Sometimes, when I’m sitting in a five star restaurant cutting my filet mignon with a steak knife, fork perched delicately in my left hand, cloth napkin folded neatly across my lap (yes, I am in this situation more often than you might think), I suddenly feel outrageously silly.
That is not how animals eat. Animals (and we are, undeniably, animals – ask Darwin, or my ninth grade biology textbook) stalk their prey, pounce on it, and tear at it savagely with sharpened claws, biting voraciously at the raw flesh until their jowls drip with blood and guts. At least, the carnivores do, according to Planet Earth.
Tigers don’ t wipe their paws with sanitary napkins after finishing off gazelle liver. Lions don’t wait till they have finished chewing and swallowing to ask their cohorts to pass the salt. They don’t even know what salt is.
Of course, broaching this subject opens up a whole other can of worms… Why do we go to restaurants at all? Why don’t we forage for our own sustenance? Why do we go to school? Why do we wear clothes?
No, I’m not a nudist. But if you are, more power to you.
Anyways, I’m going to go catch a fish with my bare hands in the Puget Sound and eat it raw in front of everyone at Pike Place Market. I suggest you do the same.