to be or not to be a vegetarian

To Be or not to be...a vegetarian Christmas in Portugal is a dowdy affair, Supermarkets are open most days and there is no rush, and no expectation, the hunting for happiness, family union and all that shit. We had baccallao for lunch today, and the fish was salted and dried at a mysterious place called Ålesund, where the sea is calm and deep blue and teeming with cod and the fishermen/ women wear yellow overalls, speak Norwegian but change over to English in case we should miss something very important. Tomorrow we are driving to Alentejo to eat pork elbows, yes meat from the elbow of the pig, first cooked then roasted and served potatoes and cabbage. I like the cabbage the best as it has been cooked with the elbow- there might be a more culinary word for a pig’s elbow- looks it up yourself. I’m pissed off with this poem, my intention was to write something romantic about food. Tomorrow I’m going to Alentejo to eat Pernil, which is Portuguese for pig’s elbow, (why didn’t you say so in the first place) and I will eat cabbage and reject the bloody meat from the feet of brutally slaughtered animals.