I get squeamish about meat.
I eat it, but I leave cooking, rubbing, deboning, filleting, to others.
I prefer to avoid talking about from whence the meat on my plate came. I don’t mind when I am not eating giving proper credit, but please let me eat in peace.
Craig made some fine barbecue ribs this weekend.
As I started to savour, “Is this pig?”
Yes, no, maybe it’s cow.
COW!!!! Did we die it?
Yes. Well the butcher killed it.
DID THEY CUT THE HEAD OFF?
How? With a knife?
With a big knife!
No sacred cows in this family!