Food Ethic Essay

Raimy Sporl
Humanities III

Can’t See It? Don’t Eat It.

Raimy Sporl

A non picky eating child seems like some sort of fansty for most parents. Imagine a kid
that will scarf down broccoli, greens, or any food you happen to put in front of them. Sounds like
a unicorn fairy tale, right? Well I can say that I was one of these types of kids, eating whatever
and whenever I had the chance without complaining or having a rather picky senseability. I
enjoyed foods ranging from the most savory stakes to sweet cotton candy, food was one of my
best friends and I always saw it as a comfort. Coming from a family of extremely picky and bland
eaters, it was not a strange occurrence to hear my sister crying from the back seat about how
much she hated anything with seasoning or when my father would throw out an entire plate of
food if he saw one speck of pepper in his meal. However, I on the other hand, would never peep
a single complaint about where or what we were having for dinner. I loved seasoning and foods
that had flavor...but my dad, brother and sister were quite the opposite. A normal dinner in my
household usually consisted of the same foods: plain boiled potatoes, plain rice or buttered
noodles, unseasoned fried ham or sausage, and maybe a bit of frozen corn or peas to add color
to the plate. With bland meals like this every night, the spice cabinet in our kitchen soon became
my favorite place to root around. While my siblings chomped down on the tasteless potatoes,
they would watch me dump at least five different powders and spices on mine. To them it must
have seemed disgusting to see me eat something that had so many black flecks in it, but to my
child self (and even my current self) it was a masterpiece of flavor. Although I was the only child
in my household that enjoyed a variety of foods, my mother was also one to enjoy a good chunk
of onion in stew or the smell of grilling fajitas in the kitchen.
It became a treat for me to cook with my mom, some days she would even let me stay
home from school just so we could make a delicious meal all day together. My favorite was
always the beef and veggie stew. We would always wait until the perfect, crisp, winter day to
bust out the ubseenly large pot and get cooking away. As well as chopping onions and carrots,
another common occurrence in this process was dealing with my father. He would come
barrelling down the stair, complaining about the “stench” that filled the house. To him, the smells
of delicious, flower covered beef and broth bubbling was absolutely disgusting. The complaints
and the whining about seasoned food in my house were constant, all of which wore my mom’s
poor heart down to nothing. However, what stopped her from giving up cooking entirely was her
food loving middle child...which happened to be me. It was an act of self care for herself to have
me by her side cooking away, it even became an inside joke between us about how funny it was
when the rest of the family gagged at the smell and sight of what we thought was amazing food.
When it came to eating out in restaurants this is where the hypocrisy of my dad really
came out. While he hated my mom’s home cooked food (anything that wasn’t drowning in
ketchup or wasn’t bland as water), he would eat an entire plate of mexican food claiming it was
absolutely delicious. Indeed it was delicious, but what was the difference between these beef
fajitas and the ones my mom made at home? Absolutely nothing, except the fact that my dad
could not see how it was made. He didn’t watch the chefs add the black specks of pepper he
hated so much, he didn’t smell the boiling broth or see the chunks of onion being added, he was
simply served the final product. Putting aside the fact that my mother and father have always
have a strenuous relationship, this was a big factor of conflict between the two. This is also the
reason my mom loves cooking food with me and for me, because even when I see the process
it is still good food. Although this might be pushing comparisons too far, I see a similarity
between my father’s actions and the actions of most Americans. We consume and buy products
in supermarkets without a second thought to how, where, and when they were created or
processed. Just like my father, Americans look more towards the instant gratification rather than
studying the steps leading up to that said gratification. If we took a step back and watched how
our McDonald’s burger was created, the feedlots in India to the processing factories in America,
it would definitely gross us out just like how my dad is grossed out when he sees my mom
shaking garlic powder in the pasta sauce -not to say slaughtering thousands of abused cows
and adding a seasoning to a meal are the same in any manner. It all comes down to the
ignorance of American citizens, mindless shoving food that has toxins and an immoral weight
down their throats. Ignorance is not the same as stupidity, and I often see people switching
between the two as if they are the same. Stupidity is performing behavior that shows a lack of
good sense or judgment, or being unintelligent. However, ignorance on the other hand happens
when someone does not know the knowledge, fact, or situational information about something.
As in, if I did not know anything about african lions, yet I continuously spouted untrue facts
about them as if I did know, that would be ignorance. Ignorance can also be without spouting
untrue facts, however. I see ignorance in Americans simply for the fact they are not looking into
how their food is made, they aren’t stupid, they just don’t know what goes on behind the scenes
of a food factory. Almost as if there is a blindfold over American citizens, one that may be there
in ignorance or may be there as a comfort.
Comfort; a state of being at peace and safety, at least for me most of the time. When I
say the blind fold of comfort that some Americans put on, I mean ignoring what goes on behind
the scenes. I myself will admit I am one of these Americans. I still love fast food, don’t get me
wrong I love a cheese burger now and then, but I always find my mind wondering to the horrors
behind the meat I am so happily eating. After finishing and writing my last essay for the
Omnivore's Dilemma, I couldn’t bring myself to eat my burger. At one point in my life, those
burgers were one of my favorite treats after work. I normally don’t eat much food for lunch, or
much food at all, so after seven hours of school and five hours of work, a Big Mac seems
extremely appealing. I would clock out at Baskin Robins and my stomach would clock into
McDonald’s. It is always late a night and the neon glow radiating from the ‘M’ casts a strange
lighting over the corner. A few cars lined up in the drive-thru, looking like elephants following the
strongest to the next watering hole; but instead of being lead to a glimmer pool of musk brown
water, they are simply going to a ingest a red bucket of fried potatoes in their vehicles. I used to
think that feedlots and such in other countries were a good thing, not the pollution and animal
treatment side, but the human side. Those feedlots and monofarms supply thousands of jobs to
people who otherwise would have nothing; however, after learning that there is more than one
way of farming, I realized that there could still be these jobs for these thridworld country people,
but the type of farming is what needed to be changed. Americans are blind, but blind by their
own choice. I know that there is killing, I know that farm animals live some of the worst lives they
possibly could, I know about the shrinking local farms, I know all of this! Like a plague in my
mind, yet I continue to munch down at KFC whenever I get the chance. This is why I say the
blindfold can either be from pure ignorance, or for comfort; because thinking about the crowded,
muddied cows staring forward not being able to comprehend the beauty of life for they have
never seen goodness, makes me want to vomit my burger straight back up.
Some might ask me to stop complaining about the treatment of animals, especially while
I have a hamburger in one hand and a cup of chicken nuggets in the other; but there is a reason
as to why I can’t give up eating meat. For starters, I love meat, pork and shrimp are two of my
favorite foods - and the truth is, there is not a problem with that. I am a human, an OMNIVORE,
meaning I eat anything from herbs and greens to blood and meat. I do not put judgement on
vegans or vegetarians, I actually look up to them. They can stand for what is right and change
the world one step at a time… right? That brings us to the second reason I can’t stop eating
meat, it makes me feel small in the world. Even if I stop buying and eating meat, it will never
stop the constant flow of the industry’s metaphorical river. It discourages me to think this
pessimistic thinking is the demise of my many attempts to become vegetarian. However, I have
been able to change a small portion of my Americanized habits in order to have and follow a
strong food ethic and moral. This is where my food ethic comes into play, it isn’t anything
extravagant or completely life altering, but it is important to me. My biggest issue with the
modern food industry is the mistreatment of farm animals. There is nothing different about a dog
compared to a pig, but we still treat them different because one gives us friendship and one
gives us food. Humans are greedy and use outside “resources” to only get exactly what they
need; yet, there is a need to do this in some sorts, however, that is no excuse to shove a bunch
of herbivores in a tank and feed them something they aren’t meant to eat. Although I couldn’t
bring myself to stop eating meat, for I shouldn’t have to, I have chose to only eat “happy meat”,
i.e meat that was raised well and had a good life. The beef from James Ranch is happy meat to
me, I know those cows had a normal life and were killed in a humane way. I now refuse meat
from fast food places, I have removed my blindfolded and now embrace the fear of the
background slaughter that is McDonald’s. I make sure that I only buy cage free eggs (even
thought that really isn’t a difference because corporations are evil). Just before writing out this
ethic, my friend Susan had opened my eyes to a new word, a new word that was more powerful
and uplifting to me than vegetarian: flexitarian. It means I only eat meat occasionally and do not
really have it in my everyday life. It makes me feel more comfortable in my eating habits
knowing that I’m “allowed” to eat foods I like, while also trying my best to stop meat in my life.
That word has replaced my blindfold and become my comfort. I no longer have to turn a blind
eye from the slaughter that haunts me ever so, but can simply live my life knowing that I am at
least trying to make a change.