My feelings about eating meat are pretty straightforward: I love it. Probably more than I should. One of my favorite sayings has always been, “The only thing better than meat is more meat,” and I’ve lived by that with the enthusiasm of a man who knows his way around a Thanksgiving turkey and a slow-smoked brisket.
I grew up in a house where meat wasn’t a moral question or a lifestyle choice—it was just Tuesday. My dad’s grill, my mom’s roast, the holiday turkey that took up an entire day and half the kitchen… these weren’t occasional indulgences, they were the rhythm of our family life. Eating meat was as normal as breathing.
As I’ve gotten older, the emotional flavor has deepened a little. I still enjoy it—no sense pretending otherwise—but I’ve also become more aware of the responsibility behind what’s on the plate. I genuinely respect the conviction of the folks at PETA. Truly. But if I’m being honest, my own natural membership leans a little closer to People for the Eating of Tasty Animals. Whether that line makes it into the post… well, we’ll see how brave I feel when I hit “Publish.”
Still, meat for me isn’t just taste. It’s connection. It’s the memories tied to the meals my parents made, the family recipes handed down, and the holidays where the aroma of roasting turkey hit you before you even walked through the door. It’s the feeling of standing over a grill on a summer evening, flipping burgers while friends talk and laugh around you. It’s tradition, comfort, and gratitude all wrapped together.
So yes, I love meat. I’m not planning to stop, even though I’m sure I could stand to enjoy it in slightly more reasonable quantities. But I’ll eat it with appreciation—and with a little more mindfulness than I had when I was young and thought seconds (and thirds) were my birthright.
At the end of the day, meat isn’t just food to me. It’s memory. It’s community. And most nights, it’s still just Tuesday.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
