Text 17744, 96 rader
Skriven 2008-12-13 08:01:00 av Dave Drum (1:124/311)
     Kommentar till en text av CAROL SHENKENBERGER
Ärende: Wild Duck
=================
-=> Carol Shenkenberger wrote to Nancy Backus <=-

 CS> Probably.  The one time I tasted wild duck, I didnt like it very much.
 CS> Gamey and fishy stuff at the same time.  I suppose a pureist will like
 CS> that better, but i like the farm raised better.

Sounds like you got hold of a Merganser duck - which is about as tasty as a sea
gull. Mallard or Wood ducks are much tastier - as they do not live excllusively
on fish and grabage.

Domestic (white) ducks tend to be larger overall and fattier than Mallards.
Although a Mallard has a fairish amount of fat on it.

MMMMM----- Recipe via Meal-Master (tm) v8.06
 
      Title: Octopus Surprise
 Categories: Seafood, Text, Oriental
      Yield: 1 servings
 
      1    Text
 
  by Jonathan Gold  

  When you wander through the narrow food alleys of Seoul, which are
  lined on both sides by small restaurants that specialize in a
  specific dish or two, the most disconcerting sight, apart from the
  weaving mobs of soju connoisseurs that materialize after midnight,
  may be the tanks of octopus set right up to the sidewalk, water
  darkened by the occasional stray ink jet, hundreds of pinky-gray
  tentacles rippling like something out of a tidepool gone very, very
  wrong.
  
  A single octopus, dramatically set off by the theatrical lighting at
  the Monterey Bay Aquarium or documented for the Discovery Channel, is
  a majestic thing, a masterpiece of rippling muscle and balletic grace,
  beautiful even in the way it rips open a scallop or transports an
  unsuspecting fish into its maw. (Octopuses—not octopi, no matter how
  passionately your high school biology teacher may have corrected
  you—are usually solitary creatures, preferring the safety of rock
  crevices to the company of their peers.) An accumulation of many
  octopuses, on the other hand—an alien collective that the
  gill-bearing forefathers with whom we still share so much DNA were
  undoubtedly hardwired to avoid—may inspire nothing less than
  screaming, full-bore panic.
  
  When you summon up the courage to walk into a Korean octopus
  specialist, whether in Los Angeles or Seoul or Flushing, you’ll
  probably end up with a huge, steaming platter of nak ji bokkum, a
  spicy, brick-red sauté of octopus with chile paste and vegetables.
  Even if you fear the octopus, you’ll probably be okay—the octopus
  here is just a mild chewy thing, a non-threatening vehicle for the
  potent sauce. But if you wink at somebody the right way, speak
  passable Korean, or spot a likely euphemism on the menu, you may luck
  into a plate of san nak ji, live octopus tentacles, which is one of
  the most alarming dishes in the world.
  
  I’d had san nak ji in L.A.’s Koreatown, of course, where it ranks with
  boiled silkworm larvae, army-base stew, and blowfish among the Korean
  exotica that any self-respecting aficionado is expected to seek out
  and enjoy. The lengths of chopped tentacle, which are not technically
  alive but still have a functioning nervous system, were motile,
  barely, but hardly twitched when you dipped them into sesame oil and
  popped them into your mouth. I had been expecting a spectacle like
  the one in the Korean thriller Oldboy, where one of the characters
  suffocates while eating the dish.
  
  But my first real san nak ji, offhandedly offered as an appetizer in a
  Seoul barbecue joint, was the Alien vs. Predator of the food
  universe, a small platter an inch deep with what appeared to be
  either severed fingers or writhing worms, fat wriggly things that
  climbed out onto the table and seemed to battle one another for
  position. When you tried to pick them up with your chopsticks, they
  wriggled up them nearly to your knuckle. And for the first time I
  appreciated the strategic importance of the sesame oil–salt dip—not
  just because it tasted good, which it did, but because the suckers on
  the tentacles are still fully functional, and the coating of slippery
  oil prevents them from maintaining their death grip on your tongue or
  the roof of your mouth. San nak ji is food that fights you back.
  
  Is san nak ji delicious? It kind of is, actually—meaty, slightly
  nutty, definitely alive, as fascinating a way to ease down a bottle
  of soju as you can imagine. The dish certainly gets one’s attention.
  But still, all things being equal, I don’t see it replacing cocktail
  peanuts any time soon.
  
  November 2008 | Gourmet
  
  Meal Master Format by Dave Drum - 21 November 2008
  
  Uncle Dirty Dave's Archives
 
MMMMM

... "As far as I'm concerned, the world can still be flat." - ML
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