Or alternatively: "How I learned to stop worrying and love stomach cancer".
The food industry is spinning wildly out of control, like a dreidel caught in a blender set to "frappe" whilst being sucked into a black hole...and for once, that's not one of my over-the-top exasperating uses of hyperbole.
25 years ago I had no problem eating meat. I'm a natural-born carnivore, from a long line of proud hunter-gatherers who liked their steak rare and bloody and sucked the marrow from the bone with a satisfying "Snnnerrrkkk!" They would cover themselves in bacon fat (for soft, supple skin) and dance naked in the moonlight 'round a roasting pig on a spit, before engaging in wild sexual acts whilst coated in A-1. I remember when I was just a wee lad, barely old enough to be allowed at the adults table, but listening to the stories and laughter as the grownups spoke with haughty indignation at the thought of the vegetarian, tree-hugging Earth-buddies who would roam the airports in the days before Homeland Security, chanting "Meat is murder...Don't eat things with faces...You are what you eat, moo, moo!" I remember the joys we all felt on Sunday after church, running down some patchouli-scented flower-sucker with our gas-guzzling Chrysler LeBehemoth, before heading home to a Sunday lunch of fried chicken, roast beast and about 32 Lbs of pork in various cuts accenting the table like decorative angles' wings. We scoffed at heart attacks, and diabetes had yet to be invented.
Personally, I like my steaks to arrive at my table with a 50-50 chance of pulling through. I want them so rare and bloody, I can actually taste the death. I want to experience the last few seconds of this poor bovines' life replayed for me as I sink my fangs into its' soft, inviting flesh. If it was hit by a car, I want to be able to identify make, model, and possibly the paint job of the car what done the deed.
Like Leo Sayer sang in All By Myself, "Those days are gone."
Nowadays, shopping in a supermarket without a butcher station is like Russian roulette. I get angry every time I go to the meat aisle. Everything has high fructose corn syrup, fillers, and colors that are obviously fake. The thought goes through my head more often than ever now; "Will I get sick today or be ok?" The meat used to be hay and grass fed with very few hormones. Now it taste different and my body doesn't have a good reaction to it half the time. It doesn't matter where I get whether it is a supermarket, fast food place (to which I rarely go), or fine dining. The selection is dropping fast. Nothing but garbage.
How many of you out there know what meat glue is? I just discovered it, and I shudder to think about how often I may have ingested it without knowing. For those of you wondering what I'm talking about, check out this little gem:
B-B-B-B-But wait, it gets worse!!
How many of you out there in Bloggerland know about meat that's treated with CARBON-MONOXIDE to keep it red and "fresh looking"? Hold on to your butts, kiddies, the Curry Thief isn't done with you yet!
Okay...I'm ready to vomit now.
My new habit is to shop at supermarkets that have an in-house butcher shop, and investigate where the hell places like Sams' Club get their frozen chicken from. Call me paranoid, that's fine...I'll be laughing from the outside of the bathroom door.