blood is in the air

Recent reading: Ken Albala’s blood sausage and blood pie and Hank Shaw’s blood pasta.

I’ve been eating a lot of blood oranges as has my young daughter, who is less dainty about it and thus necessarily gives rise to jokes in my presence. I am looking forward to being home and having access to whole animals to eat again, with all their funny bits intact. It has been a question with me as to how much gore to show on this blog. While tact and good taste argue that perhaps one should avoid the impression of gratuitousness (so easily reached when the subject is gore), the counter argument is that taking apart animals, is, well, fascinating. Such a funny thing, how killing animals developed into a taboo. My father remembers the style in which his mother used to dispatch chickens, which to me sounds almost flamboyant—and which I am shy to post here. (And she was one of my more genteel ancestors—went to finishing school in Gulfport Mississippi during the Great Depression.) It was just something that was done.

Dunno. Nothing to fear from me for the moment. I am accidentally living part time in a vegetarian religious community and seem to get most of my protein from peanut butter between meals. There may be a post in me forthcoming, on peanut butter and rice cake subsistence.



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