Meat

November 26th, 2008 by Justine

After two days of sitting in meetings in London with groups of consultant surgeons my tolerance for viewing close up photographs of the insides of cancer-ridden uteruses (uteri?) has waned somewhat. I know, I find it surprising too. Consequently I seem to find myself gravitating towards the vegetable drawer in the fridge, rather than the splendidly-stocked meat shelf, at supper time. This worries me. Brighton has enough vegetarians. Carnivores are in the minority and need all the help they can get.

To this end I plan on a fine haggis for dinner tonight. It’s waiting plumply for the pot, the savoury, spicey minced offal fresh and snug in its glistening sheep stoma…oh god. Help me, sweet potatoes: you’re my only hope.

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Vaguely related: My grandmother’s response to my sister admitting to being a vegetarian some years back? “Oh, just have a little piece of the chicken, then. It’s just white meat.”. White meat being a vegetable, you understand, in the Yugoslavia of those times. Bless her.