The foie gras arrived as promised, and was pretty special indeed. A bottle of champagne washed it down nicely, and although the watercress was eaten as more of an afterthought than an accompaniment, it was a wonderful meal. Happily, there was more foie gras than either of us could eat comfortably, which always has a delightful feeling of excess about it. More and more I think part of the joy is the tactility of it: there is something wonderfully hedonistic about the slight film of foie gras one gets on ones upper lip when eating it on toast, and then there is the impossibility of eating it without getting it on fingers, and the stray breadcrumbs. Sure, knives and forks give you elegance, but nothing about this food is refined, except, of course, the price!
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