So England’s super pissed about eating horsemeat, apparently, since it’s recently shown up in tests on both Burger King and supermarket-brand burgers as well as in frozen lasagnas. And it’s not a small amount of horsemeat, either. Some tests yielded results of 60% horse vs. 40%…uh, I’m assuming beef, which is what the product is advertised to contain.

Instead of deriding Europe for being squeamish about horsemeat – I know I’m supposed to, given that I will happily eat sautéed thymus glands, pork cheeks, and fattened duck liver in certain establishments and in no way do I think this is weird – I’m going to defend them. Horsemeat is fucking creepy. Yeah, I know it’s a thing in France and some cultures eat it because it’s available and the vegetarian argument is that because I eat any meat at all then nothing is stopping me from eating a horse or my dog, but man. Horsemeat is creepy.

Also, a chef (Facebook) friend of mine pointed out the following about the horsemeat:

“It’s also a commentary on the downside of globalization. A lot of the horsemeat that gets into the EU and Asia comes from the US. The horses -none raised for food, so there are no controls for drugs etc– sold at auction to buyers ostensibly to be resold as pets/farm animals. They are then taken to “black sites” in Mexico and elsewhere where they are slaughtered in unregulated abbatoirs (so there are no controls for humane treatment). Much of the horse meat found in Britain came from “pet” and work horses from Romania, but the problem is the same.”

Itals. mine.

Think about that. I’m no advocate for drugging up animals or shooting them full of steroids to make them bigger and resistant to the diseases that proliferate in the animal agriculture behemoth. Quite the opposite, actually. I prefer to buy from actual meat farmers who raise their animals in a humane way and feed them actual food. I want to give my money to farmers who know when an animal is sick because they have the ability to recognize it in a herd when they see it every day. And when the time comes for that animal to be harvested (which isn’t a euphemism, that’s what it’s called on a farm), I want that animal to be dispatched in a way that doesn’t involve it being dragged through feet of shit into a hopper. But for the people who aren’t affected by this information and will continue to do 100% of their shopping at Super Wal-Marts, those drugs and the paltry slaughterhouse regulations that do exist help enormously in preventing some pretty nasty critters from getting into their food supply. Um, also the meat is soaked in ammonia, so eat up, Middle America!

The point is that a person needs to make certain choices if they’re going to meat. I choose to be responsible about what I buy, know where it comes from, and who I support in the process. Those who don’t buy brightly-colored packages of frozen, pre-formed mystery meat patties.

And sometimes that mystery meat is from ponies. Especially the one you wanted for Christmas when you were six.

Or possibly the horse that was raped by some idiot who wanted a centaur baby, and explained his actions thusly (before he hung himself in prison, thankfully removing himself from the gene pool): “I aint gonna lie. I blew a nut in the horse.”

Cheers!