Those of you who've read my Web Filters before (and actually have returned to the table for seconds of this slop) might have noticed that I like meat. It's true, I do. But today, I am not here to defend carnivores. In fact, I intend to take a hard look at how some meat-eaters, and eaters in general (that's all of us), physically justify and hone their eating habits so as to be more congruous to their lifestyles. So settle down, all you animal-rights activists, I'm not here to preach. I'm merely here to observe.
That disclaimer aside (for legal reasons, and for fear of my own mortality in the face of violent, angry vegetarians), let's get ready to rumble... uh... I mean, observe.
When I lived in Spain, it was typical for a family or a restaurant to have a "pata de jamon" (a leg of ham), from which slices of cured meat were cut and served along with fresh bread and cheese. Let me clarify: When I say "leg," I mean the whole package, Mister, as in the femur, tendons, and a hoof. It is from this hoof that the leg is hung when not in use, i.e. — being sliced, modeled, or used as decorative dinnerware.
This disgusts a lot of people out there (not the dinnerware thing, but the hoof and bone thing). It disgusts Americans. American food consumers don't like to know that what they're eating was once alive.
They flay it, remove the bones, and drain the blood, so that it looks as if it was made, as if it came off a conveyer belt in some Detroit factory, as opposed to off an animal. As far as most meat products go, the average child would never be able to point to it on the table and identify it as something that was once alive.
Maybe it's that we don't want to admit, or be reminded, thatwe're killers, or third-cousin accomplices to murder. Admit this, though: Going to the supermarket or the butcher is becoming less and less a
re-enactment of the hunt. And as we get farther away from our hunter-gatherer roots, we lose sight of our own capabilities for violence and animalism. Those capabilities are still there — they're probably hiding behind a tree or something — but for the time being, ignorance is bliss. Or at least, it's filling.
Keep in mind, of course, that this branches off into non-carnivorous matters. It's not only meat that's missing the skeleton, it's shrubbery too. Bags o' frozen corn ring a bell? Pitted prunes, anyone? They too are guilt-free and chock-full of civilization.
But maybe it has nothing to do with us being ashamed of our nature and everything to do efficiency. We don't have the time, nor do we want to make the time, to cut around that which we do not want, that which we will not eat. Who has time for bones when "Love Connection" starts in 2 and 2?
Daniel Weinshenker is an unabashed carnivore. E-mail him at [email protected]
