter said: "All of our steaks are grass-fed, free-range and hormone-free. And the hamburgers are made of steak, so those are safe too. I'm not sure about the chicken though--do you want me to ask the chef?"

"Yes," I said, "I'd love for you to ask the chef."

Embarrassment averted, but eyes opened: I realized I have no idea what I'm talking about, or what I'm really asking. What is my problem with mass-produced meat? How it's raised? How it's killed? What it's fed? Can I eat an animal if it was allowed to move about freely, even if I don't know how it died?

Apparently I can: the chef confirmed that the chickens roamed free just like the cows, so I ordered a burger and ate half of Maya's fried chicken. (The waiter also informed me that meat can be certified "organic"--though theirs wasn't.)

And so I came to realize that deciding to care is only the beginning. Next I have to decide what I care about most--what I can live with, what I can't. Today I visited the Hollywood Farmers' Market and had a slightly smarter question ready: "Are your chickens free to roam, and well, um, how do you kill them?"

Thanksgiving

I decided on a huge life change late last Wednesday night. I was in bed, reading Elizabeth Kolbert's review of Jonathan Safran Foer's "Eating Meat" in the New Yorker. The piece itself is worth reading, but here's a highlight from Kolbert's description of the lives of fryer chickens: "The ammonia fumes thrown off by their rotting excrement lead to breast blisters, leg sores, and respiratory disease. Bred to produce the maximum amount of meat in the minimum amount of time, fryers often become so top-heavy that they can’t support their own weight. At slaughtering time, they are shackled by their feet, hung from a conveyor belt, and dipped into an electrified bath known as 'the stunner.'"

Reading that, I was filled with shame--not because of some abstract vegetarian ideal, but for eating meat despite knowing about this cruelty. I have long known the horrors of modern farming, and yet I eat meat anyway.

I've tried to give up meat before. Several times before. The first and most successful time was during my junior year in college. It was actually easy; the veggie burgers in the student union were greasy and delicious, and (placing no value back then on nutrition) I was happy to fill up on french fries at every other meal.

During second semester I took a break from school. I was living with my parents. I remember eating a lot of bagels with hummus. Then (perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not) I came down with the flu. I lost a ton of weight and all my energy. My mom gave me an ultimatum: I could eat the meat she put on my plate, or I could figure out how to get better on my own. In this battle, meat won. (Actually, I suppose meat lost.)

I have had other forays into meatlessness, the most recent of which was last month and lasted about one day. My problem with giving up meat is twofold: 1) I really like meat; and 2) I have a long list of other dietary restrictions, which means there are about 3 satisfying foods I can eat if I cut out meat.

But last Wednesday night I realized I could no longer live with my decision to eat animals that are treated so brutally. And I also admitted that--while I can cut back on my meat intake--I am not (at least not yet) willing to give up meat altogether.

And so I made this decision: I will eat meat only if I know it was humanely raised and humanely killed. The beauty of living in a major city in the year 2009 is that, while this will involve some major sacrifices, I know it's possible.

The past week has been a series of heartening realizations about how huge a life change this is going to be. On Sunday my friend called from Zankou Chicken to ask if I wanted anything. Halfway through telling her what I wanted I realized it wasn't on the approved eating list. I paused. I ordered anyway, feeling more than a little guilty. But me and Zankou have had a long, happy relationship and I needed to say a proper goodbye. (I'm happy to say that, so far, that's been my only slip.)

On Monday I realized: Oh no! Thanksgiving! My cousin was hosting (and cooking) this year, which meant I either had to forgo turkey or make one myself. This led me to a very crowded Whole Foods on Thanksgiving eve, where I paid $40 for a 9-pound (hormone-free, free-range) turkey. (On the bright side, it also led to a great night with my dad, who shared with me his secrets for cooking a perfect turkey.) I showed up at my cousin's house with a little plate of Conscious turkey (with its own Conscious stuffing) and avoided everything else prepared with meat.

And so the adventure begins.