A fitting parable for our time, from Hardscrabble Farmer at theburningplatform.com:
I spent the entire day yesterday slaughtering chickens. It isn’t my favorite job, but if you want to eat chicken, that’s what has to happen. When you do enough of them you start to see things in a way you never could if your entire life is spent ordering your chicken from a drive trough or buying it wrapped in plastic at the supermarket. You may have a vague idea of the parts, but you don’t really know how the animal is constructed, what the dying process is like, where all the systems fit together inside the bird and how to disassemble them in order to turn it into a meal.
At the end of the day after everything has been cleaned up I render down the fat from around the gizzard- the orange colored stuff that turns into the most beautiful cooking oil- and then I dredge some of the livers in flour, salt and pepper and then fry them until they’re golden brown and eat a good pound or more at a sitting. There aren’t many things that taste as good, or satisfy as deeply as a meal that has been part of your daily life for as long as it has been alive- the same animal that you have fed and watered, kept warm when it was small, and watched over as it grew, and finally slaughtered, butchered and cooked for your own consumption.