Now here’s something you don’t see every day.

Japanese people are much more comfortable with their food than Americans. They like things raw. Raw fish. Raw beef. Raw horse meat. They like things whole. If it has eyes? All the better to stare at you while you bite down on its head with. If it’s alive? Even better. Writhing squid? Yum! Little fish swimming around in your soup? Delicious!

Americans don’t want to know where their food comes from. We want it dead, and we don’t want to ever know that it lived. We want it processed and sterilized until it’s unrecognizable. In America, we feel tough and rugged if we like rare steak.

This difference apparently extends to pet food. In America, pet food looks nothing like the original animal. In fact, we’re lucky the dog’s kibbles have any bits of meat in them at all. It’s usually just plain tainted gluten from China. Our dogs and cats feast on safe looking “Chunky Beef” and “Juicy Chicken,” mashed up and docilely presented in tiny cans.

Ms. T came in today with a giant can of dog food. From far away it looked like a normal can of dog food. There were drawings of beautiful, healthy-looking, pure bred dogs on the label. Ms. T plopped it on the empty desk in front of me. Up close, I could read the part of the label in English.

ONE MORE
Boiled Chicken Head

Pure, unadulterated, boiled chicken heads.

Ms. T pulled out her kankiri and asked the male teacher next to her to open it for her because it was hard on her wrist. The Japanese can opener is not easy to use. It has no moving parts and is really just a blade that you dig along the top of the can. I have a nasty blister on my right hand from unsuccessfully trying to open a can of peaches last night.

Ms. T had the male teacher open the can of boiled chicken heads right on the desk in the teachers’ room. It smelled like regular dog food except slightly worse. When the bell rang, she carried it up the stairs to the science lab with her. I could tell from the screams coming through the window that the students were even less thrilled with the can of chicken heads than I was.

I went up the stairs to investigate. The students were to dissect the boiled chicken heads looking for the brain. The girls were shrieking and the boys were howling in protest. Ms. T was grinning with glee. She even picked up a loose piece of chicken face and chased a girl around with it.