Is eating roadkill really a start as we face up to where our food comes from?

THERE’S a particular Guardian columnist worth reading occasionally. Intelligent and articulate whilst often pretentious and sometimes misguided, George Monbiot is keen on making contentious comment in order to keep his political and environmental views in the public eye.

Well, just over a week ago, his column caught my eye and, after wading through some fairly flowery prose, it was delightful to see that he then went on to describe how he’d recently cooked and eaten a squirrel. He somewhat tried to justify things by pointing out that, having just been hit by a car, the squirrel was dead when he found it. He did actually suggest that many might think he was raving, but then went on to detail how the eating of this squirrel was fundamental to his beliefs; whether roadkill or shot. And I couldn’t help but largely agree with him.

Among lots of other stuff, much about the environment, part of his theme was that we’ve become removed from where our food comes from, particularly our meat, and he uses both the fact that this was roadkill and a squirrel to shock us into thinking about food production.

In simple terms, there’s little that we eat that clearly reminds us of the fluffy or cute or big-eyed creature it used to be before it was vac-packed or processed or put on our plate. Sure, we might often see fish served whole but they’re hardly as funny as a feathered chicken or as entertaining as a field full of pigs. Most people ignore the fact that, unless they were prepared to pay a considerably higher price than the norm, the life of the creature that gave them their bacon was probably an unimaginable hell that should be beneath the morals of creatures that oversaw this life; these creatures being the most intelligent and able on this planet. After all, it’s we humans who decide that the animals, from which we obtain the majority of our meat, even exist, never mind how they’re treated while growing or how they’re transported to the slaughterhouse, or how they’re cared for once they get there.

Until the impact from a car, or that from the pellet from a gun, a squirrel leads a pretty good and natural life (assuming other predators don’t get to it first) and its last few moments can be mercifully quick. If we’re going to eat meat, things such as squirrel, or dare I say wild rabbit, are a much more morally defendable resource than intensively-reared pigs or chickens or insensitively-transported and slaughtered cows and sheep.

Surely, as we comprise the market that demands the supply of cheap animal-based protein, and while we sit in the position of God as to how the animals are bred, reared and despatched, we have no right to be offended when we are reminded as to what meat comprises and where it comes from. It’s time we stopped being squeamish when confronted with meat that reminds us of its donor, a cuddly toy or cherished pet.

Monbiot alluded to this and despite the well-considered justification he wrote in his article, the vitriol it provoked on social media was highly entertaining. As was the comment made on the Guardian’s website by someone hiding behind an anonymous made-up name: “Next thing you know you’ll have sunk to the level of those disgusting fox-hunting Tories”.

I can’t write and express myself anywhere near as well as Mr Monbiot. Nor do I share all of his views; particularly some of those on the environment. But it’s stupid to be polarised and assume that just because you don’t agree with someone’s overall stance, they don’t have some valid views. It’s like dyed-in-the-wool labour supporters slagging off all Tory views or visa versa.

It’s always worth listening to people who analyse and think. And in this case, it’s worth Googling “George Monbiot squirrel” and reading his article.

And it’s why, despite having published the recipe for squirrel casserole on these pages some years ago, I make no apologies for repeating it here today.