I am very fond of foie gras the production of which is illegal in many countries; generally ones that did not produce foie gras.
The Gers, a department to the west of Toulouse, is a big producer. I know there is a strong lobby against force-feeding geese for two weeks before slaughter to engorge their livers and you can probably see lurid videos of the practice. However, what I saw on many visits to the Gers were flocks of geese roaming happily on verdant hillsides – before becoming foie gras.
One of the many pleasures in Tony Scotland’s latest, Secrets, written about yesterday, is that he is discursive. A discursion is similar to a digression but perhaps a little longer. Anyway, the serendipity arises because he meets in Hungary in 1989 a Swiss businessman who wants to export Hungarian foie gras to the West and says no one will be able to tell the difference from French f g. Hungary is indeed a major foie gras producer today, the second largest after France, and the season is from November to March. Accordingly, finding myself in Budapest, I had goose liver terrine with brioche for supper last night – preceded by goose soup – a clear consommé with a julienne of vegetables and an enormous dumpling. Both courses were excellent and I only just had room for hazelnut mousse afterwards.
This morning, following Tony’s footsteps, I am having breakfast at cafe Gerbaud founded in 1858. It is proud of its family ownership and location on Vörösmarty Square since 1870. WW II was “difficult” and after the war, until 1984, the cafe was nationalised and one imagines had a severely depleted menu. I resisted their patisseries and had a plain croissant.