OPINION: Is it time to put insects on our dinner plates?
WHY do we think we are too good to eat insects?
Of what evolutionary purpose is squeamishness?
How did we become so coddled and safe in our lives that we can look at good, nutritious, abundant and by all reports quite tasty food and squeal and giggle and flat out declare "not now, not ever".
I'm ashamed of what we have become.
I'm ashamed of how soft we are, how selfish and indulgent and removed from the stuff of our survival - our food.
I went into my much-loved local butcher the other day and found myself arguing for some 15 minutes about the treatment of animals in factory farms.
In the deli of my amazing, locally-owned IGA, the same thing happened again.
I left feeling bitter, disappointed: I moved halfway across the country in a pilgrimage to find a place where people gave a damn.
Apparently caring only extends so far.
I console myself. I remember my enjoyment last Saturday night as I sat among like-minded people at a farm dinner in Conondale.
I am living the life I dreamed of.
I buy my free range pork direct from the producer. I raise my own chickens and eggs and I even dabble in farming meal worms.
At first they disgusted me - though the chickens tell me they are heaven on earth.
Over time I am becoming desensitised, their little questing faces and wriggling arms resemble tiny shellfish.
I think of how easy life could be - no more slaughterhouses or factory farms. No need to truck food thousands of kilometres to our supermarket shelves.
I'm sure it is only a matter of time.