Anyone for Cricket?

The other night I watched with disgust as a man on the television cooked up some unpalatable gourmet creations for his dinner guests. Cricket on a stick, fried scorpions obviously without the sting in the tail – and various other little creatures who would normally be swished at with a large stick if they came anywhere near a dinner plate.

If reincarnation is reality which I believe it to be it seemed strange to me that the people who were consuming these doomed arachnids, and insects looked like human versions of these creatures. Obviously they the humans were wearing fair-isle jumpers, and had spectacles on, but it was just something about their body language, the way that they sat with their elbows tucked into their sides nibbling said food held in their pincers (sorry hands).

What I find even more bizarre than the fact that anyone would want to eat insects is the fact that they commented that they tasted of chicken. My immediate response why don’t you just eat chicken then? Why pay extortionate amounts of money to have grasshoppers captured, frozen, and shipped halfway across the world if they taste like a chicken that you could buy at your local supermarket for a lot less money, and a lot more meat.

Whilst I digested this thought, another one occurred to me, which was if people are always saying of various gastronomic delicacies that they taste like chicken, how did the first person describe the taste of chicken?

Speaking of chicken a rather unusual topic of discussion for a vegetarian ‘s I want to share with you what I believe to be rather disturbing behaviour. A good friend of mine came back recently from down south England and laughed about how a woman that she had befriended kept chickens. Nothing strange there. This woman also named her chickens. A touch eccentric, but not eccentric enough to be incarcerated deep in the bowels of some lunatic asylum.

I’ll freely admit to being on the squeamish side just thinking about this woman breaking these chickens necks, plucking them, and generally readying them for her plate. But I can cope with that. What I find beyond strange is the fact that she labels the carcasses so that she knows who is coq au vin, and who is kiev. I’m thinking KFC meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

I don’t want anyone to think that I am a full-on hob-nail-booted vegetarian, but I think this is the height of cruelty. Naming chickens gives them the impression that they have been welcomed into the family unit that they have a place within society other than that of staple diet of people who wish to forego crunching their way through a southern fried grasshopper. If you’re going to name your chicken you should be prevented from killing them. I’m seriously considering writing to my local MP about this one, and also seeking help for my obvious overwhelming compassion for chickens.