Front Porch, Outer Mission
But this time, fortunately, there was no need to try to blend in. This time, I was there for a legitimate purpose: garlic roasted quail. Yes, yes! Eating little birds doesn’t get much better than roasted quail. Taking in the scenery as I slid into a dimly lit booth, I could practically taste that poor bird on my lips.
“Unfortunately we’re out of the quail tonight, but we have a couple specials to tell you about.”
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Damn cool kids ate all the quail!
“… the Barbados Mountain Chicken is eighteen fifty.”
“What was that?”
“Barbabos Mountain Chicken. The frogs' legs.”
“Frogs… taste like… chicken?”
“That’s what they say.”
“Like miniature chickens... in the mountains?”
“Umm, yeah, I guess so. From Barbados."
“I'll take the Barbados Mountain Chicken!”
Now, I don’t know about other frogs' legs, but the ones from Barbados are very small and very skinny. Definitely smaller than the legs of minor game fowl. “Like a crooked joint,” noted the Guzzler.
The legs came fried in a cornmeal batter, which made them appear a bit more substantial, but there didn’t seem to be enough mass or surface area to accommodate the residual grease. “Like a pile of soggy, crooked joints,” the Guzzler mumbled again. The meat was highly accessible and clean off the bone, but it was so smooth you barely felt it on the tongue.
Now, the Nibbler can certainly work with lean limbs. No problem with that. And he’s learned to deal with the extra pool of grease here and there. That’s just navigation.
But when it comes to trickery, to the downright lies those marketing folks come up with, well, that’s the last straw. Pond water, that’s what frogs' legs taste like! Plain old pond water.
Whoever said they taste like chicken probably thinks the breast is the best piece. Or, worse, they probably like turkey! No appreciation whatsoever for the sweet meat of delicate small birds! No knowledge of that glorious prize wedged right between skin and bone!
