at a wedding bash last saturday, mr. monkey dished himself up a hefty helping of bigos, which, as everyone knows,* comprises cabbage, sauerkraut and various multitudinous kinds of meat. it is waaaay better than it looks or sounds, and in some sort of alcohol-fueled madness i got him to get the big meat chunks out of the way and feed it to me. it was good. it was, in fact, so goddamn delicious, that we spent what felt like the next several hours standing by the food table dishing out more and eating it. there were bits of meat in my mouth and i didn't mind. worse, i kind of liked it.
yesterday we stopped for the night in the fraser valley and went to dinner at earl's. i had the salmon and mister monkey had the steak. in a wholly experimental mood, i asked for a small bite. i ate it with a great degree of pleasure and satisfaction. the second bite evoked a similar reaction. guilt? nope. given the fact that i routinely consume sea creatures great and small, i figure guilt at this point would be nothing but an exercise in self indulgent hypocrisy.
my dearest poultries, i hope i'm not lying to myself too badly when i say that i was never a preachy kind of lacto-ovo-pesco vegetarian. if i was, i apologize; i do believe that what one eats is a matter of personal choice. i think i always admitted that all those loopholes in my vegetarianism were a matter of deliciousness far more than philosophy.
so, am i going to start randomly shooting passing cattle so that i can gorge on their still steaming entrails? no, i think not. but i think it increasingly likely that if i find a nice humane free range antibiotic-free grass-fed butchery, i might indulge in the flesh of dead things from time to time. suddenly my gastronomic horizons seem that much wider. bacon, anyone?