I want to talk about meals.
More specifically, I want to discuss the intricacies of a meal, the
preparation that goes into it, and the people that gather to share it with one
another. This concept is demonstrated beautifully by Anthony Bourdain in
his book A Cook’s Tour.
In his
chapter “Where Food Comes From,” he tells us about his first pig slaughter in
Portugal. I read this at first in awe with the detail in which Bourdain
described the event, but then I realized that I was also struck by all of the
people in attendance. There was “José’s
brother Francisco, his other brother, also Francisco… his mother, father,
assorted other relatives, farmhands, women and children” (20), all there to
watch the killing of a pig that would later turn into their meal. They know exactly where this pig has been,
how it’s been raised, and how it has been killed. How many of us (U.S. Americans) can say the
same? Here our pork comes from factories
where hundreds of pigs are slaughtered each day, gift-wrapped, and sent out in
perfect little bundles to our doorstep.
Compare this with the scene Bourdain describes. One pig is being killed by three men instead of
ten or twenty pigs being gassed to death with no one around. What does this disconnect between the meat
that ends up in our grocery stores and the pigs it came from mean for our own personal
relationships with food?
The meal Bourdain later describes
has even more people than the slaughter did.
And they keep on arriving, helping to prepare for this huge meal that
everyone can enjoy. Bourdain sees “thirty
assorted family members, friends, farmhands, and neighbors crowded into the
stone-walled room. Every few minutes, as
if summoned by some telepathic signal, others arrived: the family priest, the
mayor of the town, children, many bearing more food-- pastries, aguardiente (brandy), loaves of … Portuguese
bread” (26). I find myself jealous of
this entire ordeal! How connected it
must feel, contributing to a meal and sitting down to share it. I fear that this amount of work would never
happen in the states, and also would be considered a waste of “our valuable
time.” I think the irony of this for me
is the sheer amount of the pig that is consumed. Almost nothing goes to waste! Each part of the pig is honored, and I can’t
help but imagine how much food is wasted in the U.S. with our ‘efficient’
pig-slaughtering factories.
At the end of the chapter, Bourdain
says, “I’d seen an animal die. It
changed me. I didn’t feel good about
it. It was, in fact, unpleasant in the
extreme. I felt guilty, a little bit ashamed. I felt bad for that pig, imagining his panic,
pain, and fear. But he’d tasted
delicious. We’d wasted maybe eight
ounces of his total weight” (28). I
cannot help but wonder, if this is his reaction (as would probably be many U.S.
Americans’ reactions) to one pig being killed, what would his reaction be to a
tour of one of our pig factories?
McKenna, I think you raise some important points. It isn't right that we choose blissful ignorance over difficult truth in our culture. At the same time it makes me think that constant exposure to this sort of thing may desensitize us and may further objectify the lives of the animals. It's a complex issue and an important one to consider. I'm glad you brought it up.
ReplyDeleteMcKenna, you brought up some very important insights to the beginning of Bourdain's book. I especially liked how you questioned "What does this disconnect between the meat that ends up in our grocery stores and the pigs it came from mean for our own personal relationships with food?" This chapter disturbed me in that I began to think about how, as Americans, we really don't know much about the food that we eat. Although this chapter about the killing of the pig made my stomach hurt, it also allowed us to know exactly what people were eating. What is actually worse, watching the killing of a pig, or having no idea what you are really eating?
ReplyDelete