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.