Early yesterday morning Earl and a couple buddies went fishing in Lake Michigan. He arrived home mid-afternoon with three fish as the result of his efforts, so of course we had one for dinner.
It reminded me of the time a couple years ago that we ordered fresh lobsters from Maine. When they arrived we proceeded to not only let them crawl around the kitchen floor but also to name them before dropping them into a large pot filled with boiling water. Louie and Lilly Lobster went to their final reward, while I pushed back feelings of guilt as we dined on them. That experience taught me never to get personal with my food.
By the time Earl came home yesterday, the fish had already been filleted, so I didn’t have any attachment to them as living, breathing (as much as fish breathe) creatures. But I did think of Louie and Lilly as I prepared our salmon and decided that when I want fresh lobster in the future, I’ll order it in a restaurant and let the chef send it to its watery grave.
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