Carnivorism triggers great grocery debate

By RHONDA CHRISS LOKEMAN
MCCLATCHY NEWSPAPERS
The other day I got stopped by the Food Police. It happened in a most unlikely place -- my local grocer.
After weeks of chauffeuring very active children and committing to home-improvement projects, my husband and I finally found some down time.
It seemed like the perfect opportunity for a romantic dinner at home.
I dashed to the store to get some things to cook. Delighted to see a rack of lamb chops already frenched and packaged, I tossed them into my cart along with other things on my list.
I expected a quick grocery run. In and out, I told my guy. What I hadn't counted on was a dispute over lamb with the cashier, a new girl.
Vulgar noise
Pulling the meat over the scanner, she frowned and made a vulgar noise. She even held it up to take a closer look at the chops before sliding the package to the sacker.
"I wouldn't even know where to begin with that!" she said.
"What is it, lamb?" the young male sacker asked. Then he, too, held it up for a closer look.
I asked the young checker: "You mean you never had rack of lamb? It's delicious and not that hard to cook."
"No," she said. "I don't see how people can eat lamb."
Thinking "lamb" was being used generically for meat, I sensed she objected to carnivores. If so, what was she doing in a store where guys called butchers work?
"Do you wear leather?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Pleather."
"At least you're consistent," I said.
Though annoyed by her interruption and disgust, I kept mum. I looked at her hair streaked four different shades and probably with dye that was animal-tested.
As the sacker assembled my groceries, I had the sense that this encounter had gone on too long. The lamb was in the bag, yet the cashier and sacker kept debating it.
The line behind me swelled with people. A white-haired manager looked on, smiled and didn't intervene. Whatever became of good customer service? I grit my teeth and tried to smile. Call it the silence of the lamb chops.
But before the sacker could finish ringing me up so I could pay, she subjected me to yet another outburst.
"If you can't eat baby people, you shouldn't be able to eat baby animals," she said.
"Huh?" I thought.
I believe smoke came out of my ears, but I can't swear to it. Today, it's lamb. Tomorrow: Soylent Green? Fortunately, I had planned to buy my Thanksgiving turkey elsewhere. I felt my brain cells frying.
Every so often, someone says or does something that makes me want to reconsider my position on concealed carry. But if I'd had a little derringer in my purse that evening, I would have been late for dinner. Prison is a sure romance spoiler, and I was set on this dinner for two.
The hens I buy get plenty of exercise at local farms before finding their way to market. These birds aren't cramped in darkened coops, unable to breathe or move freely.
They eat organic. Therefore, so do we. Their brown eggs are packed in pink cardboard cartons with notes inside from farmers who update us about "the ladies."
Animal-friendly carnivore
I buy dolphin-safe tuna. I donate to a pet-centered store named for the resident fat cat in Mission, Kan. This small business advocates spaying and neutering of pets to keep unwanted litters from being destroyed. I'm as animal-friendly as a carnivore can be.
I watch what I feed my family, including meats. Heck, at nearly 50, I'm guessing I have more hormones in my bloodstream than in the steaks brought home.
I'm certain I have better manners than the newest recruit for Food Police. I've also better sense than to confront a stranger starved for romance and who might be packing.
Last week a Hong Kong couple outbid folks in France and Italy to pay 160,406 for a 3.3-pound Alba white truffle. Like lamb, it's an acquired taste, but at least that fungus aids a worthy cause. The auction proceeds benefit a Hong Kong charity for pregnant girls and adoptions.
My purchase was not so charitable. All I wanted was to eat my lamb chops in peace with, say, a little Chianti and some fava beans.
Maybe I should have gone with the tofu.
Rhonda Chriss Lokeman is a columnist for the Kansas City Star. Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.