A Chicken Conundrum

Today, for the first time I faced the omnivore's dilemma.

I've been reading Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals for several months now. It's a good, informative read, but like most diets I recommend reading it in small, moderated bites with other fodder to distract you. Lest, of course, you want to run away screaming from the "civilized" food industry that we are inextricably, undeniably and sadly chained to.

A journalist by trade, Pollan reports on his experiences in understanding exactly what goes into creating four distinct meals: a super-sized meal at McDonald's, an organic family feast, a grass-fed, locally grown dinner, and a meal that draws on our ancestors' practices of hunting and gathering. With this thesis in mind, Pollan's food adventures take him from a corn field in Iowa, to an organic production line in California, to a grass-fed farm in Virginia and lastly to a foraging expedition in the backwoods of his hometown. I will save you from the details of his discoveries, but I will say I have never been more confounded and challenged by the politics, morals, perils and pleasures of the food we consume.

I am yet to complete the book and after this morning's reading, I'm wondering if I can get through the last few chapters.

As I sat on the E train on my way to work, I decided to get the fluids in the brain churning and pulled out my book. The passage I opened up to discussed egg production.

I won't say I'm a regular egg-eater (when you've seen the fight against heart disease first hand, you try to stay away), but this morning I awoke to a rather empty tummy and was looking forward to my cafeteria-made egg-white omelette with spinach and mushrooms.

To say the least, it changed me. Sometimes, as irresponsible as it is, ignorance is bliss.

Conflicted by my new knowledge, my walk from the trains to the office was escorted by two chickens who sat atop each of my shoulders. As they came into view, I'm sure I heard the little trilling sound that Hanna-Barbera used to announce the Great Gazoo's presence to Fred.

On one shoulder, perched a clean, very white hen with a little halo atop her tiny head who in a cooing tone coaxed me to enjoy the omelette I was so looking forward to. On the other shoulder, sat a ... well, I won't describe the image my imagination conjured up, but I will say it wasn't pleasant. This one didn't say anything; her presence spoke volumes.

After I settled in to my workday, I was good and ready for breakfast. I began to make my way to the cafeteria when (cue trilling sound) my two new chicken friends popped into view again.

I didn't make it to the caf and I didn't have my omelette this morning. But like most omnivores, I wonder how long I can withstand my political (?) or moral (?) stance.