chicken war
When I was driving up through the South Mid- lands and into Lincolnshire last week I was constantly reminded of America's very odd dis- pute with the Common Market by the sight of broiler houses. I was as struck by their num- bers as by their hideous and sinister appearance. Always in close groups, always surrounded by barbed wire, and always windowless, they radiated an atmosphere of furtive crime and were powerfully reminiscent of concentration camps. There is inevitably something squalid and de- grading about the poultry business because it isn't possible ultimately to handle large numbers of birds efficiently without falling into the sin against the Holy Ghost of treating living creatures as things. Modern methods of raising broiler don't involve any squeamish pretences. The bird is a conversion unit, and it is knocked off when its extremely unhealthy diet has pro- duced the maximum increase in weight which can be got without incurring the penalties im- posed by poor bone formation and fatty de- generation of the internal organs. Who would voluntarily eat these rachitic, flavourless, spongy-fleshed substitutes for table birds I can't imagine, much less why anyone should want to eat frozen ones shipped from the far side of the Atlantic. The explanation must be that some prestige still attaches to chicken as such, and that people will buy birds regardless of quality and flavour if the price is right. A dish of bread and milk with brown sugar would be better food than most broilers, and certainly as nourishing as any frozen broiler.
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