Crunchy.
Peppery.
Then as my teeth break through the waves of crispy golden breading and penetrate the layers of white flesh, a juicy moistness abounds.
Chicken.
Pollo. Poulet. Gallina. Frango.
My eyelids lay down flat as my mouth moves up and down. I breathe in and out, in and out, deeply through my nose. The juices run over the small raised bumps on my tongue and slide down the hill of my throat.
This tastes good, I think to myself.
As I chew, I hold the chicken strip in my hand and bring it near my eyes. I want to inspect it. I want to examine its insides. I roll the strip around so that I can see what lies in the middle of all that breading. The strings of white meat pile on top of each other–the fabric of what was once a living chicken.
So yes, I think about that chicken, that chicken who I’m sure had a great personality but was ruined by the destitute life of small cages, never ending pecking and chopped off beaks.
Yes, I think about this.
But I also keep on eating.
It tastes good, I don’t deny that to myself. But the deeper I breathe in through my nose in order to fully extract every individual flavor, I realize how absolutely strange this piece of meat tastes. I am distracted and somewhat grossed out by this.
My hand, holding another strip, plummets down from my mouth, away from my teeth.
And into the small cup of watery white gravy.
“What is in gravy?” I ask my boyfriend, who was rather excited to buy his vegetarian girlfriend her first meat in two years.
My third and final strip sits in the orange and white striped box. I see the greasy wrapper underneath it. It looks so alone there in that big box. I take it out, rip off a little piece and eat it with some ketchup. I give the rest to the boyfriend.
So what got into me? What made me decide to eat a meal of meat after two rather easy and well-enjoyed years of tofu, veggie burgers and vegan cream cheese?
I don’t really know.
Maybe I wanted to see if I missed meat. Maybe I thought it would taste like the most delicious food item that I have ever digested. Well, after eating my $5.29 chicken strip basket, commonly known as Whataburger’s #6, I don’t miss it. And though it tasted good, those breaded and fried strips of chicken do not even compare to Magnolia Cafe’s veggie ruben.
So on this first day of the rest of my life, I pick up where I left off and improve further upon that. As time goes by and little in front of me is certain, my belief in abstaining from eating meat and animal products shall remain a constant.
1 Comment
May 26, 2008 at 12:15 am
What sparked this adventure? and why was whataburger the choice for deviating from all things vegan? haha.