Reading an article about genetically modified foodstuffs, my mind wanders to the meaty subject, literally, of cloning cuts of beef, chicken, lamb, and pork.
Personally, I would much prefer to order my coq au vin knowing the protein portion was grown in a lab, rather than being dimly aware it was previously a living thing that spent its entire miserable existence in a cage.
Bring on the cloned meat, I say, and may the DNA tinkerers make it as juicy and as succulent and as guilt-free as possible. The only drawback, of course, is that the hubristic science won't stop there; and neither will the gastronome's desire for something special.
Without a doubt, a some point in our dystopian future, the private dining rooms of the most exclusive restaurants will be serving cloned human meat to an ultra-rich clientele of ghoulish gourmands. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if hot plates of human meat were not already staples of cold-blooded kitchens in more debauched cities of the world.
That's bad enough. But just imagine the grim theme restaurants there will be:
"Hi. Welcome to The Morgueasboard. My name is Burke and I'll be your grave-robber today. Have you dined with us before? No, well, I'll just a take a few minutes to go over the torso with you .... "