Slow Food: A Misnomer

I am here to set the record straight once and for all. The term "slow food" is an absolute riot and highly inaccurate.

For starters, I am absolutely convinced that whoever coined the term "slow food" has not attempted to round up piglets on pasture. I believe rounding up rabid gophers may be an easier feat.


Nor have they tried to herd a hormonal mama cow in February through waist deep snow drifts.

And what of the velocity that one must scale the fence when said mama cow decides to make it very clear as to who is running the show around here?

Oh, and we must not forget the speed at which one must traverse a mud hole during spring thaw to avoid the ever-present threat of "gumboot-suckage-offage" that occurs when you pause too long in the bowels of the puddle?

And what about the highly proficient speed at which one removes strings from haybales in -40 C weather with a herd of bossy bovines milling around?

Or what of the 100 meter dash to sprint a toddler into the house and quickly remove his snowpants for an emergency potty break in the middle of chores? I am sure Donovan Bailey never had to compete under these conditions.

How many land speed records have been broken when the amorous buck in full rut, the true mastermind of the farmstead, masterfully escapes his Alcatraz-esque enclosure and begins to strut purposefully towards a pen of doelings?

There is absolutely nothing "slow" about this food whatsoever.

Now I suppose one could argue that the very act of savouring natural, local cuisine could be considered to reduce its velocity and classify it as "slow". Well, even if I am eating our own pasture raised Berkshire pork chops, garden fresh veggies and homemade bread I am still gulping it down in pythonesque swallows in attempts to rush out to dry off newborn goat kids, milk the cow, serve up a delicious meal of rolled barley for the Berkshires. There is nothing slow about this place!

Then again, I suppose I could slow down, take a leisurely drive into the big city, order up a Big Mac and enjoy a leisurely meal of sodium and, uh, I'm not too sure what other delightful chemical compounds....but what would the fun in that be?

For now I guess I'll just keep on trucking, going mach chicken on the farm and enjoying every minute of it.

Enjoy!
Tam