When we were at the market the other day P bought a brace of woodcock being delighted they were so cheap as they are a delicacy, apparently. The other night he prepared them the 'traditional way'. With a flourish he presented me with my plate. My woodcock sat on a bed of toast with two clawed feet hanging off the edge and curled up in the middle a head complete with feathers, a rather sad expression and a beak.
There was just no way that any of that was going into my mouth, however much effort P might have put into it, however much it might cost in a restaurant, however much he might call me a 'townie'... I was not going to eat it. In fact I could hardly bear to look at it.
Give me 5 day old cold leftover turkey any day.
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