Saturday, 27 October 2012

Fioe Gras

There can not be many schools in the world who have an outing to a foie gras farm.

Yes, I think I can safely say that. Indeed in schools in the UK nowadays, you would only be going there if you were going to be picketing outside and shaking a jolly goose shaped plackard proclaiming the rights of ducks and the like.

Actually I do not even think that that is right, because that kind of actual participation in the real world has been more or less dissapeared into "write a report as if you were on a picket outside a foie gras farm". Heaven help us if we encouraged the children to protest! (shhhh... they might protest against the deaths of unborn babies... shhhh)

So why did we go to the foie gras farm? It might have been something to do with shock tactics

Roll up, roll up, Chavagnes International College are the kind of chaps who say hang to public opinion and we go to foie gras farms!

Or it might have had something to do with being a part of the culture in which we find ourselves. We are slap bang in the middle of French countryside, and do you know what? They have foie gras farms. Get over it.

Or it might have something to do with being a sign to the world. Two of our boys come from California - place where you can legally own a gun, but not a sliver of foie gras on a piece of toast. What's that all about?

Or it might be about getting all snotty and self righteous about having geese force fed food, so that we can eat them. When was the last time you saw all the chicken roaming around in fields and not in a barn? Or the male calves shot in the back of the head with a bolt? Or some poor cow with huge distended udders so that we can milk her day after day in a horribly travesty of nature?

You see, either get rid of it all, or don't go all holier than thou.

I saw geese in wide open fields, cared for by a professional, on a family farm scale, as part of the countryside and economy. And that is a good lesson for our boys and for us all. Go and see, find out, don't just jump on some band wagon. And I don't even like the stuff.

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