I was shopping for groceries, surrounded by food, and I was hungry. So, with a view to distracting my nagging tummy, I resorted to reading food labels. I couldn’t pronounce most of the ingredients I encountered, until my eye fell upon one brief and refreshingly down-home list of package contents:

• 53 per cent organic, free-range New Zealand lamb

• 28 per cent wild Pacific fish

• 19 per cent whole brown rice and organic vegetables

That sounded pretty darn good. Compared, at least, with some of the junk we have come to accept as food. Take a Twinkie for example. Please. One won’t kill you.

There are 39 ingredients in a Twinkie. They include, among other familiar foodstuffs, flour, sugar, high fructose corn syrup, shortening (vegetable and beef), baking soda and traces of egg. Then there are those less familiar culinary delights that man has, in his wisdom, discovered: polysorbate 60 and the preservative, sorbic acid. There’s synthetic vanillin, too, and something called diacetyl that mimics the taste of butter. And cheerful colouring agents like Yellow No. 5 and Red No. 40.

So, with that menu as an option, wouldn’t you rather eat New Zealand lamb, wild local fish, brown rice and vegetables? Maybe you’re disconcerted by the prospect of meat and fish being served on the same plate. Well, don’t be. We’re going to toss it all together with a nice homemade broth, dive in nose-first, and inhale it all at one sitting. At least that’s what our dog does.

I must explain: That inviting lamb/fish/rice and veggie combo that caught my eye is dog food. It’s called Happy Paws, it’s full of good stuff and it’s made in Victoria. I’m happy to feed this to my dog. And he’s delighted to eat it.

However, it’s disconcerting to think that I could probably get more honest-to-goodness nourishment from a bowl of Happy Paws dog food than I could from much of what’s packaged for people on my grocery store shelves. A frozen chicken pie consists mostly of crust, and under the crust there’s more water than chicken, more water than vegetables. A can of baked beans delivers, apart from the beans, mostly sugar, tomato purée and — wait for it — lots of water. Furthermore, that same can of beans consists of about six per cent protein compared to the 24 per cent protein content of Happy Paws dog food.

I realize that this survey of mine is a cursory one. But the evidence, however skimpy, suggests that we people are getting seriously short-changed by the folks who assemble meals on our behalf.

It appears to be pointing me in a direction I’m reluctant to take: Scooping up a bowlful of Happy Paws and digging in.

I go at it cautiously. Just a kibble or two at a time. And I don’t like what I’m tasting.

My face registers my distaste and my husband, who has experimented (in the interests of column material) with other doggie treats, asks sympathetically: “kerosene?”

“Yes!” I say, though what do I know? I’ve never actually ingested kerosene before. Anyway, the descriptor fits my discomfort and I write it down: kerosene. Yuck.

The plan was this: If I had enjoyed this taste test, I’d have a bowl of Happy Paws with milk and sliced banana for breakfast. This won’t happen, I can assure you. I will donate all those nutritious, high protein, kerosene-flavoured kibbles to my dog.

And I forgive the Happy Paws folk, unconditionally, for producing a dog food that’s not to my taste. I thank them for the daily meals my dog so obviously thrives on and enjoys. And I, in turn, will continue to read labels and rely for my sustenance on simple, unsullied people food — eggs, meat, fish, fruit and fresh vegetables. Organic whenever possible. And nothing in pellet form.