An Open Letter to Craig Charles

A Crispy Duck

When you're a child, food is nothing but fun. The closest thing to a traumatizing plate of food you could get was sprouts, or a desert that consists mainly of fruit.


Or so I thought.


Before I begin I will qualify that I am not a vegetarian. But I did consider it once... and this is the story of why.


You never really question where food actually comes from as a child. Sure you know the simple answer "beef comes from cows" but somehow that is all processed in your mind in such an innocent way.

I imagine the only reason there are any vegetarians under the age of ten is the result of heartless parents who explain the real truth to kids in graphic detail.


Now the most humane way for children to truly get their heads around what they're eating is a gradual educational process. My experience was more like learning where babies come from by investigating aggressive noises in you're parents room, only to find sweaty bodies, new and strange body parts, and a lifelong phobia of leather and horse-riding.


The Parents had decided to break the monotony of Friday night takeaways by going out for Chinese food. This was fine. We regularly decided to go crazy and change the nationality of our Friday meal, we were god damn mavericks about once a month... usually changing to Chinese food....


As such I was familiar with Chinese food. I would be having the crispy duck as I always did.


"Hey kid! Do you want to make your own food!? Using this selection of ingredients in fancy baskets which you can lay out on your plate in a finely tuned (possibly OCD) method and fold precisely to produce perfect ducky goodness packets!?"


"YOU BET YOUR BOTTOM I DO!"


This however was a new Chinese establishment. To satisfy my desire for neat and orderly food parcels, Parents ordered the 'whole crispy duck' to share, the only version of this on the menu. This was also fine, if anything it gave me a chance to demonstrate just how superior my wrap method was to the barbaric improvisation of my little brother.


Everything was completely normal. We played with the strange rotating plate (why is it only Chinese places that invest in this idea? They are the only cuisine that seems to encourage sharing with this, as apposed to all the others where ZER VILL BE NO SHARING OV ZE PLATES! ..... Sharing Nazi there) and dared each other to touch candle flames.


And then the food arrived...


It is easy to disconnect with most meat dishes. You can't see the harm that has been done when you look at a burger or a steak or a sausage because it's just a slab of meat.  Even a roast chicken is missing its head and feet. That's not a real animal. It doesn't look particularly upset about being eaten. I doubt it could look upset if it was... it doesn't have a face.


What I was presented with was something very different than what I was used to.


Here is what my  young mind assumed must have preceded this event.

I still ate it, which I know renders this story rather pointless. But I really REALLY considered thinking about not eating it. As a consolation to duck lovers, I have never ordered a whole crispy duck since then.


And that is the fantastical story of how a disturbing crispy duck caused me to momentarily consider becoming vegetarian.


On a side note. Mallard ducks have been known to mate through gang rape and to engage in necrophilia.... so... fuck 'em.


♫ HARRY'S NERD FACT OF THE TIME PERIOD! ♫  (You're damn right that counts!)