The Key West citizen., 1954-11-20
Hal


AAkNOOIlE, DC1Sluuu 1l- All IIly
life / have wanted to become a
real gourmet, one who makes an
art of eating.
Guess | never will / funk out on
the very first test-which is, that
the true gourmet never lets his
conscience interfere with his pal-
ate.
Fer example, thisSyear an Afri-
can native politician disappeared
on a campaign tour and presum-
ably was consumed by his con-
stituents. The average voter, no
matter what his politics, considers
such thing unjustified, regardless
of the candidates stand on the
tariff or whether he favored legal
izing bingo.
Your true gourmet, on the other
hand, would be interested only in
how the politician was cooked,
what kind of sauce was employed,
and what kind Of wine would be
proper for the occasion.
! mention this only because !
have again foundered in my efforts
to become a gourmet. The piece
de resistance in this case was not
politician, but something even
more vulnerable called a grive.
have been journeying through
Belgium with group of American
travel writer's, and life has been
one banquet after another. The
food in the Ardennes is wonderful
at this time of year and full of q
forest flavor sweet-tasting venison.
acorn-ripened wild boar steaks that
make ordinary pork pallid in COM
parison.
My first encounter with venison
did trouble me-for I love the
image of a springing deer-but
calmed my qualms and manfully
downed it by telling myself I'm
this world eyerybody's after a fast
buck"
And just when I thought I was
becoming a hardened gourmet at
last - well, in they came with a
grive on my plate.
What was it? No body in our
group knew for sure. It was 4
small bird, roasted a lovely brown.
1t had been cooked with its head
on, and served with the head bent
under the wings and legs, which
were crossed across its breast IN
shy, protective gesture.
Looks like that old painting
called September Nor" |" some
one suggested. We guessed it must
be a tiny squad or some kind Of
sparrow.
The next problem was how TO
eat it. With knife and fork feebly
attacked the grive. It Immediately
let its head fall back and flung
its wings and legs apart. II looked
somehow like baby that needed
a diaper.
Hunger left me at once. But
feebly l took off q morsel with nv
fork. It was dark and gamey, and
l had hard time swallowing il.
The Belgian sportsman sitting
next to me noticed my difficulty.
Very delicious" he said, kiss
ing his fingers. He then showed
me how to eat q grive. He ripped
the bird apart, wolfed it down,
then-at first | thought this was
an optical Alusion-thrust the head
in his mouth and demolished it
with gusto.
Fighting down an urge to get ND
and run, asked him what a grive
was. As best | could understand
his explanation, filtered through
my forgotten year of college
French, he said:
"A grive is a thrush, game bird
here. We trap it. II is a very
greedy bird, and its greed is i.s
own undoing. When it thrusts its
head through a small looped snare
to get at a berry, the moose tight
ems around its throat and hangs
it."
"A grive is q thrush is a thrush
is a thrush" The words rang
through my mind. i remembered
how as boy scout I had proved
through the woods identifying diff
ferent birds to win a merit badge.
What would my old scoutmaster
think of me now, sitting here with
a cooked, sweetsinging thrush on
my plate?
Ny Belgian friend looked puzzled
as ! pushed the grive away. ! felt
there was no use trying to explain
to him that to me thrush meant
music, and that if l were ever
hungry enough to eat musical In
struments | would prefer to start
by munching on tuba or nibbIine
on the legs Of concert piano.
End advance for Pms Saturday
haA.. N