le canard

by jemma margaret

There are ducklings in the park and a sign that says,

Vous aimez les oiseaux, ne les nourrissez pas!

I think they are afraid of potential foie gras enthusiasts.

One might say instead,

Vous aimez les oiseaux, ne les mangez pas!

In France there is only “aimer,” but in English I can more subtly say that while I like to watch baby ducklings floating in the pond, I love to eat crispy leg of duck!

When people ask me why I am no longer really a vegetarian, I begin to wax poetic about the joys of waterfowl. How lovely to have a bird where no one has to sacrifice and eat white meat.

There were plans for confit du canard (which I always have to repeat to the butcher at least three times before he understands me) this week,  currently postponed due to a surplus of mint-date salad dressing that demands to be eaten instead (which reminds me of another cute little animal story about a Scottish friend of mine who in her youth would chase around lambs shouting “mint sauce!”). The eating calendar (would you expect any less?) is looking pretty full. Maybe Sunday night I can squeeze in some confit du canard.

Confit du canard.

Confit du canard.

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