I
used to exclusively consume meat from sheep whose names I was familiar with. This task wasn’t particularly challenging as my father had established a naming convention where they were all called Sam. He assured us that it had nothing to do with both his daughters dating people named Sam at the time.
Being a vegetarian who only ate lamb from my parents’ farm, where I had likely held the sheep as babies, confused both meat eaters and vegetarians. However, when my parents sold the farm and we ran out of cuts from the freezer, I completely stopped eating meat. I didn’t miss it. I never cook it myself and always choose not to eat it when given the option.
This practice of only eating animals you’re familiar with has always made perfect sense to me. There are various reasons to choose vegetarianism or veganism, including ethical objections, environmental concerns, health considerations, and financial factors. My reasons were a combination of environmental and ethical concerns. For me, it’s the easiest way to reduce my carbon emissions without any effort. Ethically, my objection lies not in eating meat itself, but in certain modern farming practices that subject animals to significant stress, such as prolonged transportation and extended periods in feedlots. I understand why these practices exist and acknowledge that the meat industry couldn’t meet demands without them. However, I still choose to opt out.
Having numerous family members involved in farming allows me to directly obtain meat from the source. I can’t explain why this changes the ethical equation, and I’m sure there are people who would argue otherwise. However, to me, there’s a stark contrast between consuming meat when you know exactly how the animal was raised and slaughtered and simply buying it from a supermarket without considering its origin.
This concept aligns with the paddock-to-plate movement, which aims to improve sustainability, animal welfare, and product quality. While commercial paddock-to-plate enterprises generally realize these benefits, the most direct applications of this philosophy may compromise on quality. I doubt my grandmother’s mutton fritters made from leftover roast meat of a six-year-old merino would win any gourmet awards. However, the fat lambs raised by my parents were always top quality, except for that one time the butcher mixed up the carcasses and my mom expressed her disappointment when the lamb he sent back had been on clover.
But, to me, quality isn’t the primary concern. I’ve never worried about what happens to an animal after it dies as long as it had a good life and a humane death. Ensuring a good life for animals is where things often fall short. This is not a criticism of farmers, as I know most of them deeply care about their livestock and take pride in their well-being. However, I’m also aware that there are farmers whose practices I view negatively. At the supermarket, I can’t distinguish if a particular steak came from your paddock or theirs.
There isn’t a specific term for this way of eating. It involves being vegetarian, except for occasionally sharing a meal made from meat with known provenance, or in situations where the host is unaware of your preference and pointing it out would cause embarrassment. Dietary preferences are often associated with absolutes, which is a pity. It becomes easier to stick to this way of eating if you’re less strict about it. And the benefits don’t diminish if you occasionally indulge in dishes like beef rendang.
After two decades of practicing selective vegetarianism, I coincidentally moved back to the countryside with another Sam. (I assure you, this was not intentional.)
This Sam consumes meat. While most of our meals remain vegetarian, he has started cooking red meat once a week. Although we don’t raise the animals ourselves (our six sheep are purely decorative), I don’t feel uncomfortable eating it because the meat comes from a local abattoir, just down the road. It’s sold in a nearby shop in Kyneton, where you can purchase items like a whole eye fillet, half rump, or an unusually large bag of mince. Nobody shopping there can detach the massive chunk of meat from the animal it once was, and that’s how it should be.
Not all suppliers to the abattoir are local, but many are, and the animals are predominantly grass-fed, allowing them to forage and live on pasture. It’s not the same as knowing all their names, but it’s a step in the right direction.
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