A week of eating dangerously: searching for detente between man and beast.

• Author: Steinberg, Neil
• Position: Column

JUMPY IS THE name of my eldest son's tree frog. He is misnamed, in that he does not jump. He barely moves, preferring to bask under a heat lamp, awaiting his next live cricket. Even with lunch skittering about the cage, Jumpy barely bats an eye. Eventually the cricket crawls by his mouth and is eaten. A sweet, slow, easy life, right?

Yet some people would claim we are oppressing Jumpy. That he is debased and wronged, being owned by my son. That's non-sense: He's better off on the dresser. No predators. No fear his crickets won't show up on time.

Whether you consider Jumpy fortunate or oppressed is a good barometer of where you come down on the general animal rights debate. Most people, secure in their personhood and assured of the value of humanity, are willing to use animals for human purposes--to eat meat, wear leather, and keep pets.

Yet a small but very vocal minority tries to mask a sneering disregard for humanity with a concern for animals so extreme it would look exaggerated in a silent movie. Accompanying this disdain for people is a self-righteous delusion that they alone are saving the planet with their steady diet of self-denial. They believe each time you eat a soy burger, Earth gives you a big, grinning thumbs-up.

So I decided to tempt the wrath of such scolds by eating, drinking, and living in as unP.C. a manner as I could for a week. I would indulge in forbidden meats. Horse, if I could find it. Whatever the law allowed. Herewith, a diary of my week of eating dangerously.

Friday: I lie in bed and plot out breakfast. My impulse is to stroll into the boy's room and munch one of Jumpy's crickets. That strikes me as a bold declaration of intent, seasoned with a subtle stab at Disney's vexatious Jiminy Cricket. "Just let your conscience be your-" CRUNCH!

I'm girding myself to do it when my wife stirs. I run my plan by her. "That's disgusting," she says. She may have a point. So instead I brealffast at the Tokyo Lunch Box, where I do my share in the despoiling of the ocean's dwindling bounty with tuna and salmon sushi. Mmmm, fresh.

Self-denying environmentally conscious eaters stress how much impact their personal consumption decisions make, but for each tread-lightly vegetarian in the United States there are a thousand Asians who'd dice the last whale on Earth into cubes and eat it on vinegared rice with great pleasure and without a second thought.

As I break apart my chopsticks, I can't help but ruefully smile. Chopsticks are the...