In a sort of sideways attack on claims by Jonathan Safran Foer and others that vegetarianism is the only ethical food choice, Angier writes,

[B]efore we cede the entire moral penthouse to "committed vegetarians" and "strong ethical vegans," we might consider that plants no more aspire to being stir-fried in a wok than a hog aspires to being peppercorn-studded in my Christmas clay pot. This is not meant as a trite argument or a chuckled aside. Plants are lively and seek to keep it that way. The more that scientists learn about the complexity of plants - their keen sensitivity to the environment, the speed with which they react to changes in the environment, and the extraordinary number of tricks that plants will rally to fight off attackers and solicit help from afar - the more impressed researchers become, and the less easily we can dismiss plants as so much fiberfill backdrop, passive sunlight collectors on which deer, antelope and vegans can conveniently graze. It's time for a green revolution, a reseeding of our stubborn animal minds.

She then launches into a series of anecdotes about the ways plants protect themselves from getting eaten, all of which are entertaining, and all of which seem slightly beside the point. Anyone who's ever eschewed meat has encountered more than one person who makes jokes about cruelty to carrots, usually with the goal of making vegetarians feel like idiots. They do this because vegetarianism often feels like a judgment, implicit or explicit, against the way omnivores live their lives. But the fact that brussels sprouts combat hungry caterpillars by releasing compounds that summon caterpillar-eating wasps doesn't invalidate vegetarianism anymore than the sheer number of sick people in the world invalidates medical care. We can never end all suffering, and the assumption that this is the goal of all vegetarians misunderstands what vegetarianism is about — a misunderstanding unfortunately fostered by some vegetarians.

Angier's real point isn't actually that vegetarianism is dumb, or that we should all subsist on fruit and dead bugs. Rather, her argument is that all eating is a compromise. Angier writes that she no longer eats "mammalian meat," but still consumes fish and poultry. She continues,

My dietary decisions are arbitrary and inconsistent, and when friends ask why I'm willing to try the duck but not the lamb, I don't have a good answer. Food choices are often like that: difficult to articulate yet strongly held.

The truth is, the best thing human beings could do for (almost) every other species on Earth would be to cease to exist. Anytime we choose to keep ourselves alive at the expense of other living things — which we do all the time, consciously or not — we sacrifice a certain amount of our moral purity. This is something people on both sides of the debate about food politics have to accept — that vegetarians will never be entirely morally perfect, and that this lack of perfection doesn't invalidate what they're trying to do.

Food politics are ancient, as a look at any religion's dietary laws will attest. And as Angier says, people often believe in their food choices almost as deeply as they believe in their gods, making many a dinner table a kind of culinary Middle East. Arguing about food can be just as thankless as trying to talk someone into or out of belief in God, and at this point we might do well to accept an interfaith model of eating. Yes, food is about morality, and yes, we can judge others' dietary morals if we wish. But food, like religion, can also be about comfort, memory, tradition, transcendence, and joy, and these are things people can share even if they're not eating the same dish. It might be time to focus on them.

Sorry, Vegans: Brussels Sprouts Like To Live, Too [NYT]

Julie and Julia, the stunt-phenomenon that made Julie Powell a literary star, was a book very much about envy, and resentment, and discontent. So for those who related to Powell's jealousy, in that book, of her more successful friends, it may perhaps gratify you to know that her success, her portrayal by Amy Adams, did not spell contentment. Instead, she felt unmoored and unhappy and entered into a torrid, bondage-tinged affair, which morphed into the world's most awful-sounding open marriage, which turned into obsession and depressing sex with strangers, which in turn made her become an apprentice butcher. Memoirs, generally speaking, fall into two categories: "I can relate" and "I want to go on your adventure." This is somewhere between the two, and not quite enough of either.

And, yes, the butchery metaphors flow. Mind-numbing pages of carcasses being broken down (and I'm interested in this stuff!) as Julie tries to escape/find herself amidst locally-raised meats interlock with equally lurid accounts of sex. Relationships and meat get chopped up - repeatedly, and explicitly. Muscle and bone and grass-raised gore become preferable to the author's fixation on the guy who's dumped her - like having to watch a friend make really bad choices, but covered in animal blood. The writing is good - but as in all such writer-immerses-himself-in-new-world, there's an element of cultural tourism (I'm not even talking here about her fifth-act stint with the Masai) that made me, for one, relieved when Powell is rejected by a number of grizzled third-generation butchers and ends up instead at a new-wave artisanal spot in upstate New York. (It never seems to be that third-generation butcher - the one who does it every day, for years - seeing his work in terms of beauty and metaphor.)

I'm not questioning the author's genuine commitment to butchery, but it's pretty clear that more is going on with the meat metaphor - hell, the meat book, a genre in itself - than an enthusiasm for aged steak. Meat has become a cultural touchstone, be it old-school masculinity, new masculinity (looking at you, Jonathan Safran-Foer), defiance (The Shameless Carnivore), ambivalence (The Compassionate Carnivore) locavore rock-stardom or self-exploration like Powell's memoir or the recent Meat, A Love Story. And it's rarely about the protein. It's about masculinity, femininity, place in the world and planet. (Short-order short-hand, if you will.) It's a disingenuous return to the primitive, but it's suspiciously on-trend. That said, if Powell's book was designed to forestall envy of a freelancer-made-good, in one regard she failed: it's still hard to get past the freedom to pursue an interest for six months - not to mention the international meat tour she takes afterwards to Elizabeth Gilbert her heart and mind into order. And as her discontent seems far from resolved by book's end, I'd guess we haven't heard the last.

Cleaving [Amazon]

I can't tell you how many times I've said, like Portman, "I love food, I love eating, I'm pretty adventurous with different flavors and cuisines, and the one thing is, I'm a vegatarian" — and watched people's faces fall. Being "adventurous" and being vegetarian really aren't mutually exclusive — because cutting out meat forced me to vary my diet more, I now eat a much wider variety of foods than I did when I was omnivorous. And I'm a lot less "picky" than some of my meat-eating friends, many of whom turn up their noses at vegetables — I often say I'll eat anything as long as it isn't meat. As I've written here before, I do eat seafood now, so my family and friends are a little less freaked out, but some omnivores still seem to find my diet mysterious. Yesterday's Top Chef may explain why. Below are four common myths about vegetarian cooking, as illustrated on the show (and yeah, also some spoilers).

— Vegetarian food lacks protein.

Only if you do it wrong — like, say, the hapless Mike, who thought some undercooked leeks shaped like scallops could be a main dish. The point of vegetarian cooking isn't to make food look like meat or shellfish — as in all other cuisines, it's to make delicious and satisfying dishes. And while a vegetarian can get by with a breakfast of fruit or a salad lunch sometimes, everybody needs some protein to feel full and be healthy. Luckily there are a bazillion vegetarian sources of protein. Many vegetarians still eat cheese, eggs, and milk, but for those who don't, there are lots of protein-rich beans, nuts, seeds, and grains, and these can be combined into dishes that are a lot more tasty than some scallop-shaped leeks. For instance, I like to cook up a bunch of quinoa (quite proteiny, and pretty cheap if you can get it in bulk— if you can't, couscous or brown rice would work), add sauteed red peppers, spinach, olives, walnuts, and spices, and then wrap the thing in a tortilla and call it a burrito. I usually add a bunch of goat cheese to this, but for vegans, some truffle oil will do the job, or just plain old olive oil. An important note: mushrooms don't actually have all that much protein, though they often appear in lieu of meat on restaurant menus. Which brings me to my next myth.

— Vegetarians need a "meaty" substitute.

This one has a grain of truth — it is nice to eat something with a little savory, umami flavor, and mushrooms do provide that. I also like soy-based fake meats like MorningStar "bacon" and veggie crumbles for this purpose, even though a lot of vegetarians disdain them. Yes, they're a little pricey and not so great for the environment, but I tend to treat them the same way many cultures treat meat — as a seasoning, not a main dish. A little fakon in chili makes it taste like a whole different dish, which can be good if you're cooking for yourself and end up with a lot of leftovers. But all that said, I was kind of troubled to notice that so many of the chefs rushed for either eggplant or mushrooms to serve as the centerpiece for their dishes. I guess it's a texture thing, but these two foods appeared as the "vegetarian option" in my college dining halls more times than I can count, and while they can be tasty, they're not the be-all and end-all. Vegetarians don't need every meal to include a slab of something meat-like (and unfortunately, those college portobello mushroom sandwiches were often just that: a slab). One of my favorite dishes lately is a bunch of dandelion greens wilted with onions and garlic and olives and rosemary. I usually eat this with scrambled eggs and toast, but vegans could add white beans for an equally tasty protein kick — no meat "substitute" needed. And if you don't have dandelion greens, spinach works.

— Vegetarian food is just a "collection of sides."

Natalie Portman complained that vegetarian options at a restaurant often feel like side dishes, and I see where she's coming from. I don't really have a problem making a meal of sides, especially on Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house (I haven't officially told them I don't eat meat; I'm still letting them process the fact that I work for a "blog"). But sometimes I do want something main-dishy, not just a heap of kale and a bowl of beans and some bread (although this is pretty good). And just because you can't center a vegetarian meal around a hunk of meat doesn't mean you can't center it at all. A good solution to the problem, especially in fall and winter, is roasting, since nothing's more main-dishy than a roast. I like to chop up a bunch of red potatoes, sweet potatoes, green and red peppers, garlic, and onions, and stick them in the oven for an hour with rosemary and feta. Vegans could ditch the feta, add something else for extra flavor (like maybe hot chiles), and serve the whole thing with hummus on the side. This dish is real easy and cheap and great for potlucks.

— Vegetarian food can't be filling.

Kevin won the challenge with his dish of morels and turnips, which Portman and the other judges found both delicious and satisfying. Morels are, as you may know, fucking expensive, but the point is, it's possible to make a vegetarian meal just as filling as a meat-based one. It helps to remember the protein (though Kevin didn't actually seem to include much of that), but it's also important — at least in my view — not to be too afraid of fat. For some people, vegetarianism is synonymous with abstemiousness, and these are the same people who think a vegetarian meal always has to leave you hungry. I'm not saying you have to add a cup of sesame oil to everything (as a vegan housemate of mine used to do before we finally set him straight). I'm just saying that some olive oil, butter, cream, goat cheese, Earth Balance, or even avocado adds flavor and body to a vegetarian meal. For instance, brussels sprouts: they're okay if you boil them, but if you cut them in half and saute them in some butter or Earth Balance (plus garlic and rosemary and pepper), they're way more delicious. I like to eat this with Annie's mac and cheese from the box, which probably would not appear on Top Chef — but that doesn't mean it's not awesome.

Tender meat… bulging and exploding with a surprise inside. All you have to do is put it in your mouth.



Juicy, sticky, sweet and warm.

Would you like to nibble a lean little hunk? Or get your hands on something fleshy and chunky? Ooh, naughty: You want both at the same time, don't you.



Opened wide. Ready, willing. Waiting.

Or do you like it raw? Glistening and pink?

What a tease… Encouraging you to finger those folds.

Put your tongue inside, where it's moist and delicious.

Oozing. Just for you. You know you want it.

Biting is allowed… encouraged.

Can't you feel your heart race? It's dripping and luscious, waiting to be penetrated. [Ugh, Dodai, I'm blushing. -Ed.]

Mackenzie Ltd [Official Site]

Earlier: The Naked Chef: Pfaelzer Brothers Peddle Hot Food Porn

Portman reiterates a lot of the points Foer made in his New York Times Magazine essay a couple weeks ago, namely, that "food is symbolic of what we believe in" and that when we teach children how to eat, we are teaching them values as well. She argues persuasively that factory farming leads to not just animal but also human suffering — the phrase "copious amounts of pig shit sprayed into the air" may be all that's necessary to put some people off of mass-produced pork. None of this is new, but all of it is thought-provoking, whether you eat meat or not. Where Portman starts to bother me, though, is here:

I say that Foer's ethical charge against animal eating is brave because not only is it unpopular, it has also been characterized as unmanly, inconsiderate, and juvenile. But he reminds us that being a man, and a human, takes more thought than just "This is tasty, and that's why I do it." He posits that consideration, as promoted by Michael Pollan in The Omnivore's Dilemma, which has more to do with being polite to your tablemates than sticking to your own ideals, would be absurd if applied to any other belief (e.g., I don't believe in rape, but if it's what it takes to please my dinner hosts, then so be it).

I too find the idea that vegetarianism is "unmanly" sexist and obnoxious. But Portman — and Foer — lose me a bit when they discount the importance of consideration. Part of this, I have no doubt, is personal. As I've said here before, I'm very nonconfrontational in person — I don't mind spewing my beliefs on a blog, but I absolutely hate telling people what to do in their own dining rooms. And I hate refusing meat at people's homes (though, except for fish, I still do it), because I feel that I'm implicitly criticizing the way of life of someone who's showing me hospitality. I completely understand people who don't cook meat themselves, but are willing to eat it when the host serves it, and I constantly struggle with the conflict between politeness and vegetarianism.

There's an element of sheer cowardice here — I don't want my friends to think of me as that annoying, proselytizing vegetarian. I've heard all the jibes Portman mentions ("What if you find out that carrots feel pain, too? Then what'll you eat?" and "Hitler was a vegetarian, too, you know"), they make me upset, and I try to avoid hearing them again. Portman would probably say I should just suck it up, that my concern for my host's feelings and for my own is nothing compared to the suffering of animals. Thing is, I don't like Portman's example. It would of course be "absurd" to say to oneself, "I don't believe in rape, but if it's what it takes to please my dinner hosts, then so be it." But eating meat is not the same as rape.

Maybe it's just a particularly bad day for comparing things to rape, but Portman's words make me angry. Women are not the same as pigs, and while I wouldn't befriend a known rapist, most of my friends eat meat, and I consider them good, moral people. Many ethicists believe that animals should have the same rights as human beings, and that hurting an animal is as morally repugnant as hurting a human. Their arguments have a strong basis — the capacity of animals to feel pain and psychological suffering — and they deserve hearing. At the same time, I cannot hear meat-eating and rape in the same breath without feeling that the enormity of the rapist's crime is being minimized. I know this was not Portman's intent; I know she isn't trying to trivialize sexual violence (although the fact that she signed a petition in support of Roman Polanski does call into question whether she takes rape seriously in all cases). Still, I think the morality of meat is more complicated than she lets on.

Yes, animals suffer. Yes, factory farming (which is, it's important to remember, not the only option for the cultivation of livestock) is bad for human beings too. And yes, some scientists believe that we need to eat far less meat or even no meat at all if we want to stop global warming. But there are greater and lesser evils in this world, and I believe that eating animals is a lesser crime than sexually assaulting a human being. Portman writes that Foer "unites the two sides of the animal eating debate in their reasoning" when he argues that humans are different from animals, and thus have different responsibilities. But if we truly want to unite the two sides — and, I would argue, if we want to reduce meat consumption the world over — we would do well to avoid demonizing the large majority of people who don't yet agree with us.

Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals [Huffington Post]
Expert: Meat Consumption Causing Warming [UPI.com]

Foer writes eloquently of his early attempts at vegetarianism, his re-commitment when his son was born, and the moral underpinnings of his choice ("Try to imagine any end other than taste for which it would be justifiable to do what we do to farmed animals"). But what stood out for me about his piece was the descriptions of food he'd given up. He writes,

Some of my happiest childhood memories are of sushi "lunch dates" with my mom, and eating my dad's turkey burgers with mustard and grilled onions at backyard celebrations, and of course my grandmother's chicken with carrots. Those occasions simply wouldn't have been the same without those foods - and that is important. To give up the taste of sushi, turkey or chicken is a loss that extends beyond giving up a pleasurable eating experience. Changing what we eat and letting tastes fade from memory create a kind of cultural loss, a forgetting. But perhaps this kind of forgetfulness is worth accepting - even worth cultivating (forgetting, too, can be cultivated). To remember my values, I need to lose certain tastes and find other handles for the memories that they once helped me carry.

It's true that not every tradition is worth preserving, and plenty of things that we now consider abhorrent were once happy memories for some. At the same time, Foer is more honest than many vegetarians about the personal cost of not eating meat. For me, becoming a vegetarian didn't involve jettisoning a lot of beloved foods. I was such a picky kid that my favorite foods were toast, apples, and ice cream, and although I enjoyed a brief food renaissance when I went to college, I didn't really become emotionally attached to meat. Giving it up at the age of 20 was easy.

But I got sick. Vegetarianism led to near-veganism led to an obsession with "healthy" food (combined with a summer on a very strict beans-and-broccoli budget) that left me underweight, cold, and anxious all the time. I was never diagnosed with an eating disorder, but my friends were concerned, and my doctor sternly told me to gain weight. Which I did, in part by eating seafood again.

I still do it, and I'm still not completely proud of it — while I don't share Foer's ethical fervor for the vegetarian cause, I do know that fishing can be as bad for the environment as factory farming. I think of my eating style as a way to eat less flesh and use fewer resources than I would as an omnivore — which it is — but it's also a way of honoring good memories and keeping bad ones at bay. Being a pure vegetarian or a vegan still reminds me of a time when I was sickly and scared and not taking good care of myself. Eating the occasional clam linguine or California roll reminds me of getting better, of feeling physically and mentally healthy again. I know that many, many people thrive on animal-free diets, and I believe that, with the right preparation and the right frame of mind, I could too. And I don't believe, as some do, that vegetarianism is just another eating disorder. But I am afraid of how easily my ethics can turn into self-denial, my self-denial into self-punishment. And I don't want my diet to remind me of my summer of beans.

Foer says that when his grandmother made her chicken and carrots, she "wasn't preparing food, but humans." And it's true that food is rarely just food — it's also the stories and the values that surround it. For me, for now, a can of anchovies tells a story about healing myself, and it's not a story I'm willing to give up just yet.

Against Meat [NYT Magazine]

Of course, it's probably a little more complex than that. In the world that is food porn, sure, there are the carnivorous bears, the svelte sex kittens (Giada, Nigella), the asexual "moms" (Paula and Ina) and, of course, the Bad Boys (Anthony Bourdain, sometimes Mario and, it must be said, Flay.) All of these satisfy a different fantasy: comforting, aspirational, exciting.

It's not a shocker that the dude shows should get a "manly" host - Guy Fieri as resident carnivore is a believable and relatable eater, after all. Even Alton Brown takes cooking into the realm of scientific rather than aspirational in a way that seems, if not designed to appeal to, at least made not to alienate a male viewership by removing the domestic. And I get the larger point he's making: at the end of the day, people want their roles in place and their pretty ladies dainty. We don't want to see someone hot eating a really gross burger (unless, I guess, that's your thing - and it's gotta be someone's), and hypocritical society that we arem we probably don't want to see someone larger do so - Ina and Paula don't exactly tuck into their buttery concoctions on camera - which leaves, yes, the everydude.

But while I defer to Meatpaper's Chris Ying on most things fleshy, there are a couple of flaws with the argument. 1. Bourdain. The man eats insects and whale and fermented maggot - and say what one will, he's not unattractive. Indeed, "dashing" would be a better word. 2. Sandra Lee. Maybe the author's argument is confined to men, but Lee, whatever one may think of her aesthetic, checks all the boxes for conventional American attractiveness and, bar none, makes the weirdest and grossest food on television. Nauseous combinations of mixes and sodas, spice and jelly - all topped off by a lurid-colored original cocktail and served amidst a tablescape that feels like a bad trip on the Wonkatania.

Meatpaper
Unattractive Men Call For Unattractive Meat [Utne]

Under the image of a woman in profile with her mouth wide open, staring blankly at something in the distance above an approaching seven-inch burger, the ad reads:

Fill your desire for something long, juicy and flame-grilled with the NEW BK SUPER SEVEN INCHER. Yearn for more after you taste the mind-blowing burger that comes with a single beef patty, topped with American cheese, crispy onions and the A.1. Thick & Hearty Steak Sauce.

This ad does not just hint at sex, it bashes you over the head with lame puns and heavy-handed double entendres worthy of the Todd. To make matters worse, the woman about to receive the "hot beef injection," as one commenter here put it, is made up to look like a blow-up doll. She is expressionless, a blank slate on which we are supposed to project our (assumed to be masculine, of course) desires. Unlike the "2 Girls 1 Sub" video from Quiznos, which is its very own brand of nasty, or the new Burger King ad with Audrina Patridge, or even that Carls Jr. ad, the woman here is not excited about the giant sandwich looming near her face. She is empty and submissive, as pliable as a plastic doll. Strangely enough, it doesn't make us very hungry.

The association of meat and sex is nothing new of course, as feminist vegetarian theorist Carol J. Adams has shown time and again. In an interview published on her website, Adams says,

Everyone is affected by the sexual politics of meat. We may dine at a restaurant in Chicago and encounter this menu item: "Double D Cup Breast of Turkey. This sandwich is so BIG." Through the sexual politics of meat, consuming images such as this provide a way for our culture to talk openly about, and joke about, the objectification of women without having to acknowledge it. The sexual politics of meat also works at another level: the ongoing superstition that meat gives strength and that men need meat. There has been a resurgence of "beef madness" in which meat is associated with masculinity.

Adams' argument applies on several levels here. The ad displays both the meaty sandwich and the female body as objects ready for masculine consumption. The woman in the ad is not meant to enjoy the burger, for this is not about her. Like the meat, she is a thing to be consumed, a thing that will provide the viewer with a hearty dose of masculinity and virility. In an interesting twist, this ad, which is clearly intended to sell a piece of meat to straight men, also presents the phallic stand-in as something desirable. Men are supposed to see this image and think something along the lines of: "I like BJs and burgers, cuz I'm a real man. I need some BK," yet the ad makes the meat into a sexualized, fetishized masculine object.

Several other blogs have weighed in on this particular ad. Copyranter says:

Well, this ad via Singapore for the BK Super Seven Incher is the new leading "most overtly blow-jobby ad" I've ever seen, surpassing this one, this one, and even this one. Nice misogynistic touch making the woman look like a fucking blow-up doll. Note the Photoshopped-enhanced creamy white mayo.

A debate has sprung up on Flickr about this image, with one commenter being labeled a "annoyinghypersensitivefeministbitch" for failing to understand that the ad is actually "funny and sexy." Commenter "photo.envy" responds:

Sexy is a state of mind. There's a difference in being sexual and being used as an object of want to sell burgers. Objectification is the difference.

Fast Food News doesn't like it much either:

We've seen more suggestive advertising, to be sure, but this one just seems to be poorly executed AND in bad taste (and probably tastes bad, too).

We're not convinced about that last part, but if showing a sandwich dripping with mayo aimed for the mouth of a lifeless woman isn't in bad taste, we don't know what is.

The New King of Blow Job Ads [Copyranter]
Copy Conundrums: BK's New Ad Hints At Fellatio [Media Bistro]
How Many Cliches In One Ad? I Think We Can Do Better [YesbutNobutYes]
It'll Blow [Flickr]
BK's Suggestive 7 Incher Ad [Fast Food News]
Audrina Patridge Gives Good Burger In New Ad [People]
Carol J. Adams [Official Website]

Related: Quiznos Wants People To Associate Their Sandwiches With Poop, SpongeBob Meets Sir Mix-A-Lot In New Burger King Ads

In answer to the first question, the Slate's Nina Rastogi says: go ahead, chow down on some bacon. Well, kind of. The greenest meat is actually poultry, because it's so efficient: a calorie of chicken protein requires only 5.6 calories of fossil fuels, as opposed to 20 to 40 for beef. But pork is also somewhat more environmentally-friendly than beef, because pigs fart less and breed more than cows. Methane gas expelled by livestock contributes to global warming, and the more offspring an animal has per year, the fewer resources expended on breeding. Sadly for hamburger lovers, beef is the worst offender. It's bad for humans, as underscored by a new study (although, to be fair, this study also fingers hot dogs, which everyone knows are made of lips and assholes), and it's also bad for the planet. Cows use the most land, cause the most global warming, and contribute most to a kind of water pollution called eutrophication, which can kill fish.

Speaking of fish, how should we feel about eating them? According to a new report, fish feel pain, possibly in a way similar to humans. Fish who received morphine before being burned seemed chilled out (sorry) throughout the procedure and afterwards, while non-drugged fish showed "defensive behaviors, indicating wariness, or fear and anxiety" after their watery torture.

But Ariane Sherine, in an excruciatingly punny piece for the Guardian, says this news won't matter to most people. Sherine uses herself as an example: "fish don't elicit the same emotional response as mammals and birds," she writes, "and because of this, I've always eaten them but rarely meat." Ok, confession: though I used to be a vegetarian, I too eat fish. I don't do it because I think they don't feel pain — I'm sure they do. I do it for the selfish (or, as Sherine would say, "shellfish") reasons that I was having trouble staying healthy and eating with friends and family as a pure vegetarian. I pay attention to sustainable seafood guidelines, because my initial vegetarianism was an environmental, not a moral choice. I don't feel as virtuous as I did when I was a beans-and-tofu girl, but I can exercise again, my cholesterol is lower, and I don't get in fights with my dad when I go home.

Sherine says, "no matter how much pain creatures we view as 'food' are scientifically proven to experience, 94% of us will go on fuelling demand for them, sticking our fingers in our ears and yelling, 'la la la, they taste nice, so shut up and let me eat them!'" I don't think that's entirely true. I think articles like Rastogi's show that people are looking for ways to balance their desire to eat some animal products with their desire to not live in an all-Katrina-all-the-time global-warming hellscape. And if, as Michael Pollan says, Americans going meatless just one night a week would be like taking 30 to 40 million cars off the road, I'd rather champion Meatless Monday than wage a war for universal vegetarianism that, frankly, I'm never going to win.

The Kindest Cut [Slate]
Study: Fish May Feel Pain Much Like Humans [UPI]
Are Fishes' Feelings A Red Herring? [Guardian]
Paying A Price For Loving Red Meat [New York Times]

The "American Farmstead cheese collection" includes Marieke Gouda, Vermont Ayr, La Fleurie and Capriole O'Banon. Whatever that means. Looks delicious. Also not bad? The sheep. And the dude.

Hmm, a new Thanksgiving tradition? Mini empanadas seem like a great idea, all of a sudden. So do bacon-wrapped dates. And phyllo-wrapped spinach triagles. And tamales. Yum.

There's something about pot pie on a cold day. So warm, so creamy, so filling. This one is lobster, but chicken is great, too. Also seen here: smoked salmon trio (scotch-cured, Maine sea spice and lemon-and-dill) and maple-smoked salmon fillet.

Beef. It's what's for dinner. Will you have filet mignon? Strip steaks? Rib roast? Or some dry-aged beef? Everything looks juicy and divine.

Some families always have turkey; my people are prone to ham. We like it soaked in bourbon and smothered in pecans, but both of these look okay. Let's just skip to dessert.

The "bûche de Nöel" is a cake that looks like a log. This one is chocolate genoise cake "rolled with a light, fluffy layer of chocolate ganache and rerobed in chocolate truffle buttercream cleverly sculpted to replicate bark." And those mushrooms are made of meringue. Some people love tiramisu; I think I'd opt for the peppermint gelato truffles down below. They're described as "silky-smooth," and now my mouth is watering.

Peppermint bark! It's official, the holidays have begun.

You can't actually buy this adorable igloo cake — Williams-Sonoma just sells the mold — but it's so cute!

Even better: Red velvet cake. Or cupcakes. Get your own.

Then there's 12-layer chocolate cake, coconut lemon layer cake and five layer mousse cake. Ever feel like you want to live inside of a cake?

You can try and live inside of this gingerbread manor, if you like. A recession bargain at $250. Oh, but here's a tip for the folks at Williams-Sonoma: Why not call your gingerbread cookies "kids" instead of "boys"? Especially when one is named Samantha?

Anyway, if the manor is a little high-end for your taste, downsize to a little gingerbread shack.

Williams-Sonoma [Official Site]

Earlier: The Naked Chef: Pfaelzer Brothers Peddle Hot Food Porn

Look at that thick, juicy meat. Straining with hot fluids. Once you get it in your mouth, you know it's going to burst, letting warm red liquid stream down your throat.


Some like to see the pink inside, do you?


Or are you one of those bad, naughty types, who likes it raw?


Maybe you like it freaky? Brown on pink. Two on two… or more?


Get a good look at this pink, wet, glistening flesh. You know you want it.


Insert your fingers into the folds. You'll find it tender and dripping.


Who can resist a heaving, moistened breast?


Go ahead, lick the gooey sweetness. It's yearning to be inside you.



Warm fluid oozes out, just for you.


You'll get your just desserts. Just put your tongue in the crease.




Pfaelzer Brothers [Official Site]

In this hostile, ultra-macho, morally arid climate, to stand up and be counted as a male vegetarian must require cojones of immense size, much bigger balls, in fact, than your average carnivorous wimp, who just goes along with the crowd.

Of course, in our collective human history, the man was the hunter while the woman collected colorful berries. Fast forward a few millennia and dudes go in for the kill on Wall Street while women forage and collect berry-colored shoes. But like all generalizations, this is only partly true. Men eat berries, women eat meat. And while there was a time that salad bars were for chicks and steakhouses were for the boys, haven't we left all that behind? Are vegetarian (or vegan) guys — presumably educated about the cruelty of factory farming — smarter, ballsier, sexier?

Full disclosure: My boyfriend is vegan. He is not a "hippie," hates camping and never comes near patchouli. He eats, among other things, popcorn, spicy noodles, French fries, jelly beans, guacamole, cookies and tacos made with beans and soy chicken, none of which could be called "rabbit food." So I don't agree with Jessica's previous post branding male vegetarians "sissies." Just like it's offensive to say that eating meat is "manly," isn't it awful to assume that not eating meat is "girly"? Why would caring about what's in your body be gender-specific? And what's up with using "sissy" or "girly" as an insult?

It Takes A Real Man To Say He Enjoys Tofu [Guardian]
Related: Soy Vey! Does Eating Tofu Lower Sperm Count? [Scientific American]
Soy-Based Foods May Lower Sperm Count: Study [Reuters]
Soy Foods 'Reduce Sperm Numbers' [BBC]
Health: Soya-Based Foods May Harm Male Fertility, Say Scientists [Guardian]
Earlier: Do More Men Really Go Vegan Because Of Pamela Anderson's Boobs?
Can Female Vegetarians And Male Carnivores Ever Find True Foodie Love?