Is It Ethical to Eat Food Made From Your Own DNA?

Okay, so I went down a very weird internet rabbit hole recently—like the kind that makes you question your existence, your breakfast choices, and whether humanity has finally gone off the rails.

Let me ask you this: Would you eat a steak grown from your own DNA?

Yes. YOUR DNA. Not your grandma’s lasagna recipe, not a cow, not tofu. You. Genetically. Replicated. Onto a plate. Medium rare or whatever your moral compass allows.

At first, I laughed. I thought, “Haha, no way people are doing this.”
Then I cried.
Then I read the scientific papers.
Then I ate a banana and questioned if it had feelings.

Welcome to the Freakshow

We’re in the age of biohacking and biotech startups who are out here playing God with petri dishes and grant money. And someone, somewhere, had the nerve, the audacity, to say, “Hey… what if we grow meat using human cells?”

Boom. Enter Ouroboros Steak—yes, like the snake eating itself, which feels both poetic and terrifying. They say it’s not cannibalism.

Because technically, no one dies. The cells are harvested painlessly (cheek swab style), grown in a lab, and—voilà—you get a personalized, guilt-free sashimi of… yourself.

And people are paying for this shit. Willingly. Some for curiosity, others for “sustainability,” and some because they’ve simply lost touch with the traditional joys of eating fried chicken at 2 a.m. while questioning your life choices like a normal person.

Wait—Is This Cannibalism or Just Self-Love With a Side of Salt?

Here’s where it gets ethically murky. If you eat meat grown from another human’s cells, that’s pretty clearly cannibalism. Illegal. Taboo. Hannibal Lecter-core.

But what if it’s your cells? You’re not harming anyone. You’re not desecrating a body. Technically, it’s lab-grown tissue from your cheek or blood. No nerves. No soul. Just a weird meat clone of you.

Some ethicists say it’s narcissistic. Others say it’s harmless. One guy on Reddit said it’s “the final form of veganism,” and I still haven’t emotionally recovered from that statement.

I mean, how do you explain that to your ancestors?
“Yes, nenek. I fasted during Ramadan and then broke it by pan-frying a cutlet of myself.”
God help us.

Let’s Talk Taste

Supposedly—it’s bland. Like chicken breast on a bad day. Which almost feels offensive. You’re telling me I taste like sadness and unseasoned white meat? At least let me be a smoky brisket or buttery ribeye if I’m going down this road.

Also, would eating yourself create some weird psychological loop? Like, would you become more… you? I don’t know. That feels like the kind of question that ends in a silent scream in the shower.

The Ethics? Let’s Not Pretend We’re That Consistent

We live in a world where people wear leather but freak out over fake meat. Where someone will eat octopus sashimi—a creature with the intelligence of a toddler—but draw the line at lab-grown pork because it “feels unnatural.”

So when it comes to eating yourself, maybe the real question is: Are we just bored? Are we so desperate to feel something, anything, that we’re now turning into our own menu items?

Would I Try It?

…I want to say no.
I want to be the morally sound, emotionally well-adjusted adult who says, “That’s disgusting and ethically murky, and I would never.”
But there’s this tiny goblin in my brain whispering:
“What if you’re delicious?”

And that’s when I knew—I can’t be trusted. And neither can humanity.

So yeah, welcome to 2025. Where we no longer fear robots taking over, but ourselves on a plate with aioli on the side.

Let that simmer in your brain tonight. And if you’re hungry? Maybe… just stick to noodles.