There I was, the red-blooded American male, sitting in one of his favorite places — under those magnificent golden arches. Somewhere in my mind the strong sounds of American composer Aaron Copland filled my being; I could see John Wayne walking wearily, but still with a swagger into the sunset, his Winchester slung over his shoulder, the dust falling from his sweat-stained shirt. I could hear the words of deceased actor Robert Mitchum, ‘Beef. It’s what’s for dinner.? (Do you think the beef industry’s ad campaign is effective?)
And, despite what all my vegan friends in the PETA movement would think, I was ready to ingest a big ol? hunk of all-beef pattie. Then, a split-second before my taste buds could dance in harmony with the symphony that is beef, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions packed between a sesame seed bun, I looked at the burger my fingers held not four inches from my face.
Sublime joy, so close . . . and yet . . .
Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy in the good old U. S. of A. Of all the low down, smackin? frackin? things to happen to me, this is one thing I did not need. Mad Cow disease in the United States — what a bummer, dude.
Despite all assurances from all the government types we’ve been hearing lately (U.S. Secretary of Agriculture Ann Veneman said, ‘I plan on serving beef for my holiday dinner . . .? and ‘this was not an act of terrorism . . .?), I paused before taking that first bite. My taste buds would have to wait and just like Pavlov’s dog, my mouth watered in anticipation. Could this be the Year of the Chicken? Could this be the time to buy stock in soy-burgers? Hmmm?
It looks like we got us a bum steer, folks. A single sick adult Holstein that has been living in obscurity in the United States since August 2001 casued the hubbub. One cow out of a herd of one hundred million had a brain full of holes. One sick adult Canadian cow who lived the American dream, 2295.39 miles away from me (I checked the distance on Mapquest.com) had gotten into the food chain just to cause me lots of grief.
I guess I won’t be making the 34 hour, 25 minute jaunt to Sunnyside, Washington, to dine anytime soon.
Mad Cow disease, as you know, shut down England’s $2 billion dollar industries in the 1980s-1990s. Some say as many as 140 humans in England died because they ate parts of infected cows. Nearly 2.75 million English cows were slaughtered and, then to make things worse, burned. And, now a case of Mad Cow disease was reported in the United States.
The link between Mad Cow and humans is called Creutzfeldt-Jakob’s disease. And, with a name like that, you know it’s got to be bad. How does dementia, blindness, paralysis and death sound to you? Sounds pretty gruesome to me. But, then again I fall into the girly man side of the chart when it comes to that sort of thing. I am not brave when I am faced with medical issues.
The United States has just now banned the use of heads, brains, spines and other yucky cow parts into the human food chain. That’s important, they say, because those yucky parts are the parts the infection infects. They say it’s important, I say it’s really no big deal. I cannot name one single person who eats headcheese (something the Brits love) or any other concoction made of yucky cow stuff.
All this extra effort in the cranial cavity over a stupid hamburger —- as Charlie Brown used to say, ‘A-R-R-G!?
That split second of waffling as I held the burger was just that, a second split. I wolfed down said Big Mac in three point two seconds, quickly followed by the fries and a Coke. The burger was good, but I’m still mad as hell that this one cow could cause me so much angst and force me to educate myself on the disease and subsequent practices of the beef industry.
Once upon a time when I was blissfully ignorant life was blissfully simple. Buy a hamburger, eat a hamburger, enjoy the wonderfulness of a hamburger. The only second thoughts were whether or not to buy a second.
Comments for he who some have accused of having holes in his brain can be e-mailed to dontrsuhmedon@aol.com