The Evil Temptation of Foie Gras

Yes, it's true. I am pure evil. I am evil incarnate. I should kick orphaned puppies as I pass them in the street on my way to the Republican rally.

My name is Condiment Grrl and I LOVE Foie Gras.

For those of you who don't know, Foie Gras, read up on it on Wikipedia, here. It's the diseased, engorged liver of a goose or duck. See? Evil.


But oh so good.


I remember distinctly the first time I had Foie Gras with a foodie friend who I shall ever after refer to as Trapeze Girl, because that's what she used to do. We were in a restaurant in San Francisco that was called something like Woodland, under an overpass toward the Mission district. I took a bite of a dish that was placed in front of us, unsure of its contents, but knowing it was something meaty with a savory sauce. And it was the most delicious, buttery meaty thing I had ever had. It's like they took all the beautiful songs about fat that have ever been written and distilled only the purest, sweetest notes.

I heart it.

How did we even order it since the very idea of it would have repulsed me? Did a fallen angel whisper it in my ear on his way to his Cannibals Anonymous meeting?

I only let myself have Foie Gras once or twice a year because I do have the tiniest shred of a Good Angel still sitting on my shoulder saying "Condiment Grrrrrlllll...think of the Geesies and Duckies...."

And that's what I was doing when I watched Anthony Bourdain investigate a Foie Gras producer in the Hudson Valley for his ironic Holiday special. He, too, had the same conflict that I had about the rumored horribleness of life for the Geese involved. He went to a producer called Dartagnan and toured the farm. The Geese did look moderately happy in their shelter. And the woman who owned the premises emphasized that happier Geese make better Foie Gras, so they really do try and make these Geesies short life happy. Not only that, but the force feeding doesn't hurt them; it only lasts a minute and, they have separate throats for food and air, so it doesn't choke them. Then a veteranarian came on and said that the Geese for Dartagnan probably have happier lives than Geese in the wild who are probably devoured by starving Orphan Puppies being fattened up for a Republican fundraiser.

So, you see, the moral of this story is that good begats good. And Foie Gras rules. And I really really really want to try the French Kisses from the Dartagnan website; what's not to love about prunes marinated with French Brandy then stuffed with Foie Gras mousse?

OK, I'm drooling on my keyboard.

Yes, I'm evil.

Condiment Grrl