Duck Duck Goose

Yesterday, the Chicago City Council ban on foie gras went into effect. "Silly," our Mayor Daley called it. The reporters had a wonderful time with this. The ban was against SELLING foie gras in Chicago. Did that mean restaurants could give it away and up the ante on other dishes? Would crazed foie gras junkies stream out of Chicago to North Shore bistros or skulk in corners with illicit jars? Would e-Bay now have a foie gras section? Would the jar of foie gras I bought in Paris now be worth the total cost of the trip?



The Ile Saint-Louis seemed to be foie-gras central. We ate lunch in a cute storefront bistro on the main street. I had a salade fou, or crazy salad, with duck breast and foie gras. How hard is that to take? Then across the street was a chariming rustic shop. The jars of marinated aspargus as big as tree limbs caught our eyes. The lovely silver-haired French woman then held up a jar of foie gras and started to talk. Of course, it was all in French, but I really did keep up with most of it, until she got to the part about storage. Then she explained in English, and I was hooked. I bought a $40 jar of foie gras, not much differrent from the one here, and was happy.

Until I got home. I waited a respectful two weeks, got a nice fresh baguette, and lifted the lid on the jar. Or tried to. Couldn't budge it. Tried knocking it on the countertop, running cold water over it, running hot water over it. Nothing. I even asked my brother, who keeps nasty looking tools and home repair devices under his bed, to give it a try. No deal. Nothing. Zip. I have a $40 jar of foie gras that may turn into an interesting paperweight.

So brother said, "You really got taken, didn't you." Note that this was a statement, not a question. I hate to think that. She seemed like such a nice person. And George Bush is smart.