The Omnivore’s Dilemma: Brooklyn Locavore Edition

I spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about two things:

1. What to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
2. What to do when the apocalypse comes

Recently, I realized that #2 will undoubtedly affect #1, but also that current eating trends here in Brooklyn may provide a solution. I’m talking about locavorism, the hifalutin approach to cooking and eating that requires using food products native to and produced within the region. It is a fad that, even after several years of currency, does not seem to be going away.

Now, you might think that an apocalypse—whether brought about by the collapse of our financial system, a national Tea Party victory, or, most likely, a zombie/vampire plague—would mean the end of locavorism. Not true! In part because we’d no longer be able to rely on illegal overnight imports of ortolans and Caspian Sea beluga, us survivors would have to scavenge locally, and once the supplies at Trader Joe’s, Sahadi’s, and BKLN LRDR run out, we will still have one great source of sustenance: our children.

To those of you forced to read Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal” in high school, this is, of course, an obvious solution, and given the enormous child population of neighborhoods like Park Slope, BoCoCa, and Williamsburg, it will guarantee us adults enough to eat for some time to come.

But giving up your son or daughter is one thing. Brooklyn parents will yet be reluctant to give up their values. No Carroll Gardens gourmet wants little Beckham or Zoë simply to be, as Swift suggested, “stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled”; certainly the moms and dads who frequent Al di Là and Applewood expect something better than for their kids’ Bugaboo-toted carcasses just to be served “in a fricassee or a ragout.”

And so I’ve decided to do Swift one better. Herewith, the Brooklyn Locavore’s Children’s Cookbook:

1. Enfant en Papillote

• Take one Brooklyn child, preferably free-range, and wrap in several layers of preschool-rejection letters. (Pre-soak the letters in tears of shame, so they don’t ignite.) Bake in a 350-degree oven for five hours, or until little Franklin or Cassiopeia would have reached the top of the wait list.

2. Cured Child

• Flay one Brooklyn child—if possible, an unvaccinated one—and season liberally (unless the Tea Party vigilantes are watching, in which case conservatively) with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Drape the body over your Stokke pram, and set the contraption atop your brownstone’s furnished roof deck, where the wind will dry-cure the meat. Goes well with Sixpoint Sweet Action Ale.

3. Williamsburg Whopper Jr.

• Meat from hipster children tends to be exceptionally lean (and sometimes tattooed), but as the parents are likely to be Scandinavian, it will be all-natural and exceed EU import regulations. Grind it finely and grill over a fire made from excess skateboard decks. Serve with a sense of entitlement.

4. Water Babies

• This is great for large gatherings: Bring the water in your converted-Dumpster swimming pool to a boil, and ask each warehouse-party attendee to bring a child to add to the pot. No seasoning necessary if you use “water” from the Gowanus Canal.

5. Jerk Children

• I can’t find this recipe in my files. Go ask your nanny.

Got recipes of your own? Post ’em in the comments.