I just had to share this sadistic recipe or dish. How could anyone. No wonder they hide their heads in shame.
Ortolan....
"If guilt is a flavor, and it definitely is, then l'ortolan is one of
the world's greatest dishes. ….
The birds must be taken alive; once captured they are either blinded
or kept in a lightless box for a month to gorge on millet, grapes, and
figs, a technique apparently taken from the decadent cooks of Imperial
Rome who called the birds beccafico, or 'fig-pecker'. When they've
reached four times their normal size, they're drowned in a snifter of
Armagnac.
This sadistic mise en scene has transformed the bird from a symbol of
innocence to an act of gluttony symbolic of the fall from grace. In
Collette's novel Gigi, for instance, the tomboyish main character
prepares for her entry into polite society with lessons in the correct
way to eat lobsters and boiled eggs. When she begins training to be a
courtesan, however, she is said to be 'learning how to eat the
ortolan'. Not that it was only courtesans who indulged. The tradition
of covering one's head while eating the bird was supposedly started by
a soft-bellied priest trying to hide his sadistic gluttony from God.
Cooking l'ortolan is simplicity itself. Simply pop them in a high oven
for six to eight minutes and serve. The secret is entirely in the
eating. First you cover your head with a traditional embroidered
cloth. Then place the entire four-ounce bird into your mouth. Only its
head should dangle out from between your lips. Bite off the head and
discard. L'ortolan should be served immediately; it is meant to be so
hot that you must rest it on your tongue while inhaling rapidly
through your mouth. This cools the bird, but its real purpose is to
force you to allow its ambrosial fat to cascade freely down your
throat.
When cool, begin to chew. It should take about 15 minutes to work your
way through the breast and wings, the delicately crackling bones, and
on to the inner organs. Devotees claim they can taste the bird's
entire life as they chew in the darkness: the wheat of Morocco, the
salt air of the Mediterranean, the lavender of Provence. The pea-sized
lungs and heart, saturated with Armagnac from its drowning, are said
to burst in a liqueur-scented flower on the diner's tongue. Enjoy with
a good Bordeaux.
What could be more delicious? Nothing, according to initiates, who
compare the banning of the ortolan to the death of French culture and
continue to eat them at the risk of being fined thousands of pounds.