I sent the teen out to the chicken coop to see if there were any eggs about. I thought my request would be met with some reluctance because a sneaky fog had descended on the town land and it was damp and chilly. But no, before I could think of a bribe, the teen threw on his Dad's crocs and ventured down the sodden lawn to investigate. He came back with three eggs and said, 'gold, frankincense and myrrh, Mom', placed them in the palms of my hands like crown jewels and went back to his studies. I felt like celebrating. The hens it seems are on the rebound. The eggs, a necessary contribution towards the carbonara for dinner. Anything is better than horse meat.
It seems all those people out there who regularly buy frozen beef burgers have been eating horse meat as well. It is all over the news. People are indignant as the product was misleading and improper. Contaminated being the word of the day. The government determined to get to the bottom of it or the hoof of the matter, in this case, have issued numerous statements that horse meat is not dangerous to health. But of course that is not the issue.
I know it's not dangerous. Like many people I have eaten horse meat and neigh, I mean, no, it did not kill me. I don't think I would have eaten it if I had known I was eating it or that in a past life the food on my plate had been called Beauty or Rosebud or Ed, or something like that. I dined on horse meat in France with a family I lived with for six months. I recall that somewhere half way between mouthfuls of what I thought was a delicious slice of beef, the subject of horse came up. The horse on my plate. What did I do? I continued to eat. Madame loved my appreciation of her cuisine. She practically whinnied with delight as each delicate morsel touched my lips.
I once knew a poet who went rabbit hunting and was famous for his rabbit stews. It was always a great occasion sitting around his big table with several bottles of wine and at least one added to the stew. It went down a treat. I suppose I was hungry back in those days and would have eaten anything at all.
But I'm happy to say that I have never cooked frozen burgers. This day, I am thankful for the fresh eggs and the son who delivered them to me with his own unique style. I am grateful for the garlic and the parmesan cheese to grate over the beautiful food and the salad glistening with olive oil. At least I know what I am about to eat. I know what I want to eat and I know how to eat it. Bon appetit!