Aymeric Caron's book 'Antispéciste' is less a manifesto, and more a philosophical grenade. Caron doesnt just argue that animals feel pain. He laid out, relentlessly, beautifully, that they also feel joy, curiosity, affection, even hope. And here I was, reducing them to 'product, protein, flavor'. Then came the knockout punch: Speciesism. Caron called it the 'original sin' of domestication, the myth that humans sit atop a moral hierarchy, and everything else exists to serve us. And the real kicker? Caron wasn’t just nudging me toward veganism. He was demanding something deeper, something almost sacred. A complete rewiring of the soul. To stop seeing animals as ingredients, and start seeing them as individuals. That book didn’t just change how I ate. It changed how I cooked. It didn’t tweak my philosophy, it detonated it. From that moment, I regretted everything. Everything changed.
ALEXIS GAUTHIER: Less a manifesto, more a philosophical grenade — with a cover that says it all: a pig gazing straight at you, calm and knowing, like a quiet philosopher-king. I bought Aymeric Caron’s book ‘Antispéciste’ on a whim, took it home, poured a glass of Bordeaux, and opened it expecting to scoff. Four hours later, I was hunched over a baguette, emotionally wrecked, my culinary worldview shattered…
Caron didn’t just argue that animals feel pain. He laid out—relentlessly, beautifully — that they also feel joy, curiosity, affection, even hope. A hen basking in a sunlit dust bath. A calf resting its head against its mother. A fish, yes a fish, darting through a current in playful rebellion. These weren’t just behaviors; they were echoes of a shared emotional world. And here I was—reducing them to “product,” “protein,” “flavor profile”…
Then came the knockout punch: Speciesism. Caron called it the “original sin” of domestication—the myth that humans sit atop a moral hierarchy, and everything else exists to serve us. From Aristotle’s hierarchy of souls to Descartes’ soulless automatons, straight through to factory farms. And chefs like me? We weren’t just bystanders. We were curators of cruelty, turning suffering into spectacle—and calling it art…
And the real kicker? Caron wasn’t just nudging me toward veganism. He was demanding something deeper — something almost sacred. A complete rewiring of the soul. To stop seeing animals as ingredients, and start seeing them as individuals. As beings with their own inner worlds—their own Paris. Their own sunlit fields, their own quiet winters, their own nighttime rituals and family bonds…
That book didn’t just change how I ate. It changed how I cooked. It didn’t tweak my philosophy — it detonated it. Suddenly, menus felt like manifestos. Recipes, quiet revolutions. The kitchen, once my sanctuary, became a battleground of conscience. My knives, once tools of artistry, now looked like instruments of betrayal. I’d watch a lobster clambering for freedom on the chopping board and suddenly hear Edith Piaf: “Non, je ne regrette rien…” Except I did. I regretted everything. Everything changed from that moment. SOURCE…
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