We've written a lot about getting your food in cities in, well, unconventional manners: forget urban farming, we're talking about engaging in urban foraging and guerrilla gardening, harvesting free fruit or taking up the 100 yard diet.
For me, the value of these ideas is less that they offer practical tools for filling dietary needs (though local food is, by and large, a good idea), than that they offer provocative insight into the cultural distances we've created between ourselves and the sources of our sustenance.
But a couple friends of mine have kept ribbing me about meat: where's the protein in the diet of urban omnivores?
So, for their sake, I offer two pieces full of insight, from right here in Seattle and up the road in Vancouver:
A car isn't a particularly good hunting weapon, but the highway is like a blind machine gunner in the woods... "The reason I opt for roadkill as opposed to hunting -- which I'm also down with," says Comeau, "is because there's so much roadkill. I feel like it's sort of ridiculous for me to start hunting, say, deer, when I can get so much deer on the side of the road."
The Urban Hunt: A Summer Spent Killing—and Eating—Seattle's Small Game:
A young, gray rabbit approaches warily, bites off a mouthful of lettuce, and hops back to chew in safety. I keep still. It returns, hops away, returns, hops away. Within a few minutes, it feels comfortable and greedily tucks in. I slam the box down with a thud, slip another piece of cardboard beneath it, and walk—then run—to the car, expecting someone to accost me at any minute. Nobody does.I ease the box into my bathtub and take off the lid. I look at the rabbit. It calmly looks back: Well, here we are. The rabbit. The bathtub. Me. It is undeniably cute; it is also dinner.
I'm not recommending doing violence to your local bunnies, mind. But if you want to get immediate, clear and, um, visceral with the source of your meat, there is nothing like participating in the demise of your dinner.










