Chalk it up to a small mean streak, but occasionally as I'm standing in line at the gleaming meat counter at Santa Fe's tres chic Whole Foods Market, next to the calculatedly casual woman dripping in turquoise and diamonds, the stout European cook with her shopping list for her employer's pre-opera gala, and bearded Planet-Consciousness-Man with his global warming conference t-shirt and socially responsible $165 organic cotton pants, I find myself wondering if any one of them has a clue about what free-range chickens like to eat for breakfast?

I suspect not.