Because we are so far removed from our food, we forget that our meat comes from live, moving animals with legs, fins, eyes, and mouths. How many of us would kill an animal for food, if we had to? Would we be able to look the cute, furry lamb in the eye, knowing that hours later he or she will end up on our plate in broiled cubes with mint and feta? Would you be able to pluck the feathers off the chicken before putting it in the oven?
These situations don't even require us to kill the animal - they simply requires us to come one step closer to the animal's state of being alive. A fried chicken leg has become something we eat out of a box, not the part used by the chicken to walk around the farm (that is, if it's lucky enough to be a free-roamer). Sometimes, it's not even referred to as a leg, but as a drumstick. We call meat steaks and filets, not muscle and flesh. We eat beef, not cows. Pork, not pigs. Poultry, not chicken. Seafood, not fish. Yet, that's what it is. We are eating cooked, dead animals.
So, I resisted the temptation to buy the boned and skinned fish. And even though the whole fish had its tail and head cut off, and it had already been gutted, it still looked like a fish - not the kind you eat on a plate, but the kind that wiggles around in the water with pulsating gills and glub-glub mouths. It looked frightening, unappetizing, and monstrous. I decided to be brave and get more intimate with my fish.
At first, I didn't want to use my fingers to rip open the plastic wrap on the Styrofoam tray. I held one end of the tray with a paper towel and tried to remove the wrapping with a fork. When that method quickly proved inefficient and clumsy, I was forced to use my fingers. I tried not to to be bothered by the feeling of the slippery scales against my skin. And after a few minutes, I discovered the scales weren't as slimy as I had thought them to be. It was cold and clammy, but not slimy - and surprisingly smooth. Then I had to put the fish in the sink to rinse it.
Although I was comfortable touching it here and there, I couldn't bring myself to grab it firmly with my hands. I awkwardly slid it off the tray into a colander on the sink. I was able to rinse one side of the fish without touching it. But flipping it over to its other side - well, I was just going to have to go in there grab it with two hands. So I did. No choice. You can't spear a fish with a regular eating fork, and you can't use salad tongs to grab it.
After covering it in olive oil and stuff it with herbs, then wrapping it tightly in foil, I was becoming less and less squeamish about the fish. I had to keep reminding myself it was just like the salmon filets I purchased at the store, except one or two steps of preparation back in time - closer to its state of being alive. Otherwise, there was no difference. It's a great exercise, if you ever have the opportunity to choose a whole fish over the fileted fish. And if you find you can't do it - well, then, you decide - should you really be eating it? (For the record, this was some of the best fish I've ever had. Cooked on the grill. Highly recommend it. It's inexpensive, feeds many, and will impress your friends.)
Now what did Mr. Sal do to deserve your disgust for
his looks, especially if you're going to enjoy his flesh?
(Photo courtesy of Denise Chan, Flickr Creative Commons)
