|
When the other day I was about to sear my steak, a midge dropped in the sizzling fat, although I admit that it was me who had caused it to. An instant hissing sound erupted and the midge, foaming like a canapé, started swelling the way chips do when they hit the boiling oil, which texture-wise may have conferred a certain crunchiness on it. I can hardly describe what went through me. It's not that I would wish to make mountains out of molehills, but with everything we know about what is shoved in the pan or in one's mouth while still very much alive, or what is chopped off (or is this not the right moment for us to consider the free will of frog's legs, having barely got over the shock of having to admit that fish have feelings too?) or stuffed, or of animals that have been exterminated in more straightforward ways, in recent times without even reaching our plates, the misery of individual revulsion irrevocably comes to the fore. And so I welcome the diversion offered by the drama of immense (as in massive) suffering. In this context a knocked-out elephant would easily beat a dove squashed by traffic. And then there is the "cute" factor, as a guarantee of not stumbling upon either dogs or cats on the menu throughout the civilised West, even though dishing out fried maggots in the context of a balanced education - now where did I read about this? - should not be overlooked as a disturbing factor. Clearly there are limits. And so I hardheartedly retrieved the midge and dropped my steak in the pan instead. |