Small Bites: The moral cost of meat

“Small Bites” is about exploring the broader world of food and drink in Madison through approachable and specific experiences.

The other night, I had a dream where I was asked to watch a hydrogen bomb detonate in a deserted part of Ohio as part of a weapons test. I was in a research facility, an old-type one that you’d see in movies from the 1990s, with a large console riddled with CRT monitors showing gray-scale mushroom clouds. When the bombs first hit, the wave of destruction was so incredibly intense I felt sick to my stomach. When I woke up, groggy, standing in my kitchen in my underwear, pouring myself a glass of water at 3 a.m., I had only one thought in my head: I should become a vegetarian again. 

I should note that, for dinner, I had an excellent burger from Turn Key Supper Club. Over the years it’s been open, Turn Key’s menu has shifted focus a few times, finally landing on its supper-club concept that swapped a double smash patty cheeseburger (essentially, the same burger as sister spot Settle Down) for a thicker, medium-rare patty with butterkase cheese, pickles, and a bacon and onion jam. It’s the exact burger I wanted to eat that night: quality beef cooked well, seasoned properly, and lightly dressed with sweet and tangy condiments. I had been thinking about burgers all day—the Rootstock burger in Chicago, the early Goldburger pop-ups in Los Angeles, the Petite Leon burger in Minneapolis—and the Turn Key offering absolutely hit the spot. 

A few hours later, after drifting back to sleep, I thought about that burger again while drinking coffee on the couch. And I wondered if I could truly go vegetarian again. 

The violence of the bomb in my dream—even without human casualties—felt too visceral. It was somehow a reminder that meat comes from somewhere. That the sloppy cheeseburger served to us at the bar, or the bacon on a BLT, demanded some level of carnage to be so tidily presented and prepared for us. There was no direct connection except on an emotional scale; and, in that regard, it was clear what the destruction of the bomb in my dream meant to me awake. I’d done these calculations when I was 18 or so and remained a vegetarian for 15 years. I’d done the calculations again after my divorce around eight years ago and landed at a different conclusion. 

A trip to Japan erased my vegetarianism. Virtually nonexistent in many cultures, vegetarians abroad often struggle through poorly translated menus at tourist versions of the local cuisine. In France, you’ll share a nearly empty dining room with two disgruntled-looking Germans in zip-off hiking pants with their backpacks, regardless of how nice the restaurant looks. In Japan, you’re lucky if the language barrier lets you even inquire if the curry has meat in it. The stress of finding places to eat dominates your day. Good luck exploring the city: you’ll spend the majority of your afternoon in a café using their Wi-Fi to look up the “vegetarian” tag on TripAdvisor reviews. 

Reintroducing meat to my diet was an expansion of food and culinary endeavors in my life. But it was also, to a degree, about giving up. I wanted to be blissfully free, wandering into any dining establishment whenever I wanted, and eating whatever they had. Now that I’m disabled, that freedom to eat anything matters even more. My limited brain-processing power means I need as many easy solutions as possible if I’m to make it all the way through my day. I also eat red meat so rarely that the quality calculus is easy to play out. And finally, eating meat makes it easier for me to eat healthy. A year ago, on the advice of my doctor, I had to cut back on baked goods after some bloodwork came back less than ideal. In the time since then, I’ve gained and lost a few pounds. Extra bloodwork this past September suggested bigger lifestyle changes were needed. Leaning into animal protein and greens two to three nights a week has helped me lose around 10 pounds since then. 

Of course, these are all just excuses. I could devote more time in my day to planning a vegetarian diet, and it won’t trigger chronic illness fatigue. Eating any amount of red meat has an adverse environmental impact that can’t be ignored. And I could lose weight by eating anything as long as I planned it out well. The long and short of it is that, plainly, I want to eat meat. Nuclear test dream or not, I want to eat the cheeseburger. It’s a passive desire that I will likely cave to for the rest of my life. 

But I think about what eating meat means to me. What if it wasn’t a passive desire? What if eating meat were an intentional decision I made every year? If I were to commit to eating meat every year, what would that look like? I suppose it looks like confronting the decision from as many angles as possible. To think about slaughterhouse conditions, exploited workers, a dying planet, and sick cows. It means knowing that my individual decision to eat only high-quality meat on rare occasions doesn’t tip the bucket one way or the other on a macro scale, and that I could have a direct impact by giving up meat entirely again. 

It’s January 2026, and I’m thinking of the windows being blown out of an abandoned school in a fictional part of Ohio before the entire building disappears in a never-ending shockwave. It’s January 2026, and I’m thinking about how immigrant workers in meat-processing plants were a known sacrifice during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, and now are being rounded up by ICE and Border Patrol with Gestapo tactics all around the country. I’m thinking about those things, and I know that my decision to buy slightly more ethically farmed beef or my decision to go vegetarian won’t really change how these things work.

But I’m also thinking about how I have the chance to impact the thought process of Tone Madison readers all throughout Madison and Dane County. Maybe my decision doesn’t make an impact, but all of ours can. Maybe you’ve had your own nuclear explosion dream lately that’s forced you to reconsider your relationship with meat. Maybe you decided to commit to meat again this year, or maybe you decided to try something new. The important thing, I think, is that you made the decision intentionally. And with your intentions set for 2026, I’ll see you again in a year to reconsider. I just might be doing that myself.