Rhymes with Main Course, or, I'm so Hungry I Could Eat a . . ., or, Tastes like Chicken?

I made such a fool of myself today.

Let me give you the background: A month and a half ago, I was having lunch at Ross' school. As I was picking out meat for my broodje and talking to the man behind the counter about his visit to Vancouver a couple years ago, I pointed some red roast-beef-looking stuff and asked, "What's that?" He said, "I don't think you want that one, you don't eat that in Canada. That's horse." I was shocked and he was correct; I didn't want that one.

Ever since then, I have become obsessed with accidentally eating horse meat, and I'm not using that term lightly. If I see a pizza and there's an unfamiliar topping, I assume it's horse. In a restaurant I won't order anything unless I know all the ingredients. When I'm grocery shopping, I just won't buy meat unless I'm positive it's not horse. I don't know why I care so much; it's not like eating a horse is any better or worse than eating any other animal. Regardless, I've been irrationally consumed with anxiety about accidentally eating equus.

Lunchtime at work consists of a table set up for everyone to make their own sandwiches. There's a bread basket, a cheese selection tray, a meat selection tray and other toppings (including chocolate sprinkles, but that's another post.) Needless to say, I am so concerned about accidentally eating horse meat, I always stick to chicken. I don't even really like deli-meat chicken but since I know what-it's-not, I eat it every day while I try to guess which meat is the horse.

Today there was an interesting predicament: there wasn't any chicken. All the meat on the tray was red, and although it looked familiar, I was frozen and unable to chose any in case it was you-know-what. So I brazenly asked the accountant who I eat lunch with everyday, "Which one of these is horse?" And he said "What?" and I said, "Horse." He paused and asked, "Do you want to eat horse?" And I didn't want to offend him by disapproving of his culture so I said, "Not today." Then he started talking in Dutch to my boss, and she seemed confused. He turned to me and said, "We don't eat horse, and we don't eat dogs either." Then everyone took a turn telling me they've never eaten a horse, and have never even heard of it. I felt like such a fool as this myth I've been obsessed with for the past month and a half dissolved. They even tried to offer an explanation about the original experience with horse meat. "Maybe he said 'pork' and you misheard him," No, he didn't.

Despite my faux pas, something good came of it. I have been liberated from this ridiculous anxiety. I no longer have to worry about the mystery meat when I'm shopping because they don't sell horse in the store – you have to get it from a specialty butcher!

Now I only have to look out for rabbit.