Meat-eating dilemmas and the one-pot approach
The dichotomy of modern eating allows one to adapt and improvise in the kitchen
Last month in Mumbai, I met a Brahmin taxi driver from Uttar Pradesh. Within five minutes of getting into his car, he asked where I was from. When I said Goa, he peered in the rear-view mirror. “Christian?"
No, Hindu, I said.
He beamed, “Jai Shree Ram."
Soon, he proceeded to excoriate Muslims, Christians and other Hindus who ate meat. When I pointed out that meat-eating Brahmins were not uncommon, he was dismissive of their faith. “Eating meat is not in our religion, not in the natural course of things," he said. “The Vedas tell you that."
His religious and culinary prejudices aligned with his political worldview: Muslims were invaders who did not deserve respect; he respected Dalits but could not share a meal with them since, after all, he was a Brahmin; and India only began to progress after 2014. A long debate, sometimes heated, ensued. I agreed with almost nothing of what he said, but his rant about food reinvigorated a debate in my head about what I eat.
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Like many meat-eaters, I have told myself that this is what nature intended; it is certainly true that we evolved into a meat-eating species about 2 million years ago. Humans are omnivores, and since we grew into the planet’s dominant species, using our big brains to make choices, we have exercised that dominance to eat what we choose. Some chose to be vegetarians; others chose to remain meat-eaters.
In recent years, I have felt a growing queasiness about industrial meat production. I understand that the term itself whitewashes what is effectively mass slaughter. I am always horrified when I see the conditions in which chickens are transported in India. I have not seen goats or pigs being slaughtered, so I cannot say what I may feel. Paul McCartney famously said that if slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.
Then there’s global warming: there is little doubt that animal farms feeding the slaughterhouses play their part, as cattle belch methane in ever-rising quantities. Yet, razing forests and other ecosystems for food crops isn’t exactly cooling the planet. In sum, there are too many of us, and although the vast majority are poor, too many of those who are not—that includes me—live lives that are not sustainable to our little dot in the universe.
If I know the costs of eating meat, why do I not stop? After all, my wife did at age 13, after being traumatised while working with feathers and blood in the family’s hotel kitchen. Habits and pleasures are not easily ended, and, as I said, it is far from certain that turning vegetarian is a panacea for our moral and planetary dilemmas.
What I do is to be aware and scale back on what I eat. I do not claim this is adequate, timely, or even ethical recompense for my carnivorous ways, but it is what I do. The amount of meat I eat has fallen drastically from my younger years. I may borrow a piece or three from my daughter, primarily bone, because it limits the meat I eat and allows me the singular pleasure of gristle, marrow, and cartilage. Sometimes, I keep vegetables at the centre of what I eat and use a pork pickle or dried fish as a condiment that makes the meal as satisfying as a meal centred on, say a pan full of mutton fry or a big bowl of fish curry.
I try to avoid fish in the breeding season, but overall, I’ve convinced myself—wrongly, perhaps—that it’s less damaging to eat them. I am acutely aware of industrial trawlers and how they are emptying the oceans. I try to eat species that aren’t very much in demand: of course, if more people do the same thing, then they will be in demand. This is the dichotomy of modern eating and living, and I see no easy solution.
A recent family penchant for one-pot meals is at least more modest than most and consumes fewer ingredients and quantities. The wife creates these bowls for herself, and I am struck by the limited ingredients, vast range of flavours, and the ease in washing up after.
My mother is not particularly acquainted with bowls, but last week she inadvertently produced one when her daughter-in-law asked for something nutritious and simple: methi or fenugreek rice. I was reluctant to consider a non-vegetarian version, but I caved. My mother ordered prawns, but you could easily replace them with a handful of leftover meat. The original version had only methi.
METHI PRAWN RICE
Serves 4
Ingredients
500g medium-size prawns
1 large bunch chopped fresh methi (fenugreek)
2 large onions, chopped
2 tbsp chopped garlic
3 tsp Kashmiri mirch powder or chilli powder
One and a half tsp turmeric powder
3 tsp vegetable oil
1 cup rice
Salt to taste
Method
Marinate the prawns in 1 teaspoon Kashmiri mirch powder (or chilli powder, depending on how spicy you want it) and half tsp turmeric with some salt for an hour. Fry the prawns lightly for 5 minutes and set aside.
In a pan, heat the remaining oil gently and saute garlic till soft. Add onion and fry till it begins to brown. Add the methi and saute until it shrivels. Add the rice and mix well. Add the remaining turmeric and Kashmiri chilli powder and toss. Mix in the prawns and salt. Add water to cook the rice, cover and remove when done.
Serve hot with a sambol, salad or pickle.
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Our Daily Bread is a column on easy, inventive cooking. Samar Halarnkar is the author of The Married Man’s Guide To Creative Cooking—And Other Dubious Adventures. He posts @samar11 on X
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