Gabe just broke his father's heart.
I think you have all gathered the idea that the males in my home are, well..."Cave" man-ish.
It seems appropriate.
We are not diametrically opposed to ideas such as "something dead on bread" or "first you kill it, then you grill it."
In fact, just two nights ago, we enjoyed perfectly grilled rib-eye, the king of all steaks so far as this Cave Clan is concerned. Or, rather, mamma Cave Hair, and Daddy Cave Hair enjoyed their steaks. Baby Cave Hair isn't too into meat of any kind yet. But Gooberific-Scientific (sometimes we just call him "Gabe" for short) got to thinking just a bit too much about his peice of cow.
It started with "mom, can I have some of those meatballs made out of vegetables?" (which was followed with first a look of confusion, and second a look of knowing as the falafel in the freezer was remembered) Next came the look of inner-turmoil as the questions began "why do we eat cows?" (because they are food) "Why do we eat cows?" (because they are food) "why do we eat cows?" (because they are food? Honestly, I cannot come up with a better answer to this question) and "well don't some cows have to be alive to make milk?" (true! but those are a different kind of cow. And that is TOO true!)
I'm not certain, but I am almost positive that tears nearly spilled out his soft brown lil (dare I say it?) cow-eyes as he considered the fate of the animal on his plate. And I almost felt sad for the cow with him. Almost.
Did I mention the steaks were perfectly grilled?