The Culling Continues. BAM!

Hail, Sandra. Hail, Guy.

Thank God there's one fewer thing to keep me from waiting for 2 Dudes Catering to come on.

New York media blog fishbowlNY is reporting that Chef Emeril Lagasse's Emeril Live will cease production when his contract expires on December 11.

This is, I'm sure, totally unrelated to the fact that, earlier this month, cool dude and reality show winner Guy Fieri's shows Guy's Big Bite--noted for such refined fare as Tater Tot Halibut--and Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives--which mercifully forgoes the cooking altogether--have been renewed for one and two more seasons, respectively.

Say what you will about the man Tony Bourdain called an Ewok. It's true that his cooking show ridiculously features a live audience and a band. Sure, he seems to unduly enjoy exclaiming various pseudo-words and ruminating on the dubious benefits of notch-kicking. Yes, he garners absurd amounts of applause whenever he moves near a head of garlic or a bottle of booze. When it comes down to it, though, Emeril Lagasse is a trained chef who cooks well and clearly loves food. This is something that certainly can't be said for most of the bobble heads on Food Network's air today.

A Frankenstein ultimately undone by the monster of popular appeal that he helped to create, Emeril was largely responsible for the rise of the channel, and for the country's renewed interest in real cuisine some ten years ago. For that latter contribution, anyone who cares about food should be thankful. Like Sara and Mario, this latest victim of Food Network's never-ending quest for mediocrity deserves better.

Thankful

When the the availabilities of a particular cut of steak or foie gras in Chicago are topics of discussion, it's pretty easy for me to see how much I have to be thankful for. Every day, food is a little luxury in my life. It is a passion. For far too many people, though, food is a reality that doesn't involve nitpicking a trained chef's squab or discussing twelve new things too do with caul. For too many people, the reality of food is deciding whether to eat today or tomorrow, or wondering how to feed the kids next week. So for at least one day, I'll forgo wallowing in my own crapulence and think of what food can do for others.

Locally, you can donate to the food pantry at St. Vincent de Paul, or more broadly through the Dane County Food Pantry Network. On a national level, you can help through Share our Strength or America's Second Harvest. Internationally, $8.25--the same $8.25 that would buy you that glass of wine or third martini--will buy 25 Kg of rice at the World Food Program.

Finally, The Hunger Site allows visitors to donate food for free simply by clicking on a button once a day. It makes a good bookmark, and when you click it, the food gods absolve you of any veal or sea bass related sins.

Happy Thanksgiving, and thank you for reading.

Thanksgiving, Two Ways

Thanksgiving. It's the eatin'est day of the year. After all, what better way to give thanks than to gorge yourself on dry turkey, argue about politics with your drunken relatives, and then wake up early the next day to claw through your fellow consumers for amazing deals on flat-screen TV's and Tickle-Me Elmos at Wal-Mart?

I kid, America, I kid. You too, drunken relatives. Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday, accented with childhood memories of family, football in the snow, and stuffing, of which my family would make both kinds: crispy and moist. Best of all, it's a time when one can forget about concepts like "balance" and "flavor profile," let alone anything French. It's a time to dig in to a starchy, gravy-y mass of mom or grandma's handiwork and hearken back to a simpler time before Iron Chef had exposed you to the possibility of turkey ice cream.

... or not. Once you've done a less traditional, more food-centric Thanksgiving (is such a thing possible?) it can be harder to go back to some of the standbys. Below you'll find a few more upscale ideas, conveniently arranged into menu format.

But first things first--we will not be "talking turkey"--the bird. Intrepid time travelers will go back to before they're sold out and pick up an American Bronze from JenEhr Family Farm, whose poultry is some of the best I've ever had. Their chicken actually tastes like chicken, and unlike some purveyors they don't sell all of their product to L'Etoile. Be sure to protect Sarah Connor while you're at at. If, however, you're without the trappings of an H.G. Wells novel or Rocky Horror cast, you can still try Jordandal Farm, making sure to add some of their great pork to your menu, too.

Once you have the best ingredients you're on the right track, whether it's a traditional American event or a more modern affair. And if you're looking for a traditional menu, you're not going to find it here: that's what your grandmother's recipe book is for, and if you're looking for someone on the internet to tell you that his mashed potatoes are better than hers, you're a horrible, horrible person. All you get are a few common sense pointers:

1. Dry turkey is awful. Don't overcook the turkey; it's dead already.
2. Don't use dried sage. Fresh sage will make everything taste better, and more like actual sage.
3. If at all possible, use lard in your pie crusts.
4. Mashed potatoes love buttermilk.
5. Your family is still confused by your vegetarianism (see point three). Even though you've been a vegetarian for 12 years, it's just a fad that you'll grow out of. Forward them a recipe or two in advance to avoid explaining that vegetarian recipes don't traditionally use fish or bacon.
6. For the love of God, don't overcook the turkey.

Ultimately, whether you prefer the classics or something a little more modern, this is one case in which you can't go wrong crossing the streams. There's nothing better than a small dose of haut with a good helping of homey nostalgia.

A Seven Course Thanksgiving for the Kind of Person Who Reads (or Writes) Food Blogs

Pumpkin and Shrimp Bisque, (The Herbfarm Cookbook)
The Herbfarm, in Woodinville, WA is one of my very favorite restaurants. This fantastic autumnal soup comes from the restaurant's cookbook by Chef Jerry Traunfeld.

1 lb. large shrimp (16 to 18)

Shrimp Stock
2 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
3/4 cup dry white wine
3 cups chicken stock
pinch saffron
2 ribs celery, coarsely chopped
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
4 fresh bay leaves, or 2 dried
3 3-inch sprigs fresh sage

2 cups pumpkin puree
1/2 cup heavy cream
scant 1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tbs lemon juice
1 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
2 tsp finely chopped fresh sage

Stock: Peel and devein shrimp, reserving shells. Cover and refrigerate. Heat the olive oil over high heat until smoking. Add the shells and cook, stirring constantly, until they turn deep orange and begin to brown, 3-4 minutes. Add the wine, boiling over medium heat until the liquid has evaporated. Add chicken stock, saffron, celery, onion, bay, and sage. Bring to a boil, and reduce heat to the lowest setting. Partially cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Strain through a fine sieve, pushing down on the solids to extract all the liquid. Rinse the saucepan and pour the stock back into it.

Soup: Whisk the pumpkin, cream, 3/4 tsp salt, and cayenne into the shrimp stock. Bing to a simmer, cooking very gently and uncovered over low heat for ten minutes. Stir in the lemon juice, taste, and season to taste with black pepper and salt. (The recipe to this point can be made up to 1 day in advance.)

Finishing: Pour the olive oil into a saute pan over medium head, adding the reserved shrimp and sage and cook, tossing often, until the shrimp is just cooked through, 2-3 minutes. Arrange the shrimp in warmed serving bowls or a tureen. Bring the soup back to a simmer and ladle it over the shrimp.

Pickled Beet and Endive Salad with Goat Cheese and Walnuts (Charlie Trotter Cooks at Home)
Sure, I may have ranted about Charlie Trotter's unfortunate "ethics" interfering with my enjoyment of foie gras, but the fact remains that he is quite possibly the best chef in the region. This salad from his excellent cookbook highlights some wonderful Midwestern flavors.

Vinaigrette
1 shallot, minced
1/3 cup sherry wine vinegar
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper 3 beets
2 cups pickling juice
30 small Belgian endive leaves
1 pear, peeled, cored, and thinly sliced
1 cup soft goat cheese, crumbled
3/4 cup walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped

Vinaigrette: Place the shallots and sherry wine vinegar in a small bowl and slowly whisk in the canola and olive oils. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Beets: Peel the beets and place in a small saucepan with salted water. Bring to a boil and cook for 15 to 20 minutes, or until tender. Drain the beets and cool slightly. Julienne the beets and place them in a medium bowl with the pickling juice for 2 hours. Drain, discarding the pickling juice. Toss with 2 tablespoons of the vinaigrette and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Salad: In a large bowl, toss the endive, pear, goat cheese, and walnuts with the remaining vinaigrette and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Arrange the salad in the center of a large platter and top with the beets. Top with freshly ground black pepper.

Cranberry Sorbet
Sorbet is incredibly easy to make and handles improvisation well. Plus it adds that dash of pretension to complement your top hat and monocle: "Oh. You didn't have any sorbet for Thanksgiving? I'll wager you watched that footballing match instead of taking the yacht out, as well."

1 1/2 cups & 1/2 cup water
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 lb. (4-5 cups) cranberries, fresh or thawed
zest of one lemon and one orange (or blood orange)
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon (or blood orange) juice
generous splash Grand Marnier

Bring sugar and 1 1/2 cup water to a boil, forming a simple syrup. Add the cranberries, remaining water, and zest, and cook over medium heat until the berries pop, five to ten minutes. (In your head, in your head, they are crying.)

Cool slightly and puree, straining into a bowl, and stir in the lemon (or blood orange) juice and Grand Marnier. Cool completely in the refrigerator.

Freeze in an ice cream maker. (Alternately, freeze until solid. Before serving, allow to thaw for 10 minutes and process briefly in a blender or food processor until the appropriate texture.)

Mashed Potatoes with Crème Fraîche
Almost everyone loves mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving, and crème fraîche adds a rich touch.

5 lbs. Russet potatoes, peeled and quartered
1/2 lb. butter
1 1/2 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cup crème fraîche
1/2 cup leeks or scallions, sliced
chives, for garnish

Boil the potatoes in salted water until soft. Drain well and puree. Over low heat, add the cream, butter, and crème fraîche.

Remove from heat and fold in leeks or scallions. Garnish with chives.

Breast of Turkey Cuit Sous Vide and Roasted Leg en Ballotine (Thomas Keller, via New York Magazine)
I could put anything here, since you know you're going to make a classic turkey. Oh, maybe you'll brine it or something, but you know there's going to be a roast turkey on your table. That's why I need to go for the inspirational big guns in the form of Thomas Keller. Chef Keller recommends Vermont's Four Corners Farm turkey, but our local farms are just as good. Immersion circulator optional.

18-to-20-pound free-range turkey
Salt and freshly ground white pepper
4 ounces foie gras
3 tablespoons butter
¼ head shredded Savoy cabbage
½ cup 1/2-inch diced brioche bread
4 tablespoons foie gras fat (available at D’Artagnan; butter can be substituted)
10 peeled roasted chestnuts, diced
1 egg
1 tablespoon chopped chives
2 tablespoons reduced chicken stock
Bell’s Seasoning, to taste
Caul, to wrap leg (or butcher string)
3 tablespoons canola oil
5 sprigs each of thyme and sage
2 cloves garlic
1 sprig rosemary

Remove breast and legs from the carcass and bone the legs, leaving the skin intact. Reserve the bones for stock. Place the meat from the legs flat onto a sheet of plastic wrap, cut the oyster from the edge of the meat and place in the hole in the center, remove any veins, and cover with another sheet of plastic wrap. Beat with a mallet to even out the meat. Trim the meat into a rectangle, reserving trimmings for stock, and season with salt and pepper.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Set the foie gras in an ovenproof skillet and roast for 8 to 10 minutes. Remove and let cool. Set in the freezer to harden, then cut into a 1/4-inch dice. Reserve the foie gras fat in the pan for the croutons. Heat 1 tablespoon butter in an ovenproof skillet until the butter starts to brown, add the cabbage, and toss to coat. Roast in the oven for about 10 minutes or until the cabbage starts to caramelize around the edges. Toss the diced brioche with 1 tablespoon of foie gras fat, set the brioche on a baking sheet, and toast in the oven for about 5 minutes or until crisp and lightly golden.

Combine the diced foie gras, cabbage, croutons, chestnuts, egg, and chives in a bowl. Stir in 2 tablespoons of foie gras fat and the stock. Season with salt, pepper, and Bell’s Seasoning. Place half the stuffing down the center of each portion of leg meat, roll the meat tightly, and wrap in caul or tie with butcher string at 1-inch intervals. Season each leg with salt and pepper, and brush with foie gras fat.

Increase the oven to 400 degrees. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in an ovenproof skillet, add the stuffed turkey legs, and quickly brown on all sides before setting in the oven and roasting for about 25 minutes. Allow to rest for 5 minutes.

Meanwhile, take one half of the turkey breast, season with salt and pepper, lay it skin-side down, and brush the flesh side with foie gras fat. Alternate with 2 sprigs sage and 2 sprigs thyme across the breast, and nestle a clove of garlic in the center. Cut a sheet of cardboard the length and width of the breast, cover with foil, and set the breast bone-side down on the board (this will stop the bones from piercing the plastic bag). Place the whole thing in a heavy plastic bag and seal in a vacuum-seal machine. Repeat with the remaining half breast. If you do not have a vacuum-seal machine, the breast must be boned and prepared as above, and then rolled skin-side out. Lay out a 24-inch-wide square of plastic wrap. Set the breast at one end and roll the plastic wrap as tightly as possible around the breast. Twist the ends to tighten the package and tie a knot at each end of the plastic wrap, as close to the meat as possible, so the package is airtight.

Fill a large casserole or deep roasting pan with water and heat the water to 164 degrees. Place the two vacuum-sealed turkey breasts in the water and cook gently for 30 minutes. Make sure to maintain the water temperature at 164 degrees by keeping a thermometer in the water. If the water gets too hot, add more cold water; if it goes below 164 degrees, increase the heat. Remove the vacuum-sealed breasts from the water and allow to rest for 5 minutes.

Remove the breasts from the bags, discard the herbs, and dry the skin with a paper towel. Season the breasts with salt and pepper. Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat, add the breasts, and gently brown the skin and finish any cooking if necessary. Add a sprig each of thyme, sage, and rosemary to the pan along with 2 tablespoons butter. Brown the butter and baste the turkey breasts, turning occasionally. Leave the turkey to rest for 5 minutes, before slicing.

A Selection of Wisconsin Cheddars
A course of artisan cheddars is an elegant touch, but still has the robust flavors and rustic feel one expects from a Thanksgiving menu.

Carr Valley Cave-Aged Cheddar (aged 6-9 mo.)
Bleu Mont Bandaged Cheddar (British style, aged 18 mo.)
Hook's 10 (or 12) Year Cheddar

Pumpkin Custard Profiteroles with Maple Caramel (Bon Appétit, November 2004)
Maple caramel
1 cup maple sugar
1/2 cup butter
3/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1/4 cup bourbon
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Pumpkin custard
3 cups whipping cream
2 1/4 cups canned pure pumpkin
1 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup sugar
9 large egg yolks

Profiteroles
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 cup butter
1 1/2 tsp sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup flour
4 eggs
1 egg yolk

Maple caramel:
Stir sugar and butter in saucepan over medium heat until blended and smooth. Whisk in cream. Bring to boil, stirring until caramel dissolves. Reduce heat to medium and simmer 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in bourbon and vanilla; simmer 1 minute. (Can be made 3 days ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Pumpkin custard: Preheat oven to 325°F. Whisk cream and next 6 ingredients in heavy large saucepan. Bring to simmer over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat. Whisk sugar and egg yolks in medium bowl. Gradually stir hot pumpkin mixture into egg yolk mixture.

Pour pumpkin custard into glass baking dish and cover with foil. Place dish in a baking pan, and fill pan with hot water halfway up sides of dish. Bake until custard is set, about 1 hour 15 minutes. Cool completely. Cover and chill until cold, at least 4 hours. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Keep chilled.)

Profiteroles: Preheat oven to 425°F. Line 2 large rimmed baking sheets with parchment. Bring 1/2 cup water, milk, butter, sugar, and salt to boil in saucepan. Stir in flour; cook over medium-high heat, stirring vigorously, until dough is smooth and pulls away from sides of pan, about 1 minute. Transfer hot mixture to standing mixer. Beat dough with paddle attachment at medium speed until slightly cool, about 3 minutes. Add 3 eggs, 1 at a time, beating until blended after each addition. Beat in egg yolk until blended.

Spoon 16 mounds of batter onto prepared sheets. Beat remaining egg in small bowl. Brush tops of profiteroles lightly with beaten egg. Bake 15 minutes. Reduce oven to 375°F and continue baking until puffed and golden brown, about 30 minutes. Transfer to rack to cool completely. (Can be made 1 week ahead. Remove from freezer a few hours before continuing.)

Rewarm caramel sauce. Slice profiteroles horizontally in half. Spoon 1/3 cup filling into bottom half of each profiterole. Cover with top halves. Drizzle with sauce. Spoon dollop of whipped cream atop profiteroles. Sprinkle with chopped pecans and serve.

"Sorry. Those all go to L'Etoile."

That's the answer I got this weekend when I asked if it would be possible to get any bone-in ribeye from Fountain Praire Farms. "All of our best cuts go to L'Etoile."

Like Jessica Simpson faced by some particularly complex long division, my initial reaction was one of terror and panic. How could this be? Where else could I get such an incredibly perfect steak? Would I be forced to happily throw away my apartment and life savings due to more trips to L'Etoile than I could possibly afford? Most importantly: why did I not know this already?

As is so often the case, my horror quickly turned to outrage.

What the hell, Fountain Prairie Farms? A little praise from the New York Times, and three years later you're too good for your adoring fans, the teeming, unwashed masses of steak-purchasing humanity? Did you think that we wouldn't notice? That we wouldn't want the best cuts from the best producers (i.e. you)? That we would assume your cattle were mysteriously born without longissimus dorsi muscles? Sure, you can try to placate us with flank steak. And it's true that the outside skirt I bought (prepared in a slight variant of this recipe I stole from Bouchon) was good--superb, even--but it wasn't the same.

Et tu, Tory Miller? It's not enough that you cook better than me, have more awards, and run what is quite possibly the best kicthen in the state. Now you have to take all of the best steak, too? Steak is the last bastion of the lazy home cook. It's a safe haven for us, when we don't have time to make Cassoulet, when we don't have three varieties of Hen-of-the-Woods for a wild mushroom salad, when we don't have the skill to make poached lobster with saffron tapioca and Gewürztraminer foam. A quick sear over a high flame, maybe a little Béarnaise sauce or compund butter, and even Thomas Keller couldn't complain (well, at least unless you were trying to serve it in one of his restaurants). And now, Chef, you take our steak frites? For shame, sir.

But, like an aging Marlon Brando on a private Tahitian island, I am a reasonable man. There will be no retaliation. I do, however, require justice. From Fountain Prairie, I demand but a single steer. If the National Geographic Channel is to be believed, this is a mere pittance, and a generous offer as recompense for my slighted honor. (And make sure he likes chickens; the balcony's pretty small.)

L'Etoile, meanwhile--no doubt anticipating a backlash against their loathsome scrumptiousness hoarding--has already scheduled a Rhône wine dinner featuring Châteauneuf-du-Pape for my birthday on December 12. And that's a good first step. A lifetime supply of Katie's ambrosius pastries from Café Soleil should round out the deal nicely.

In the meantime? Oh, I'll still buy Fountain Prairie's beef. I'll still visit L'Etoile. And I'll still take advantage of their $35 early week tasting menu. But each bite will taste like ashes. Delicious, delicious ashes.

Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi!

This weekend is always a disappointing one for the Madison foodie. It marks the time that the Farmer's Market shrinks down, moves inside, and enters into a semi-torporous state, not to return to its full glory until rhubarb magically transforms into asparagus. The Capitol Square would be a little gloomier--sure, L'Etoile and Harvest would still be there, of course, and Cafe Soleil and Marigold would still offer the best breakfasts and pastries in town.

But what of the cook? The entertainer? They remember winters past, dark times of want, and excessive supermarket shopping. And my God, what of the cheese?

Thanks to Fromagination, this winter will be a little warmer than last. I first visited the Carrol Street boutique at its opening, but reserved any commentary until I could see their selection of imported cheeses, which arrived about a week ago. As I walked in the door, the name had put me on my guard. I was apprehensive that it might serve as a pretentious echo of the tourist-friendly shops that peddle cheese hats to football fans on the weekend. Suffice it to say my worries were grossly unfounded.

I could reflect on the pleasant, upscale-retro ambiance, or the fact that the shop espouses a number of earth-friendly policies, but that would detract from the food. (I won't, however, neglect to mention that the shop's flat screen was playing an episode of The French Chef, always a good sign.)

Their cheeses have been selected with a connoisseur's palate and a clear love of their product. Never mind that it's been near impossible to find quality Wisconsin cheese outside of the Farmer's Market itself; Fromagination is not only the first store to offer a wide selection of the artisanal Wisconsin cheeses, they've also managed to narrow them down to the crème de la crème.

Hook's superlative, incredibly sharp 10 year cheddar? It's there, alongside the Five Year. Fantôme Farm's incredible, rich, ash-dusted Moreso? There, as is their chevre. Carr Valley's Cave Aged Marisa? Bleu Mont's Bandaged Cheddar? Uplands' Pleasant Ridge Reserve? They're all there.

The selection of imports is nearly as impressive. There is, of course, gorgonzola and parmigiano reggiano from Italy, cheddar and Stilton from England, Brie and Camembert from France. More surprising are entries like the semi-soft Chimay Grand Cru, a Cambozola (a triple cream blue crossed with Brie), and--oh baby--mozzarella di buffala.

And the staff knows their stuff. On a busy Friday evening, a transplanted québécoise offered me a sample of the aforementioned 10 Year and extolled with me the virtues of crystalline cheddar; I agreed, and said she had to try the 12. Later, I asked about Bries, and was happily surprised when another employee pointed out the amazing Rouzaire Fromage de Meaux that I had missed.

Even the little touches are done perfectly. Wine, beer, and other accompaniments are present, as is a small but respectable selection of charcuterie. While this is to be expected, their careful selection is not. The meats are well chosen, and their baguettes aren't just baguette's--they're from Cafe Soleil, easily the best in the city and probably the best in the state. (Add guanciale, guys, and you'll have to drag me bodily from the store.)

Any Madisonian serious about food owes it to him or herself to visit this shop. They're socially conscious, clearly passionate, and provide an amazing depth and breadth of quality product. In short, Fromagination is easily one of the best things to happen to Madison's culinary scene this year.

On foie

Several months ago at a party, after a few too many glasses of wine, it seemed a good idea to make small talk with a young woman by launching into a tirade against Charlie Trotter's stance on foie gras. The man is, of course, something of a legend in the non-coastal culinary world that is Midwest. He's easily one of the most acclaimed chefs in our little corner of the world--the author of 14 books and an 8-time Beard Award winner--which is why it was so surprising that, in 2002, he decided to stop serving the drool-inducing liver at his flagship restaurant. It's in part because of this that, by the time Chicago decided to ban the sale of foie in 2006, Trotter had become the de facto poster boy of the movement. And it was for this that I railed against him.

(Never mind the hypocrisy of making one's living by selling dead--albeit delicious--animals, while claiming the moral high ground over a fringe, luxury item. Of course, carnivorous legislators aren't immune, either. While I'm not supposing a tautology of moral equivalence, it’s easier to engage in ethical masturbation by taking on the three, small American producers of a "cruel" product you probably don't eat anyway than it is to take on the National Cattlemen's Beef Association and admit that hamburgers come from similarly gruesome origins.)

Foie gras has been the subject of much discussion over the last few years, and has long been a target of animal rights activists: its production involves slaughtering force-fed ducks and geese for their engorged livers. There is, of course, a caveat: like bacon, oysters, truffles, or chocolate, foie gras is fucking amazing.

I remember, as a freshman at the UW, meeting Ingrid Newkirk, president of PETA and crazy person. (Further evidence of insanity can be found, for instance, here, here, or here.) The thing is, she didn't seem so crazy at the time. In fact, the films they'd shown were frightening. Among other horrors that would make Takashi Miike blach, they showed pictures of ducks being force-fed by steel tubes which sometimes gashed viciously through their throats.

Never mind that the physiology of these birds' livers and throats are inherently different than those of mammals (and never mind that my impressionable young mind hadn't yet picked up on the insanity). The images were powerful.

That's why it's good to see that Bob del Grosso, of the wonderfully named A Hunger Artist, has posted a great slideshow showing his recent trip to Hudson Valley Foie Gras, a name that will likely be familiar to foodies and animal rights activists alike. It is, I think, important for today's aspiring freshman vegan to see that the reality, at least for the producer whose foie we're likeliest to see in Madison, is far from the Texas Chain Saw-style horror portrayed by PETA and those who subscribe to their claims. Even the most jaded, nihilistic sensualist will probably find a little comfort in it.

And the girl at the party? Apparently she wasn't turned on by a drunken, vitriolic defense of gavage. It was never meant to be.