Last week, I went to a very fine restaurant and was served duck. It was essentially raw. Rubbery. Not easily cut with a meat knife. (it squished and stretched and responded to the knife like…well… a rubbery substance.)

It happened before, at the same restaurant. Details will be revealed in the next post.

The question to ponder: what is duck? I never thought about this before these two unappetizing (and maybe sick-making) incidents.

I like it. I order it, occasionally. I don’t think about it, ever.  That’s about to change.