Isabel Cowles: Real Environmentalists Eat Meat

Last Updated on Wednesday, 31 March 2010 10:16 Written by Daisy Harley Wednesday, 31 March 2010 10:16

There is a lot that excites me about the argument for vegetarianism, and by and large, it is a lifestyle I espouse–though I’ve learned to stay away from the pitfalls of nomenclature. I no longer call, or even consider myself a vegetarian, though for many years I was proud to use the title. I have not embraced an omnivorous life because I love the taste of meat (though I do), nor because I feel some Biblical imperative to subdue the land (which I don’t), nor as a result of an obscene idea that I need to pack protein into every bite of food I take (no again). So what would cause me, after so many years of calling myself an herbivore, to remove my mantle? Fundamentally, I believe that the case for vegetarianism is fundamentally flawed, and that it actually threatens progress where animal welfare and environmentalism are concerned.

One could argue, as most vegetarians do, that the example a vegetarian can set by not eating meat is extraordinarily valuable. I appreciate this idea, and believe that people really can influence each other in profound, grassroots ways, in this case by questioning the injustices and ecological damage created by the meat industry. Sadly, though, and for reasons both cultural and natural, human beings mostly eat meat–and they always will: to deny it is to deny the opportunity to address the inadequacies of our current meat-producing system.

I know that there are thousands of theories both for and against meat consumption. My account addresses only one issue, which I believe is the crux of the debate, but please forgive me for not going into all of the philosophical details of consciousness and domination. I think they’re important, but what matters more to virtually every meat eater I know is that meat is an inherent part of life. Vegetarians counter this with many moral nuances, but most often by arguing that eating animals is bad for animals and bad for the planet. They are not wrong here, but their view is limited. When done properly, eating meat can actually advance our landscape, society and economy…and that is why I ate steak for dinner last night.

It wasn’t just any steak, although it did have me thinking about one very interesting debate between two great food enthusiasts, Michael Pollan and Jonathan Safran Foer, who have both written about the troubling choice of the omnivore’s dilemma–eating animals, as it were. Pollan argues that eating meat is so naturalized into the human being that he sensed he was breaking a fundamental bond by abstaining during a period of experimental vegetarianism. In The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Pollan explains that he found it too difficult to tell hosts and friends about his eating habit, and frequently felt that he was making other people feel awkward or accommodating. I have experienced this as well, but if Pollan had been a vegetarian because of a genuine, moral impulse–which he admittedly was not–then he would have felt comfortable in the decision. Instead, Pollan advocates for eating meat born, raised and killed in a humane environment.

Safran Foer certainly doesn’t feel like he’s putting anybody out through his vegetarianism. Instead, he introduces a brilliant counterpoint to Mr. Pollan’s argument in his book Eating Animals: essentially, he asks what someone with Mr. Pollan’s view would do if served a roast in someone’s home. Would you ask where it came from, or just dig in? Arguably, putting the host on the spot would make matters much more uncomfortable than simply making it known that you were a vegetarian in advance of supper.

Unfortunately, Safran Foer undoes his argument throughout most of the book by relentlessly pressing the reader to experience shock and disgust. There is nothing pleasant about the sea lice that accumulate on farmed salmon, nor would anyone want to order a plate of ribs while reading about botched slaughters at factory farms. These horrors are a reality and worth noting. After I read the book I was smugly proud of my own vegetarianism, even though I had been sneaking bites of meat for some time. I vowed never again.

And then it hit me: if I do not eat meat, and more importantly, if I refuse to cook meat, my marriage will suffer. I am married to a man who eats animals and who has expressed a desire that our children eat animals. He has plainly stated that he will not support raising children without eggs, dairy or meat. Indeed, abstaining from any food that might cause harm to the animal or planet is the logical conclusion to draw from Safran Foer’s argument: the dairies and chicken farms that supply yogurt and eggs are no less harmful or implicit in the factory-farm based food system currently in place. Quite honestly, despite my many years of good health as a vegetarian, I’m not sure that I would feel comfortable raising my children without animal products–say what you will about protein in fruits, vegetables, nuts, grains, etc., but the human body and brain have undoubtedly evolved around eating animals and their biproducts. Would I want to deny my child something I was given until I chose to walk away from it at age 19?

Safran Foer also condemns the meat industry in its entirety, claiming that there is one–a single–farmer in all of America who is actually producing chickens that are sustainable through and through. They come from heirloom semen, fed all clean, fair food and allowed to roam into the great blue yonder. These birds, he argues, are the only ones in the country that have a life worth being slaughtered for. And still he won’t support the effort, rationalizing that it is cruel for a larger, smarter animal to take advantage of a smaller one.

It’s true that eating animals is not necessary for the average adult where survival is concerned. But the plain truth is that no person, not Einstein, not Gandhi, not Safran Foer can change the fact that most people long to eat meat, and will eat meat. The argument to turn everyone into a vegetarian is creating a polarization that is not helping the effort to move away from factory farming. Therefore, the argument against meat could actually keep our food system in a rut. A more pragmatic plan is called for here–and yes, redefinitions of our own moral and gastronomic codes.

As someone who does care about animals, the planet and my community, I believe there is a better, more tenable way for me to live. For example, my husband and I receive a home delivery of meat from a local farm called Jolie Vue, which is dedicated not only to giving pigs, cows and chickens a happy life, but also to restoring native grasses to the area they farm. Animals are slaughtered and butchered by locals who share a sense of pride and reverence for the work they do. I can think of no better cause to support–even if I pass on the pork most nights and leave the pig meat to my husband.

Anyone hoping to make a lasting argument in the case for eating or not eating meat has to face the basic facts: most people want meat–at least where they have been accustomed to eating it. I recognize that supplying meat in mass quantities would be impossible from family-run farms, but perhaps those of us who have the time, energy and means to get twisted up about it should make a point to support local meat producers–believe me, good ones are out there–in hopes that they can take some of the market share away from factory farms and create an ever-widening circle of sustainable meat suppliers. In the meantime, I feel more comfortable saying that I prefer to eat meat whose origins I recognize: I feel morally bound to this and confident in my decision. There is a space between choosing to ignore the problem and making everyone else feel bad. Mostly, it involves cooking for yourself, hosting a lot more and accepting the occasional awkwardness of hoping to create an example.

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Article source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/isabel-cowles/real-environmentalists-ea_b_521084.html

Isabel Cowles: The Patriot Cooks

Last Updated on Sunday, 28 February 2010 12:15 Written by Daisy Harley Sunday, 28 February 2010 12:15

Americans have done a lot of great things since our forefathers limned our democratic identity, but we’ve never collectively known how to eat. American culture developed fast, without centuries of agricultural subsistence to define our landscape and our habits. Unlike any other nation, we came of age in the post-industrial era, when great things were accomplished on assembly lines. In less than two hundred years we went from being colonists to being consumers. Now, we get what we want, whenever we want it–especially when it comes to food. But the belief that we can have it all, with no reverence for the natural restraint of seasons and regions, has created a food culture that is destructive for our bodies, our society and our land.

Because America existed for just over a solid century before industrialization reshaped the food landscape, our regional and seasonal eating patterns did not have time to fully take hold. Gumbo still defines Louisiana cuisine and New Englanders love apple pie with cheddar cheese, but by and large, we are without the lasting culinary specialties that characterize virtually every other culture. Without strong traditions borne from seasonal and regional limitations, Americans have adopted the only diet in the world that is killing rather than sustaining its people and natural resources. Although diets across the globe are completely variable, all have managed to sustain a system of human life in conjunction with the land. What other food cultures have in their unadulterated form is a unified understanding of how precious food is to grow and prepare. Eating with delight, appreciation, community and pleasure comes with an understanding of the cost and value of real food.

Americans, on the other hand, have drive-through windows and weight-loss books. Most of what we eat comes from or passes through a factory, whether it’s bread, lettuce, milk or the cow itself. Our industrial approach to sustenance has effaced any broad-scale appreciation for how precious food is: the last few generations of Americans have not been brought up with an awareness of what it takes to bake a loaf of bread; grow a head of lettuce or raise, milk, slaughter and butcher a cow. We have chosen detachment instead of engagement with what we eat.

Yet the less we participate in our food’s life cycle, the fatter we become. You might think that a French woman spooning butter over snails and enjoying Roquefort and Bordeaux on a daily basis would be more zaftig than someone who opts for protein bars and skim lattes, but you would be falling into precisely the trap that is required to sell diet books and fitness magazines. In total, Americans spend more than $35 M a year trying to learn how to eat. All of this thinking about eating has created a bizarre culture of intimidation with food, which is only perpetuated by our food system: the less we interact with what we eat, the more confusing it becomes. We are obsessed with calories and carbs, shun butter, eschew eggs and refuse to touch toast. And a staggering percent of our diet comes from a package.

Even un-bagged salad scares us: I recently watched a cooking show where the hostess recommended using pre-made salad mix because she, “Hates lettuce that is dirty.” She failed to mention that the leaves she was using had been sprayed with chlorine to make them clean. At my last Thanksgiving supper, when talk turned to the origins of the bird, one diner put an end to the topic, saying, “I can’t talk about this turkey being alive.” But it is precisely the recognition that our food touched dirt and blood that makes what we are eating so valuable and so important. If we thought more about that than about the protein grams we were consuming, we would feel immensely more satisfied and appreciative of our food. In turn, we would eat better food, feel more satisfied, and support the people who send truly clean and humane food our way.

Cooking at home is the best way to begin appreciating what you eat. It is an extraordinary feeling to prepare your own food on a regular basis. It is the beginning of a positive cycle: the more often you invest in feeding yourself, the more aware you become of where you are getting the food you prepare. You may begin to feel uncomfortable with chicken that has been through an assembly-line slaughter; or high fructose corn syrup in your cereal. If you’ve ever bought a freshly killed chicken from a regional supplier or eaten recently baked bread, you’ve known how real food is supposed to taste.

A food culture is bigger than signature dishes: in our case, repairing how we appreciate and consume our is the only way to give the next generation hope for health and full-scale social integration. Moving away from a system of mass-production and relying more on regional producers will help prevent the continued destruction of our natural resources and the perpetuation of the food mania that has enslaved most American minds. When you eat good quality food, the right amount is enough. It’s at the heart of the “French paradox:” you won’t catch yourself eating a dozen diet ice cream bars if you’re satisfied by a single scoop of the real thing. Moreover, if you prepare your own food, you’re likely to be doing it for someone else as well. While the communal element of eating may seem sentimental, it has never been more important. Food nurtures friends, families and communities in ways that are essential to our bodies, our landscape and our nation at large.

If Americans increasingly focused on whole, regional foods we would also address the social justice issue surrounding low-income communities that lack access to fresh, affordable nourishment. By supporting regional growers and insisting that farmers and local gardens be allowed to sell reasonably priced produce to people with limited income, we can solve the inequalities that corporate eating has created. This is critical in lowering heath care costs. It is also essential if we are to stop the degradation of our land and waterways.

Over-fed and under-nourished is not a natural place to be. Food is at the heart of any culture and the process that good food requires–the patience, the practice, the understanding–is what keeps people engaged, integrated and healthy. Nature gave us boundaries and when we ignore them, we lose what it means to live in step with our health and our communities. Americans have been the first to do many things, why should retroactively creating a sustainable food culture be any different than establishing a successful democracy?

Article source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/isabel-cowles/the-patriot-cooks_b_479909.html

Isabel Cowles: When Yoga and Civilization Collide

Last Updated on Sunday, 31 January 2010 11:45 Written by Daisy Harley Sunday, 31 January 2010 11:45

Last week’s New York Times article, “When Yoga and Chakras Collide,” threw the debate between yogis and civilization into relief. Essentially, the piece can be read to pose the following question: If we practice yoga, are we obliged to withdraw from society?

The article highlights the tension many yogis face: whether or not to walk away from animal products and eat primarily raw fruits and vegetables. According to Eva Grubler of the Dharma Yoga in New York (one of America’s most revered yoga studios), the ideal yogi diet should consist of, “steamed vegetables, salads and fresh juices.” The article also quotes Steve Ross, author of Happy Yoga: Seven Reasons Why There’s Nothing to Worry About, who explains in his book, “I get a toxic, icky feeling from eating something that’s basically inedible.” By that, he means cooked food.

And yet, as the Times reports, some yoga studios are providing meals–complete with meat, wine and chocolate–at the end of practice. And they are causing quite a stir in the hardcore vegan / rawfoodist yogi camp. While a sweaty studio would not be my eating-place of choice, not a day goes by when I don’t eat cooked food or animal products. And not a day goes by when I don’t practice yoga. Both feel better with company.

Until recently, I felt that my innate appetites and love of cooking were directly at odds with my yoga practice. And yet, when I have tried to eat a primarily raw or vegan diet, I feel profoundly unsatisfied, both physically and socially. After having read Richard Wrangham’s book, Catching Fire: How Cooking Made us Human, I understand why I want and need to eat warm, rich food, which sometimes includes flesh. Moreover, I am hardwired to enjoy it with others.

This is how Wrangham’s argument boils down: the human discovery of fire essentially catapulted some of our ancestors out of the realm of Neanderthal and into the realm of Homo–Erectus and eventually Sapien. I am not one to distrust a person simply because he or she is not a scholar, but in this case, the distinction is striking. For example, Ross (whose nutritional background appears to be purely anecdotal) claims,”Approximately 85 percent of all vitamins and 100 percent of the enzymes are lost in the cooking process. If you cook anything above 118 degrees F, the enzymes naturally found in that food are destroyed.” Unfortunately, Ross does not cite his source. Wrangham, on the other hand, is the Ruth Moore Professor of Biological Anthropology at Harvard; Curator of Primate Behavioral Biology at the Peabody Museum and Director of the Kibale Chimpanzee Project in Uganda. The scholar devotes the final third of his book to footnotes. Both my gut, and my brain are inclined towards his argument.

Indeed, it is both our guts and our brains that distinguish us from our chimp cousins, Wrangham argues. Physical evidence that human beings evolved to cook food–and evolved because of cooked food–appears in both our stomachs and brains. The relatively small size of our digestive systems indicates that we evolved to eat food that is easy to digest, including cooked meat. Furthermore, the ease of digestion (cooking makes food easier for the body to process) essentially lends calories to whatever we cook, which in turn allowed our ancestors’ brains to develop at a pace unparalleled by any other species. Because their bodies weren’t working all day long to digest raw, fibrous foods, our ancestors’ brains suddenly had the nutrients necessary to grow exponentially in size. We owe our intelligence to cooked food.

In addition to physical benefits, cooking helped foster society. For example, heating food can be preserved longer, therefore guaranteeing more nutrition for longer periods. Cooking also caused early humans to lose their hair, one of our most distinguishing characteristics. Because of an availability of warmth and warm food, early man no longer needed his furry insulation: I’m sure most raw foodists, if given a choice, would opt to eat cooked food rather than grow a coat. Indeed, as many anthropologists have noted, including Jared Diamond in his book, Guns Germs and Steel, it’s the cultivation of agriculture and fire that made it possible for entire civilizations to develop. Without the need to wander in search of food–be it foraged vegetables of wild animals–human beings suddenly had the time and energy to sit together and think. It is because of cooked and cultivated food that man eventually built towns, appointed leaders and had the luxury to create art, literature, music, even yoga.

I know many vegetarians and many vegetarian yogis, whom I respect very much. I even know a few who eat primarily raw food–these are choices that I happily accept. However, when a person tells me that human beings were not designed to eat meat or cooked food, or that my yoga practice is inferior as a result of my diet, I must respectfully disagree. (The common theory that people were not meant to eat meat because of their blunt teeth and small jaws has also been defunct by Wrangham’s work: we are meat eaters, we just eat soft meat–of the cooked variety.)

I used to wonder why I felt so drawn to the stove and to a table full of friends. I long for the very thing provided by yoga studios that offer a communal meal after a communal practice. And yet I felt guilty about it–as though some primal impulse were keeping me from a truly enlightened practice. Now I realize that the opposite is true: the very thing that makes us human is our desire to cook, cultivate, kill and share our food. There is indeed a beast within each of us, calling us to do the same–the Homo Sapien.

Article source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/isabel-cowles/when-yoga-and-civilizatio_b_443886.html