Zebra Tastes Good

During my mid to late twenties I was a strict vegetarian, never eating meat and generally lecturing those who did on the evils of the meat processing industry. For once, this commitment gave me the moral high ground. When a relative once lectured me that the U.S. abortion industry was worse than the Nazi Holocaust, I responded that the daily torture and massacre of millions upon millions of cows and chickens was worse than abortion (which isn’t saying much, because I don’t really care about abortion). I was a real asshole about it. I had always had difficulty sticking to these sorts of commitments throughout my life, so when I finally found a cause I could actually live out in my daily life, I made sure to make as much of my alleged moral superiority as possible. It felt good, and (I thought) I didn’t miss eating meat anyway.

Then, in May 2006, I made my first trip to Namibia, and discovered quickly the impossibility of maintaining a vegetarian lifestyle here. For food, everything is beef of some kind: pork, cow, various kinds of game. This seems to be true across racial and class divisions, although of course rich people can afford to eat more meat than poor people, at least generally. During my one month stay in 2006, however, I managed to stick to my vegetarian diet by eating a lot of pasta and salad. I think I lost about 15 pounds.

Expecting to make a longer return trip to Namibia, I ditched my vegetarian diet in the fall of 2007. I thought it would be hard; I thought I would feel guilty about it. I didn’t. I discovered that I actually really liked the idea of other animals being slaughtered for my personal benefit. It made me feel powerful again. After dipping my toe back into the carnivore waters with a pasta bolognese meal at a New York restaurant, within a week I was back to eating bacon, chicken, steak, you name it. I had seen all the PETA videos about how animals were killed in slaughterhouses. I had felt personally the moral shame of profiting off of the torture of other creatures. And yet, I made it through to the other side and realized that I just didn’t care. Far from shocking myself with my attitude, I actually became impressed by my own moral indifference. Now I too could imagine myself as some tyrannical chief ordering slaves to their deaths for my own personal enjoyment. I suddenly felt more connected to the human experience than ever before.

All this really paid off for me yesterday, when a friend and I went to a restaurant after a grueling 10-11 km hike through the rocky hills and valleys of Daan Viljoen Game Park. We saw zebras, baboons, springbok, and wildebeest, among other animals. The animals were beautiful. The hike seriously drained me, however, and when we returned to town, I was quite desperate to sink my teeth into some meat and down a few beers. I ordered the Bushman Sosatie, a kebab composed of (in the order I ate them) chicken, kudu, zebra, crocodile, and ostrich. The kudu and ostrich were really good, but the zebra stole the show. It tasted sort of like regular steak except juicier, softer, and more easily digestible. The next time I go to this restaurant I am going to order a zebra steak and forget about the kudu, ostrich, chicken, and crocodile.

When I have told people here about my vegetarian past, they usually try to ease my conscience by telling me that the great thing about the meat here is that it is all free range. But honestly, I don’t care. After yesterday’s meal, I’m thinking that somebody should start mass-breeding zebra for slaughter in tiny, cramped pens, pumping them full of steroids, slaughtering them, and then packaging the whole lot for $3 a pound. Zebra can be the new cow. We can do this.