One of the most common phrases I heard growing up was, 'You can't eat beef.' This limitation has plagued me for 25 years, rooted in a childhood medical accident that left me with nephritis. The so-called experiences of my family, folk doctors, and elders etched the precept 'do not eat beef' into the depths of my consciousness. For me, beef is like a forbidden food in some religions, or like a sacred relic in some religions.

Gradually, my heart began to shake, and the desire for the taste of beef constantly hit my psychological defense line, prompting me to decide to break my personal taboo. However, my first attempt at beef was a disappointment. It wasn't as delicious as I thought it would be, and I didn't have the symptoms I was told.

It was a huge shock to me, as if I had been in a deception for the past 25 years. I used to feel inferior because I couldn't enjoy beef like everyone else, and I told a lie to keep people from knowing that I was sick, pretending to be a member of a religion that forbade beef, and even resisted the temptation of beef many times. All of this prompted me to re-examine beef, which had fallen from a sacred presence to an ordinary ingredient.

我从小听得最多的一句话就是：“你不能吃牛肉。” 这种限制困扰了我整整 25 年，源于童年时期的一次医疗事故，导致我患上了肾炎。家人、民间医生和长辈们的“经验之谈”将“不能吃牛肉”这一教训深深刻进了我的意识深处。对我来说，牛肉就像某些宗教中的禁食之物，或者某些信仰中的圣物一般。

渐渐地，我内心开始动摇，对牛肉味道的渴望不断冲击着我的心理防线，最终促使我决定打破这一私人禁忌。然而，我第一次尝试吃牛肉时却大失所望——它并没有我想象中那么美味，而且我也没有出现被告知会发生的任何症状。

这对我来说是一次极大的震撼，就像是过去 25 年我一直生活在一个谎言之中。我曾因为不能像其他人一样吃牛肉而感到自卑，为了不让别人知道我生病了，我甚至谎称自己信仰禁止吃牛肉的宗教，还多次强忍住牛肉的诱惑。所有这一切让我重新审视牛肉——它从一个神圣的存在，跌落成了一种普通的食材。