Where does my food come from? As a child I might have answered, “the store.” As an adult, I might ponder the question only to realize I don’t know. I have never asked my parents where they bought the chicken or the beef. As a student, I tend to focus more on the price than the origin.
Last night I baked a chicken. I have eaten plenty of baked chicken, but I have never done the baking for myself. I recall reading “organic” on the plastic covering. What is an organic chicken? What does organic even mean? As far as I knew, the chicken wasn’t organic, but so what if it was?
I loathe my ignorance. I need to be more conscious of what I put into my body. In my mind, I had already purchased the chicken and I was damn sure not going to waste that money. That chicken might have been raised well and slaughtered humanely, but I don’t know that for sure. Too many of us don’t know or don’t want to know where our food came from, how it was raised, what it was fed, or how it died.
I come from a family that has always had to eat on a budget. Nothing was purposefully wasted. Now that I am a college student on a budget, many of the foods that I buy must fit into that budget. However, how do I know that the cheaper chicken isn’t going to wind up being linked to the future increase in whatever cancer 30 years from now? I promise the next chicken that I bake will have lived a good, healthy life and died a clean, humane death.