Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Delicacies

On New Year's Eve, I ate my first rabbit. Having owned and loved a bunny (Scottie!), it just seemed wrong.

But at dinner in the mountains of Morocco that night, my options were rabbit or anaphylactic shock.

I think I chose well.

The thing is, though, that I still feel a little dirty about it. (Scottie!) But people eat rabbit on the regular. It's not even exotic. I don't hesitate to order duck or quail or lamb. Yet memories of snuggling caramel fluff back when boys wouldn't kiss me in spin-the-bottle cloud my better judgment.

You will not get me to eat snail or frog; only last year did I accept oysters as an actual food. Clearly, my feelings towards what's edible aren't to be trusted. But other people, grown-up people, people with duller gag reflexes eat just about anything on a menu.

And so we enter the bushmeat arena. (My good friend Wikipedia will fill you in:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bushmeat#Hunting).

I'm not going to go into the ethical particulars of bushmeat but conservationists want the hunted species to, um, live, while the hunters and sellers want to, um, make a living.

Personally, I can't make a meal of smoked primate arm but I invite those of you with more sophisticated palates to school me.  

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