I went to the store and bought some b

strangely anticlimactic.

It wasn’t plastic, a parasite, or some unthinkable object.

It was cartilage, a chunk of connective tissue from the pig that slipped through during processing.

Still gross, but not dangerous.

The fear slowly gave way to a quieter, more unsettling realization: we rarely see how our food really looks.

Sometimes, the scariest part isn’t continue reading …