Two interesting episodes in Adams’ classic scifi comedy. The first, involving a sentient cow-like animal offering parts of its own body for dinner in a restaurant:
A large dairy animal approached Zaphod Beeblebrox’s table, a large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with large watery eyes, small horns and what might almost have been an ingratiating smile on its lips. “Good evening,” it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, “I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my body?” It harrumphed and gurgled a bit, wriggled its hind quarters into a more comfortable position and gazed peacefully at them.
“You mean this animal actually wants us to eat it?” whispered Trillian to Ford. “Me?” said Ford, with a glazed look in his eyes. “I don’t mean anything.” “That’s absolutely horrible,” exclaimed Arthur, “the most revolting thing I’ve ever heard.” “What’s the problem, Earthman?” said Zaphod, now transferring his attention to the animal’s enormous rump. “I just don’t want to eat an animal that’s standing there inviting me to,” said Arthur. “It’s heartless.” “Better than eating an animal that doesn’t want to be eaten,” said Zaphod. “That’s not the point,” Arthur protested. Then he thought about it for a moment. “All right,” he said, “maybe it is the point. I don’t care, I’m not going to think about it now. I’ll just … er …”
“Look,” said Zaphod, “we want to eat, we don’t want to make a meal of the issues. Four rare steaks please, and hurry. We haven’t eaten in five hundred and seventy-six thousand million years.” The animal staggered to its feet. It gave a mellow gurgle. “A very wise choice, sir, if I may say so. Very good,” it said. “I’ll just nip off and shoot myself.” He turned and gave a friendly wink to Arthur. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said, “I’ll be very humane.” It waddled unhurriedly off to the kitchen.
The second, towards the end of the last book, involves liberating zoo animals, foie gras and ethical laziness:
They checked into a large two-bedroom suite at the Langham. Mysteriously, Ford’s Dine-O-Charge card, issued on a planet over five thousand light years away, seemed to present the hotel’s computer with no problems. Ford hit the phones straight away while Arthur attempted to locate the television. “Okay,” said Ford. “I want to order up some margaritas, please. Couple of pitchers. Couple of chef’s salads. And as much foie gras as you’ve got. And also London Zoo.
“That’s what I said,” said Ford into the phone. “London Zoo. Just charge it to the room.
“Are you having difficulty understanding the English language?” continued Ford. “It’s the zoo just up the road from here. I don’t care if it’s closed this evening. I don’t want to buy a ticket, I just want to buy the zoo. I don’t care if you’re busy. This is room service, I’m in a room and I want some service. Got a piece of paper? Okay. Here’s what I want you to do. All the animals that can be safely returned to the wild, return them. Set up some good teams of people to monitor their progress in the wild, see that they’re doing okay.”
“Just a second,” Ford shouted, and returned to his negotiations with room service. “Then we’ll need some natural reserves for the animals that can’t hack it in the wild,” he said. “Set up a team to work out the best places to do that. We might need to buy somewhere like Zaire and maybe some islands. Madagascar. Baffin. Sumatra. Those kind of places. We’ll need a wide variety of habitats. Look, I don’t see why you’re seeing this as a problem. Learn to delegate. Hire whoever you want. Get onto it. I think you’ll find my credit is good. And blue cheese dressing on the salad. Thank you.” He put the phone down and went through to Arthur, who was sitting on the edge of his bed watching television.
“I ordered us some foie gras,” said Ford. “What?” said Arthur, whose attention was entirely focused on the television. “I said I ordered us some foie gras.” “Oh,” said Arthur, vaguely. “Um, I always feel a bit bad about foie gras. Bit cruel to the geese, isn’t it?” “Fuck ’em,” said Ford, slumping on the bed. “You can’t care about every damn thing.”
“Well, that’s all very well for you to say, but—” “Drop it!” said Ford. “If you don’t like it I’ll have yours.