This is not my first post about horse meat. It is not even my second post about horse meat. Nor is it the first tasteless* horse meat-related joke recorded on this blog (though in retrospect, my timing — early January — was quite prescient). But it is my third post about horsemeat, and the second horse meat-related joke recorded on this blog.
And now that we’ve got the numbers out of the way, I will also take this opportunity to note that I am not responsible for either of the two jokes — just for sharing them.
As you have surely by now heard, Europe — soon to be joined, I imagine, by the US — is caught up in a horse meat scandal (that shouldn’t be a scandal). But not every country is responding to the news in the same way. The Times is on it — with one of my favorite puns of all time:
“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse,” cries Richard III, facing defeat at the Battle of Bosworth Field, in 1485. Yet horses seem to be the last thing Britons want these days, at least in food that is labeled as something else altogether.
For weeks, the land has been seized with a spreading, Europe-wide scandal over discoveries of equine DNA in processed meals sold under household brands packaged as exclusively bovine — spaghetti Bolognese, lasagna and burgers among them. Television documentaries have investigated the phenomenon. Headlines have trumpeted it. Bloggers have blogged. Tweeters have tweeted.
But no one seems able to fully answer the question of why shoppers and diners in Britain are so much more worried about a hint of horse meat than European neighbors in France, the Netherlands and elsewhere who eat their steeds with equanimity.
That last word should be read “equinimity”.
*the joke, not the meat