Chicago lawmakers recently welcomed restaurateurs to their city for the National Restaurant Association’s annual trade show with excellent news. The City Council lifted the two-year-old ban on foie gras.
This lifted law on fattened goose and duck livers—an item that has been enjoyed for thousands of years, dating as far back as the ancient Egyptians—seems like no big deal since it’s just one city, and foie gras is mostly consumed by a small percentage of gourmand diners. But the bigger issue, the government’s control of food consumption in restaurants, is more frightening. Where do such laws stop? How far will government try to control dietary matters? The next thing we know, nonfree-range chickens and all veal could be prohibited due to “inhumane” treatment.
According to my computer’s dictionary, “inhumane” means “lacking compassion and causing excessive suffering.” I’ve met a lot of farmers through my job, and none of them seem cruel. In fact most seem like very down-to-earth people I’d like for friends.
Also, compared to living in the wild, most animals raised on farms are lucky in many ways. As my colleague, NRN’s food editor, Bret Thorn, reminded me, from the moment wild animals are born they are in danger, needing to find food and shelter in order to survive. It’s a matter of “eat, or be eaten” in the real world.
“As soon as they lose their edge,” he added, “they may be killed—torn apart by another animal.”
What do farmers offer? Well, there’s security from wild predators and free food. They are sort of parenting their livestock, depending on how you think about it, and like parents, most farmers seek functional, non-stressful environments for their young.
In the case of ranchers, it’s good for business. Excess stress could make animals ill and perhaps kill them.
After all, it’s food, to be brutally honest. Wake up and smell the beef broth: Animals are raised to be consumed by humans.
“Animals on farms are not treated humanely,” some people say. But many of those critics have never visited farms where calves are raised for veal. I have. I’ve also visited chicken, goose and dairy farms. All were lovely places where I’d love to spend more time.
Just this morning while reading, “Things Fall Apart,” by Chinua Achebe, I remembered how lucky we are to be living in the United States.
In the novel, set in modern-day Nigeria, villagers celebrated the coming of locusts. Why? Because they were a lovely alterative to a boring diet of little protein and a ton of yams.
My neighbors cringe when I suggest eating the Canada geese that flock to a pond in the center of our town rather than waste our tax dollars on “Goose Police,” well-trained Border Collies that chase the birds off our park lawns. The canines also disturb eggs so the chicks are stillborn after a tricked momma goose sits on the eggs for a full term. Now that’s nice isn’t it?
Give me a break.
Everyone who’s got a pulse knows food prices are rising faster than a pea tendril grows during rainy spring season. Some could stop bellyaching and start eating more of the wild foods that nature provides. We could enjoy those deer killed by cars in suburbia. Seriously—they’re fresh. Most that I come across are so recently killed that the buzzards have yet to peck at them.
And when those buzzards and other scavengers come to eat the leftovers we cast aside, why not kill them too? Hey, they’re edible.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been justly accused of spoiling my dog more than some fawn over their kids. In fact as a kid I wanted to be veterinarian because I loved animals so much.
But people, especially chefs, can adore animals and still face the fact that animals are raised for slaughter. So as long as the animals aren’t abused, there’s no need for government to butt their noses where they don’t belong.