Why I Farm, Part II
~ This article first appeared in The Leader Vindicator newspaper. ~
Meat hunger is a very powerful emotion experienced by humans. Cravings for the flavor and fat combinations of steak inspire dedicated eaters to do all sorts of weird things: home chefs debate cooking techniques for the perfect sear; people design special grills (and others buy them); some write thousand-page cookbooks on grilling. Meat hunger is also responsible for a massive artificial food industry funded by the misguided souls who naturally crave steak and refuse to eat it. They expend valuable resources trying to replicate steak flavor, very simply because they miss it on a biological level.
People love meat because the nutrient punch we receive after consuming muscle and fat revitalizes our brain, nervous system, skeletal structure, bones, ligaments, and organs. For this reason, the biggest, fattest, choicest animals have always been the most sought after, and from time immemorial hunters who dragged home the prime kill were elevated in village status. I’ve read that, in isolated cultures not corrupted by the technology ruse, a wife will refuse to have sex with her husband if he brings home wimpy game after a hunt. Adding insult to injury, the rest of the village women taunt him, too, because they know his poor meat selection is directly correlated with a dry spell at home akin to the Sahara Desert. I wonder how long fake meat would last if American women adopted this ritual after finding artificial burger patties in the groceries? (Maybe longer than we’d like to admit.)
Obviously, craving for meat is a highly influential component of human existence. In order to fully appreciate the fundamentals of meat hunger, we need to detour and discuss oranges.
I was on a trip to study small scale agriculture in Puerto Rico, and at one of the first stops the farmer shook some oranges off a tree for a classmate and me to collect. I had eaten oranges on many occasions throughout my life. This was not a novel food. Until the first bite sent me into a state of rapture.
That orange was so good. I stood frozen, totally unaware of anything happening around me, and ate one slice at a time. Each bite yielded juice that exploded over my tongue and seemed to travel directly into the deepest recesses of my brain, saturating the cells. When the last slice was finished, I looked at Dustin, my citrus-gathering classmate, who was staring wide-eyed back at me in total unbelief. We loaded our backpacks with as much of the fallen fruit as they would hold (the farmer said anything on the ground was fair game) and I devoured so many oranges that day my sweat smelled of citrus. I couldn’t stop eating them.
The orange encounter happened thirteen years ago, and I still remember it vividly. What’s more unusual is that I think about it almost every day – no joke. What on earth happened to me that could affect such strong and recurring memories over a decade later?
A more appropriate question is what in earth influenced my mind so powerfully?
Flavors are not a random surplus of nature that we happen to enjoy. Instead, they’re like experiential markers that ‘show’ us which soils are rich enough to yield nutritious food in the form of plants growing from them. Compounds we translate as flavor are an intricately designed pathway that will lead us to health when we’re in need. The better the nutrition of what we’re eating – the more vitamins, minerals, plant secondary compounds, etc. – the better it tastes. Because of this vital connection, literally every cell in our body forms a bond with flavor compounds.
The orange I ate was carefully grown in a very diverse environment, fresh picked, and, as a result of both factors, of better nutritional value by a wide margin than any other orange I had ever consumed. My body, registering the discovery of a superior source of nourishment, formed a strong connection with it to remind my conscious mind to go and eat more of that food. In other words, my vivid memory of the orange isn’t a nicety that happened to stick in my mind; rather, it’s an embedded nutritional map designed to harass me until I return to that particular food once again (or find a replacement of equal or greater value).
Other foods have similarly scored my memory. I remember, in no specific order, a coconut picked from a backyard in the Bahamas, a papaya in Brazil, sweet potatoes from Sligo, Pennsylvania, Black Walnuts from a family tree down the road, and soup in Moldova. Interestingly, the Moldavian soup is the only memory I have of a mixture of ingredients rather than one specific fruit or vegetable. I asked our guide about my attraction, and he responded bluntly that all soup in Moldova is homemade from valuable ingredients, unlike the canned garbage we’re accustomed to in America. So noted.
So, what does this have to do with beef?
I love beef. I eat beef five or six times each week. And I’ve never had a moment with a steak that parallels that with the orange.
Fortunately, I happen to be employed in a vocation that enables me to directly affect beef quality.
Why do I farm? I want that euphoric steak moment.
Until next time.