Monday, July 03, 2006

 





These are pictures of the chicken boursin on brown rice with asparagus I cooked for my wife. She also got pate and a glass of wine. And why not? She deserves this.

The mommy duck is doing well. All seems right with the world tonight.

Comments:
Phew!!

For a minute there, I thought you were serving NYM thee duck.

And I'm guessing that you're an okay husband.
 
Yum! I also had a minute's thought that the duck had hit the decks.
 
Before/after duck pics was my first impression as well, but anyone who appreciates asparagus has more culture than that.

Every time a duck quacks an angel gets its wings...
-Mr.Murder
 
Maybe the caption should be higher than photo no. 1 because that was my first thought as well. Those SAVAGES! I thought, They've BROILED the duck!!
 
Ducks rock!
 
You didn't burn the rice? And are you saving the duck for a special occassion?
 
Well, we DO enjoy pate...

Oh, we won't eat the duck.
 
Jeez. You scared us all. I too thought that was before and after pics.

Glad the duckie family is doing well.

And that the chicken boursin worked out. Mary is a lucky girl. But you knew that.
 
Maxx enjoys paté too. Asparagus, not so much.

Mary deserves to be pampered. I'm glad the duck survived the deluge as well.

But you seriously need a new camera.
 
Yum - the chicken looks good!

And yea! I'm glad you all and mama duck didn't float away.
 
pâ·té
n.

1. A meat paste, such as pâté de foie gras.
2. A small pastry filled with meat or fish.


[French, from Old French paste, paste, pâté.]

Hmmmmmmm.
 
my grandparents, nice people in general, actually did serve my fathers pet duck for dinner one night.

maybe the duck wasn't exactly a pet, but that's how dad saw it, and they didn't tell him til after dinner.
 
Mary almost has you trained. Ha. Put on her shoes and socks for her, then we'll know for sure!
 
Charley:

My grandparents had a farm. My grandfather bred one of his milk cows, and of course we kids woke up one fine spring morning to a cute little calf. We loved that little guy. We even named him Snowball, because he had a perfectly white little face that looked like...well, a snowball!

Then, one day, Snowball was gone, and we had a bad feeling... We were old enough to understand what a vanished animal meant on the farm: It had died, or, more likely, gone to slaugher. When Snowball didn't appear the next day, or the next... Well, we knew.

A week or two later, my grandfather was all excited, because he was getting one of his favorite meals, wiener schnitzel (no, not the hot dog place, the original Austrian dish, made with veal). We didn't understand what the excitement was about. We understood less when this precious meal was before us (precious, because sometimes we were so poor that we didn't have meat for weeks!). My brother asked what it was. My grandfather said, "Veal! Eat it. You'll like it. It's like steak, only better."

"What's it come from?"

Without thinking and before my grandmother could intervene, my grandfather answered, "Baby cows!"

You know what happened: Suddenly, three children looked at their plates, made the connection to his words, and started bawling. Snowball was on our plates.

I couldn't eat veal for years after that, and I eat it sparingly, even now. I always see Snowball when I see it.
 
LJ

that was an exquisitely told, and poignant story.

yeah, i don't think i could eat veal. not to hep on meat anyway, seeing as it all comes from commercial farms wrapped in cellophane. if you're going to eat it you should have to kill it.

i trust ther's duck is safe and sound. take some more pictures so we can be sure.
 
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