All About My Goose: A Terrifying Culinary Experience

I have never eaten a goose. Alive. Dead maybe, because Europe is now full of restaurants where you know exactly what you’re paying for, but you have no idea what you’re eating. Last night, I found myself walking into a...

The post All About My Goose: A Terrifying Culinary Experience appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

I have never eaten a goose. Alive. Dead maybe, because Europe is now full of restaurants where you know exactly what you’re paying for, but you have no idea what you’re eating. Last night, I found myself walking into a restaurant that specializes in eggs. And it seemed to be all about geese. I mean everything on the menu had goose in it: From the pastries to the eggs. We were in a hurry. We were late for an appointment. And in those circumstances, that place felt like the goose that laid golden eggs, but with no goose and no gold. Earlier I had eaten a wonderful meal in a Basque cider house and the possibilities of improving on it by improvising were very limited. So I went in against my will, held at gunpoint by my companion. But I went in.

Geese don’t keep me awake at night and I have no special soft spot for other people’s eggs. It’s enough to keep my own intact. The appearance of the place was not bad at all. It was empty. And that’s what you look for when your head hurts as much as mine did yesterday. An empty place. We wanted to talk about profitable businesses and then some journalism, and from the outside, that place seemed ideal. They were waiting for us on the other side of Madrid, and you always tend to think that in places where there is no one, they will serve you first. It is one of the many stupid ideas we all have about restaurants. We think that a place full of people guarantees good food. We imagine that if it has been open for 20 years, it must be of high quality. And we are convinced that everything advertised on television works, even if we know that this includes everything from the miracle bracelet against rheumatism to Joe Biden’s electoral candidacy. (READ MORE by Itxu Díaz: Gordon Sondland Returns to the Right Side of History)

The experience was suggestive. It was very pleasant to eat in front of a huge screen where an everlasting documentary was being shown — about the farms where these birds are raised and the whole process by which the critter goes from being a critter to being food for humans. It was a priceless idea. As we dined, it was amusing to think that our goose burger just a few hours earlier could have been hopping along with many other little geese on that big screen, and running around the pasture happily. First with a head, then without.

We took advantage to taste foie and discuss in detail the process of making goose foie, condimenting the conversation with romantic images of a beautiful sunset in the pasture, with two geese in love in the foreground, giving each other affectionate pecks. One of them, we thought, was liverless.

The modern restaurants of New Europe baffle me. You never know exactly what belongs to the culinary realm and what is supposed to be aesthetically pleasing. One of the characteristics of this place was the extraordinarily small size of almost everything we were served. My companion had to search his plate for about half an hour to find his burger. We finally found it crouched behind a French fry. Mine was clearer. It was meat and a bunch of lamb’s lettuce or whatever you call those little plants that look like clover, but you eat them. Next to the lamb’s lettuce was a small fly. It had its legs up. The gaze fixed on the ceiling cleared any doubt about its rigor mortis. Its placement next to one of the leaves of lettuce did not seem coincidental. I didn’t dare ask if this was an unfortunate incident or if it was part of the chef’s creative genius. Perhaps an affectionate nod to the cover of my book, I Will Not Eat Crickets. (READ MORE by Itxu Díaz: Spring Is the Season of Love)

Once the meal was over, we wanted to pay the bill at the bar so that we could leave that prison of delights as soon as possible, a culinary masterpiece, capable of connecting tradition with modernity and making the least animalistic diner weep with grief. Next to the beer tap, the cloud of small flies was so dense that it prevented us from seeing the waiter clearly. Once again, we were left wondering if, in such a modern, beautiful, and clean place, the flies were a snobbish touch, like the farm documentary, or if they had simply reserved that area of the bar to celebrate a birthday. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask the waiter because, for some time now, people in Madrid have been offended by everything. I remembered the fly on my plate and concluded that this, more than a birthday, could be a funeral. “The best ones always go first, but death is not the end,” I exclaimed, staring at the swarm of flies and holding my hand to my chest. The tear seemed a bit excessive for such a tiny insect, but I couldn’t hold back the emotion at the thought that not only had they lost a friend, but I had eaten her myself. Biodegradable incineration, I guess. Maybe I’ve opened up a business niche. (READ MORE by Itxu Díaz: The Polite European Right Missed the Point)

After having supper, we went for supper. We were hungrier than before we had arrived. We indulged in one of these fast food restaurants where you can be happy in five minutes. My friend made up for it by ordering several sandwiches and a bunch of desserts. I at first refused to eat as a sign of protest, outraged to discover that the menu didn’t include goose. I don’t like to mix it up. But then, I blew the protest to hell, ordered six burgers, and happily exclaimed, “God bless America!” Then I said a prayer for the geese who had fallen in the line of duty at that restaurant during the past week and for their deceased family members.

Translated by Joel Dalmau

The post All About My Goose: A Terrifying Culinary Experience appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.