Patty dee phooey grass

ammasriram By ammasriram, 25th Apr 2016 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL
Posted in Wikinut>Humour>Off Beat

Have you ever wondered about the charm and origins of pate de foie gras? Well, wonder no more - read on.

Patty dee phooey grass

Warning: If you are a goose or a duck that with the ability to read English text, you should stop, and read no further.

The French have a tooth (or two, or several) specially meant to savor a particular delicacy. I have not personally had the privilege of tasting it, but I understand that volumes have been written on its glory, songs have been sung in a state of delirium subsequent to its consumption (although one wonders if the accompanying wine has anything to do with the transcendental states of experience), houses of worship have been erected for it across the famed nation (and some parts of its famed or un-famed neighboring nations as well) – where, only the very exclusive and affluential devotees go through elaborate ceremonial rites culminating in perceptible states of euphoria and bliss -, duels have been fought for possession of it in lean times, and chefs have been unceremoniously executed for not respecting the proper traditions and procedures in its preparation. It was but just, that upon such a one should be bestowed a most distinguished name – a name that sticks on some tongues in the middle of pronouncing it, rolls smoothly off those of some, and on tongues which have no right to attempt uttering the name, sounds somewhat akin to the majestic emotional expressions of a long-suffering gorilla that, in its most intense and unbearable state of stubborn constipation, suddenly and effectively feels a release (and possibly relief). One of the greatest pleasures in my life has been to find a solitary (and sound-proof) location, and practice varieties of possible pronunciations of the said fabled and divine product. If you are not a goose or a duck (which I hope you are not, on account of what is to come hereafter, I suggest you may attempt my aforementioned vocal exercises).
There is yet a mysterious component to this. The practice dates back to about two and a half millennia. It so happened that an Egyptian, given to the vocation of animal husbandry (wait, I hope you know what that is – it has no apparent or real connotations of taking on the role of a male spouse, to male or female fauna), had a quarrel with the wife (a human one, that is), and in a huff, decided that the company of his ducks and geese would be more pleasant than that of his wife (the human one). He therefore established residence amidst the flocks of these two most active and remarkable avian species. First he tried the company of one, and then he tried the company of the other. To make a long story short, the strategy employed did not quite result in expected desirable (nor pleasant) outcomes. Suffice it to say that beaks, pecks, scratches, malodorous discharges, and winged assaults were all involved (especially when our brave adventurer developed and expressed affection (with all good intention) for the baby ducks and baby geese), all accompanied by loud and indignant accusations, beratement, & curses in the ancient Honk language (which our hero eventually understood). This united campaign, launched by mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, great aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers, nephews, nieces, and varieties of in-laws, seemed to irreversibly dampen the views of our hero regarding the pleasantness of human inclusion amidst avian dwellings. For one thing, what little of his hair had been spared from years of soulful verbal exchanges with the wife, was now fully removed by the passionate and vigorous attack upon his head. When the attack was finally ceased, a long breath of immeasurable relief escaped from the loser – “phooouuuuu”. However, the last straw was the sight of the wife (the human one), standing at a safe distance, shaking in the manner of one experiencing an minor earth tremors inside their person, with glee and satisfaction seeming to spray out from every shake. For a priceless, yet decisive, moment, the great man stood frozen, as his brain sorted out a dilemma – would he be in a greater position of advantage in directing his wrath towards the said tremors, or towards the said campaigners? Apparently, it did not take very long, nor was there much confusion. It was clear to him that taking on four and twenty ducks and geese outweighed the probability numbers (in terms of measurable odds of survival), compared to those involved in taking on the wife (the human one). He strode purposefully towards the grassy woods, neatly trimmed off the nearest bamboo shoot, and set about his mission. Feather and flesh spread rapidly in darting and flying motions hither and thither in the barn, and he managed to catch one such live bundle. In the heat of the moment, he thrust the bamboo stick into the beak to silence the frantic noise emanating from within. Yet, as he looked into the eyes of his captive, he could not process his violent rage further. A thought struck him. He reached into the nearest bushel of duck feed, grabbed a fistful, poured it into the hollow reed, and kept repeating his action. His rage subsided, and after practicing a special facial expression combining sheepishness and pathos, he entered the house to make his amends. The next day, as he went back to the barn to capture a resident for (his) dinner, some animal instinct made him repeat his act of torture to the same victim. So it continued for twelve days. Two months later, it was the victim’s turn (the victim now resembling a cross between a duck and a balloon) to serve as dinner. To the great delight of our hero and his wife, the meal was the most splendid that he had ever tasted. The liver, of this most special and holy duck, was now ten times as big as that of a normal (unholy) duck, ten times as buttery, and ten times softer. The great man sat with his great belly after the great feast, rubbing his smooth bald pate, recollecting the great history, his moment of audibly expressing his great relief, and the grassy tool that brought him his great reward. Thus was born the charming, sumptuous and immortal culinary tradition of pate of phooouuu grass. Now comes the mysterious part. Of all the great nations of the world, how did it come about that the French adopted this great Egyptian’s practice? The world awaits the answer yet. In any case, their respect for the man and his invention was tremendous, and over the millennia, they honored the process and the quality, even retaining the name, with only a minor change, “pate de foie gras”.


Humor, Humorous Story, Off Beat, Pate De Foie Gras

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author avatar ammasriram
The writings are informal attempts at documenting spiritual, mystical and philosophical concepts learned through self-experience.

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