Maybe that’s why I have a prejudice against the white-meat sacrament of the holiday that covers up the white man’s crimes.
It’s Lowell writing about his pilgrim ancestors who began the rolling genocidal slaughter of those nice Native Americans who made the first Thanksgiving possible.
The real Thanksgiving story is extremely dark, far darker than any leg and thigh meat.
Could fear of facing our dark history be behind the prejudice against dark meat? Or is there more to the darkness of dark meat that feeds that fear?
This is what occurred to me when I put the question to my cohort of Facebook “friends” the Monday before Thanksgiving. There was one comment in particular that made me wonder whether something deeper wasn’t going on: “I hate dark meat it’s slimy and viscous.”
I had always thought it was a matter of the tastelessness of white meat, but here was an instance of some profound and fundamental revulsion against the threatening sensuality of dark meat.
Reading that passage caused a 10% drop in your IQ. Sorry.