Relationships with food

    "Tell me a story with animals..." "But without pity..." 

     As a child, I got lots of stories throughout the day, but before I would finally succumb to sleep I wanted one more,  one about animals, whose end would always be happy, where no animal would die or be hurt...

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    Adults are in the habit of telling their children how cute animals are, they teach kids to love them, to  caress them, to feed them, to protect them. And sometimes kids take it so seriously that animals become their best friends. But then a conflict develops when a child discovers that he or she has to eat the flesh of  friends. They are slaughtered, cut into pieces, and served as food, for sustenance and growth. I was told the story of a boy who received for his birthday a little lamb. He had to help with caring for the lamb and the boy did it passionately, transforming everything into play. So, he would play with the lamb most of the day. Easter came around and all of a sudden the lamb disappeared. By the time the boy was able to find out what had happened, the lamb was served on the table. He was so crushed that he would not eat at all. He probably did not eat any lamb ever since...

    I grew up eating all kinds of meat. It was the food that I was given. Sometime in December,  shortly before Christmas, the family pig was slaughtered; I was still in bed when I would hear the excruciating scream of the animal, and then silence, just the murmur of people who were over to help. The pig was roasted on a iron frame and by the time I was out in the yard, merely as a spectator, I would get the funny pig's tail seasoned with salt as a snack. By evening the whole body of the lively animal was transformed in food-like items: sausages, strips of meat for smoking, liver roll-- you name it... Finally, the army of helpers gathered at the dinner table-- an event usually called the feast of the dead pig-- for some polenta and fried pork. Squeezed in there, I had my portion.

    My paternal grandmother used to raise rabbits. So, I would have once in a while rabbit leg with fries. I liked to linger near the rodents' iron cages and stare for a while as they were eating their carrots. Silly me, one time I put my finger into a rabbit's mouth, wanting to see if they would treat my finger differently; I got an instant cut. My uncle came one time ready to slaughter one. From its cage, he carried the rabbit on his shoulder and came closer to me. The female rabbit was quiet and peaceful as my uncle was petting her soft back that the man became emotional and felt pity, not wanting to kill the creature anymore. But he did it eventually... And I had a leg...

    I was always fond of animals. Ferocious ones too. I even fancied that none would hurt me. I would look into their eyes, our souls would meet, and they would not be able to hurt me. As I started to mature I had a hard time coming to terms with loving the animals and then killing them. Even just for eating. The only solution seemed to not eat them at all. Then I came across things like vegetarianism,  or veganism which felt like a glove. There were years of experimenting with preparing plant-based foods, when I still  had my occasional meat bite. Eventually the taste for meat disappeared and I can sit at a table with a person having steak, and still find delight in my veggie bowl. From time to time, I throw into my veggie bowl a piece of fish. Somehow I am under the illusion that fish is not killed as cruely as a cow, or a sheep. As if dying by asphyxiation is a lighter thing. But I am still working on it. My relationships with food are in progress.

    My grandfather admonished me often because I had gotten rid of family traditions and culture. How come was I no longer part of the customary pig slaughtering and its feast? I was aware of the value of family traditions and culture, and the tension saddened me; however, I was in the process of building my own traditions. I became a bit notorious advocating for animals' well being. With less demand for meat in the family, my grandfather did not want to put up with raising a pig anymore, so he limited the livestock to chickens. When chicken soup was on the menu (not mine), I would see him in the morning severing the bird's neck with a knife like he would cut bread, with vigorous, repetitive, continuous, movements; I told him to kill them with one blow, so they will not suffer as much, at least...