New York Times article on dog eating in China

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http://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/07/world/07CHIN.html

 

07/07/01

Peixian Journal: Local Treat Angers World Pet Lovers

By CRAIG S. SMITH

Craig S. Smith/The New York Times

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PEIXIAN, China < The people of Peixian love their dog.

 

At 7 each morning a crowd of local residents gathers under dusty roadside

awnings on a street corner for their favorite breakfast: a bowl of steaming

soy milk and a piece of pita-like flat bread wrapped around a rasher of dog.

 

" I eat breakfast here a couple of times a month, " Zhu Xinyong said recently

as he chewed on a wad of oily reddish meat, pulled from the bone by hand.

 

Before pooch lovers revolt, or grow revolted, they should know that this has

been going on here for more than 2,000 years.

 

It started with Liu Bang, first emperor of the Han dynasty, who liked the

taste of dog meat. Before becoming emperor he was an official here in

Peixian, in today's Jiangsu Province, and frequented a local dog restaurant

run by a man named Fan Kuai.

 

But Liu Bang never paid for his meals, so Fan Kuai moved his restaurant to

the far side of a nearby lake, taking all of the boats with him to prevent

Liu Bang from crossing the water.

 

When Liu Bang arrived at the lakeside, though, legend has it that a giant

turtle emerged and carried him across, infuriating Fan Kuai, who killed the

turtle, chopped it up and threw it into his dog meat stew. As punishment,

Liu Bang confiscated Fan Kui's knives, and the restaurateur was forced to

use his hands to carve cooked dogs after that.

 

Ever since, turtle-flavored, hand- pulled dog meat has been a local

specialty. It can be bought, vacuum- sealed in plastic and boxed in gift

packs, at the airport in nearby Xu zhou.

 

However shocking to Westerners, the use of dogs in northeast Asian cuisine

has gone on just about as long as there have been men and dogs in the

region. It is a specialty meat in many parts of China, eaten occasionally in

the winter for its supposed warming quality. But it is regular fare in

Peixian.

 

" I eat it every day, " said Han Fei, Peixian's biggest dog breeder and most

likely China's, too. He describes himself as the " dragon head " of the

industry, raising 100,000 dogs a year, almost all for slaughter at about six

months of age.

 

Eating dog just about died out during the Cultural Revolution of 1966- 76,

when Red Guards rampaged through the country killing dogs, even those raised

for food, because of their stigma as an extravagance of the bourgeoisie. The

slaughter in Peixian left " dead dogs everywhere, " Mr. Han recalled, waving

flies away from his lunch, a plate of boiled dog sprinkled with peppercorns.

 

But dog meat is increasingly available now, and its popularity is growing as

people become wealthier and their diets diversify: dog meat is one of the

most expensive meats available in the country today.

 

To keep up with demand, dog farms have been springing up around the country

and dog breeders have been experimenting with crossing larger foreign breeds

with the leaner Mongolian dogs long favored for their meat.

 

Nowhere in China is that more common than Peixian, a town where huge,

amateurish portraits of collies and shepherds, spaniels and hounds stare out

from walls everywhere.

 

Mr. Han, in a blue shirt, gray pants and open-toe sandals, raised his hand

at his Dawn Fine Bred Meat Dog Center to encourage a bony Newfoundland to

stand on its hind legs behind the rusty iron bars of its small concrete pen.

 

" Crossbreeds grow faster, " the taciturn Mr. Han said above the woof of Saint

Bernards, Great Danes and Dalmatians penned in a long, bleak row.

 

The use of these breeds, particularly Saint Bernards, has outraged dog

devotees in the West. One organization, called S O S Saint Bernard Dogs

International, presented a petition signed by 11,000 people to the Swiss

government in February, asking that the government intervene to stop China's

use of " the most faithful friend of humans " for food.

 

The Swiss government expressed sympathy but said diplomatic interference was

not " appropriate " in what was essentially a cultural matter.

 

The Saint Bernard advocates have since taken their case to the International

Olympic Committee, asking its president, Juan Antonio Samaranch, to turn

down China's bid to be the host of the 2008 Olympiad because of the

country's culinary use of a breed that has saved so many human lives.

 

But the outcry abroad has not reached Peixian, where residents seemed

puzzled when told of the campaign. The foreign breeds come mostly from

Russia, Mr. Han said. And they are not eaten, in any case, because purebreds

are too valuable and all dogs taste pretty much the same.

 

A pedigreed Saint Bernard or Dalmatian, for example, costs more than $1,000,

he explained. Crossing one of those dogs with a local bitch produces two

litters of 8 to 10 puppies a year. Each crossbred puppy grows to about 100

pounds in six months, when it can fetch about 400 yuan, or about $50, half

of that profit.

 

" It's twice as profitable as raising pigs, " he said, with dozens of week-old

puppies squealing in a fly-peppered concrete pen nearby.

 

That is not to say that there is not plenty for dog lovers to complain about

in Peixian, where 300,000 dogs are butchered a year, half for local

consumption and half for export to other parts of China and both Koreas.

 

The killing of animals in any country is never pretty, and the slaughter of

Peixian's dogs is not something that someone of weak constitution should

see.

 

In a small village of brick-walled courtyards not far from Mr. Han's farm,

Wang Junhua showed a visitor where he slaughters and skins as many as 20

dogs at a time: a series of bloody puddles beneath a crossbeam affixed to a

line of weeping willow trees.

 

After it is slaughtered and skinned, the dog is quartered and soaked in cold

water for about an hour before cooking. Mr. Wang stews his dog in a huge

galvanized caldron < head, paws, tails and all. The intestines are stuffed

into the stomachs and stewed too, looking something like balls of smoked

mozzarella.

 

As Mr. Wang fished in the cauldron for a dog's hindquarters, two large black

masses of herbs wrapped in cheesecloth rolled to the surface. He would not

say what seasoning gave his dog meat its flavor.

 

" It's a family secret, " he said, with a one-eyed squint and a lopsided

smile.

 

He sells the dog hides to factories that make dog-fur hats, fur-lined pants

and vests and even blankets favored by peasants during the frigid months.

 

He delivers the meat to restaurants and street vendors around town each

morning before the breakfast crowd. The vendors, fanning the inevitable

flies, set a meaty skull up on the edge of their baskets to beckon

passers-by.

 

Under the awnings, a woman holding her toddler stopped to buy two sandwiches

from a man who pulled the meat from a dog's rib cage, his fingers glistening

with grease. No one seemed upset by the spooked look of the live dogs bound

for slaughter, their ears flattened and heads lowered, with anxiety in their

shiny black eyes.

 

When told of Westerners' squeamishness about eating dogs, Mr. Han raised his

eyebrows and asked, " But aren't you afraid to eat beef these days? "