The New York Times Magazine excerpted a piece of Michael Pollan's forthcoming book, "The Omivore's Dilemma," last Sunday. Called "The Modern Hunter-Gatherer," the article details Pollan's first experience hunting, killing, and eating a wild boar.
I'm a huge fan of Pollan's, not least of all because he teaches a class at Berkeley called The Editor as God (strikes close to my heart). His thoughtful, deeply researched work limns the complicated space where food and food politics meet morality and modernity.
So I was excited to read the piece, but not only because of my admiration for Pollan's writing. Hunting is something that I've thought a lot about. Like many people, I care a great deal about where my food comes from, and I do my best to understand how the food arrives on my plate -- and to respect the process and the people that provide it. But, unlike Pollan, I've never killed an animal, nor had the desire to.
Because, of course, my husband does it for me.
My husband and his family grew up hunting. When they get the chance, they still do hunt. I try to tolerate it, without indulging it. But that's somewhat disingenuous. After all, I've learned to rationalize his hunting -- I've learned to feel lucky for it. I've even learned to be proud of it, at moments, in a self-consciously conflicted way. After all, I don't have to take the animal's life, but I can say that I've experienced the food chain, inched a few steps closer to my food -- and isn't that what we talk about, when we talk about farmer's markets and Slow Food and carefully sourced ingredients? As Pollan says:
"I'd gotten it into my head that I wanted to prepare a meal I had hunted, gathered and grown myself. Why? To see if I could do it. I was also curious to experience the food chain -- which has grown so long and complex as to no longer even feel anything like a food chain -- at its shortest and most elemental. And I had long felt that, as a meat eater, I should, at least once, take responsibility for the killing that eating meat entails. I wanted, for once in my life, to pay the full karmic price of a meal."
Pollan goes on to describe his hunting experience, as well as the payoff: the dinner party. On his first attempt, his gun isn't ready, and his shooting partner gets the shot. He is intent on actually shooting an animal, though, so he tries again -- the second time is successful, with a clean shot. He relays his different emotions: pride, relief, gratitude, and disgust at the viscera. Then, only later, as he sees a photograph of him grinning over his dead pig, remorse and ambivalence. His analysis is sharp, and his neuroticism familiar, comforting. I empathize with his reluctance, his glee, and his regret.