Someday, I’m going to be a vegetarian. I’m just not sure when.
See, I’m fussy, and there aren’t many foods I enjoy eating. So for now, I have to include chicken, beef, and pork in my diet, otherwise I would get the scurvy or whatever illness you get from lack of meat nutrients in your diet (my nutrition professor would be so proud of that statement!)
However, as an animal lover, I’m well aware of how hypocritical it is to love animals yet eat them. For now, I’d like to settle on eating ethically and humanely killed animals.
Seafood is a problematic category. Even little clams and mussels have to die slowly in order for me to eat them. (And scallops. Sweet, sweet scallops.)
Then there’s lobster.
Don’t get me wrong. Lobster is a tasty holiday delicacy (delicacy? all the fishermen’s kids were embarrassed to take lobster sandwiches to school back in the day!) Give me lobster dipped in garlic butter and nom, nom, nom.
No, my problem is not the taste of lobster.
It’s the cookin’ em part.
I have major issues with chucking a live creature into a boiling pot of water and cramming the lid on tight so it doesn’t flail out of the pot screaming, Murderer! Murderer!
Okay, so it doesn’t exactly happen like that.
The last time someone decided to give us lobsters, I realized I couldn’t cook them and eat them.
Being a good lobster Samaritan, I filled the pot with water and put in the two lobsters so they could go back to nature and be at one with the water again. Someone else could cook them.
Being this good Samaritan, I even went down to the basement to check on the water, to make sure they were doing all right.
But there was something wrong with the water. It looked kind of bubbly. And the lobsters, well, they looked kind of dead.
I poked at them, then jumped back, as if the lobsters were going to latch onto my fingers.
They were gonners. Time of death 11:03 PM.
Since they were dead, they had to be taken outside and buried (to keep away wild animals, of course.) You can’t cook an already dead lobster, so no one got to eat Snappy and Clawy.
I tried to save them, but in my noble rescue efforts, I forgot that lobsters come from salt water, not fresh water.
Putting lobsters in fresh water leads to the most painful kind of death for the little crustaceans.
One of my former co-workers found it uproarious to think that in saving the lobsters I actually tortured them to death. In fact, they probably would’ve been better off going into the pot. At least they would have had an honourable and tasty death.
After this experience, I’m even more aghast by the prospect of eating lobster. I’ll take my food pre-killed, thanks. That means no lobster for this chicky ever again.
RIP Snappy and Clawy.