Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Not Vegan Yet
"What's for dinner, mom?"
Max awoke hungry from a long, fever-induced nap at 8:30 Saturday evening. I pulled the leftovers out of the refrigerator.
"Chicken, tortellini with pesto, corn on the cob and broccoli."
"Is it a real chicken?"
"Yes, honey."
"You mean it's a real chicken?"
"Yep."
"Really?! A chicken, the farm animal, you know, the kind that Boo likes?!"
There was a long pause as Max ruminated.
When the boys have raised questions about the origins of food, our conversation has resembled the following:
Dad orders a steak.
Boy: What's a steak?
Dad: It's meat.
Boy: Is it chicken?
Dad: No, it's beef. Beef comes from cows.
Mom orders a porkchop.
Boy: A forkchop? Does it come from forks?
Mom: A Porkchop. It comes from pigs.
Boy: And ham comes from a hamster.
Mom: Thankfully, no. It comes from pigs, too.
Boy: What's a hotdog?
Mom: A hotdog is.....ummmm.....honey, why don't you order the cheese sticks instead? And then you can have ice cream for dessert.
For children--and perhaps for any of us who think on it long enough--the idea that what's for dinner was recently Wilbur or Bambi or Elsie is not so easily digested. I recently heard that most kids go through a stage where they reject any food that used to have a face. Sometimes that stage lasts a lifetime. So on Saturday evening, I braced for Max's repulsed response, recalling favorite vegetarian entrees as I waited.
"COOL!!!! Boo, did you know we're eating a Real Live Chicken?! Only it's Dead?! With No Feathers?!"
I guess the spinach cannelloni can wait another week.
Max awoke hungry from a long, fever-induced nap at 8:30 Saturday evening. I pulled the leftovers out of the refrigerator.
"Chicken, tortellini with pesto, corn on the cob and broccoli."
"Is it a real chicken?"
"Yes, honey."
"You mean it's a real chicken?"
"Yep."
"Really?! A chicken, the farm animal, you know, the kind that Boo likes?!"
There was a long pause as Max ruminated.
When the boys have raised questions about the origins of food, our conversation has resembled the following:
Dad orders a steak.
Boy: What's a steak?
Dad: It's meat.
Boy: Is it chicken?
Dad: No, it's beef. Beef comes from cows.
Mom orders a porkchop.
Boy: A forkchop? Does it come from forks?
Mom: A Porkchop. It comes from pigs.
Boy: And ham comes from a hamster.
Mom: Thankfully, no. It comes from pigs, too.
Boy: What's a hotdog?
Mom: A hotdog is.....ummmm.....honey, why don't you order the cheese sticks instead? And then you can have ice cream for dessert.
For children--and perhaps for any of us who think on it long enough--the idea that what's for dinner was recently Wilbur or Bambi or Elsie is not so easily digested. I recently heard that most kids go through a stage where they reject any food that used to have a face. Sometimes that stage lasts a lifetime. So on Saturday evening, I braced for Max's repulsed response, recalling favorite vegetarian entrees as I waited.
"COOL!!!! Boo, did you know we're eating a Real Live Chicken?! Only it's Dead?! With No Feathers?!"
I guess the spinach cannelloni can wait another week.
1 Comments:
Kimberly has found a farm an hour from Seattle where we could take the boys to buy a real life chicken and then have it plucked. But that really might turn them into a vegan. I do remember that my grandmother used to kill chickens by wringing their necks; then they would run around headless. (More than you wanted to know about small town life last century!.) babee
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