As Earl and I were driving home from Buffalo yesterday (and Earl was doing to driving), I noticed a couple of roadside advertisements for barbecues. The affairs looked to be local fundraisers of some sort, the type of gathering to raise money for a church or a fire department or a marching band or something. I think local gatherings like this are a good thing.
Two of these gathering were being advertised with plywood cut-outs of the type of barbecue in question; for example, a pork BBQ was being advertised on the side of a giant plywood pig, who was pink and had a face and a squiggly tail and everything. The expression on the pig’s face was one that lacked amusement. The second BBQ, a chicken barbecue, had a dancing hen as the spokesperson. I don’t know if Ed McMahon awarded her first prize in the spokesmodel category, but apparently we were to believe that she was so happy to be the meal that she was dancing her way to the chopping block.
These kinds of advertisements bother me.
Now, I know where meat comes from. I grew up on a farm and I can vividly recall chasing a cow or bull that had busted out of the fence in the morning and then seeing them hanging in the barn that evening. I’m seriously not proud of the fact that I eat meat and if all forces were in alignment, I would probably be eating barbecued vegetables most of the time. I like a good barbecue, but it’s not the meat that I like, it’s the flavor from the sauces and cooking methods that appeal to me.
I guess I think it’s kind of weird to have your food depicted as dancing its way to your plate. If we showed what happens when said animal stops dancing then folks probably wouldn’t contribute to the community fundraiser being advertised. I don’t know why we can just write “PORK BARBECUE” in a nice, blocked lettering. It’s kind of like the signs with the swervy cars on them, why can’t it just say “SLIPPERY WHEN WET”?
I wonder what dancing tofu looks like.