Saturday, December 12, 2009

We are what we eat?

Copy of Lorna There's a movement afoot to get people to be more interested in where their food comes from. That's one of the reasons I decided to grow some of my own and have shared my garden mishaps with my readers via blog posts. Overall, I think this is an excellent idea. (Both knowing where your food comes from, and people reading my blog posts.)

Hand bell Yesterday, we walked into our local Wegmans and were greeted by a young man with a bell, which did a very good job of drawing our attention right to him. It was one of those big hand bells like you see/hear with bell choirs, which are particularly visible about this time of year. The young man was standing bedside a set-up which usually holds fruits or vegetables, but he had a bed of ice and about ten pretty lively lobsters.

For weeks, Wegmans has been warning us they were going to sell lobster for $6.99, and this was the weekend for it. Actually, we'd gone to the store to buy a pound of cod, but there was that young man and his bell.

Live lobster Hubby inspected the lobster, and choose a pretty lively little guy. I walked away. Much as I want to know where my food comes from, I don't want to know it personally. The young man put Mr. Lobster into a plastic bag and into our cart. As we walked through the store, picking up a quart of milk, a yam, bread, etc., Mr. Lobster continued to flex his ... legs(?) and let us know that he was enjoying the ride.

Back home, we settled him on the bag of onions in the garage and went inside where it was above 15F. Sadly, that's the last I saw of Mr. Lobster until he was on my plate in pieces. Still, it looked enough like the little guy in our cart to fill me with tremendous guilt.

Okay, with the downturn in the economy, lobster men are really suffering. People aren't buying "luxury" items, and lobster is considered a luxury for most. So we were REALLY helping the economy of both Maine and Rochester by buying that lobster.

Meat case Point two: we're omnivores. We eat meat. I mentioned to Hubby that I felt guilty knowing we were going to kill and eat Mr. Lobster. He pointed out that he was the one who'd be doing the cooking, and swept his arm toward the meat counter and said, "Remember, this meat used to be cows, pigs, and chickens not too long ago. Now it's dinner."

Cooked lobster He was right. The thing is, I don't usually meet my dinner while it's still alive. (And, mind you, dipped in melted butter, Mr. Lobster was exquisite.)

So why do I still feel so guilty?

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