Foie Gras and Wine: Silence of the Geese

Few marriages made in food/wine heaven—that is, those magical matches that simultaneously compliment and contrast, fuse complex flavors while maintaining component individuality, satisfying every gastronmic whim while leaving you craving just a bit more—are better suited to one another than pâté de foie gras with Sauternes.

This is, in fact, Sommelier 101.  It has to do with the balance of fats and acids, the succession of sweetness and savoriness; an otherworldy mouthfeel as these two luxuriously bourgeoise treats mingle when sampled together.

But be advised: if you try it, James Bond will never speak to you again.


By James Bond, of course, I don’t mean the real James Bond—he’s cool—I mean Roger Moore.  And by Roger Moore, I mean that ancient, washed-up, wrinkled-up loudmouth who has not made a relevant film since Jimmy Carter was in office, and whose biggest career high since Octopussy was a voice-over as Santa in the UNICEF cartoon The Fly Who Loved Me.

Yet, for reasons known only to those who can’t admit when it’s over valiantly troupe on, Moore has seen fit to shout loudly to anybody willing to listen that if they eat even a nibble of foie gras, he will stop talking to them forever.

Frankly, to me this sounds less like a problem and more like a solution.

The mummy and the mommy

Recently, from the hallowed halls of obscurity, the wooden-faced, yellow-toothed Moore rambled: “I refuse to speak to old friends who, even when they know how foie gras is produced, are prepared to overlook the suffering for self-gratification. My wife Kristina feels just the same… no creature deserves to be treated as these birds are for our delectation.”

Not sure what ‘delectation’ is, but I am glad he brought up ‘wife’ and ‘deserving to be treated’ in the same sentence, since he dumped his first one, Doorn Wan Steyn for singer/senior-citizen Dorothy Squires, then dumped Squires for Luisa Mattioli, then dumped Mattioli for multi-millionaire Kristina ‘Kiki’ Tholstrup.

Sound like there are a few ex-wives who don’t particularly care if Moore speaks to them again and will hopefully go purchase bargeloads of foie gras and blow liver-breath directly at his sealed lips during alimony hearings.


Now, to his point, they do torture geese in the production of foie gras.  Foie gras means ‘fat liver’ after all, not ‘buff birdie’.

In the ‘gavage’ method, trapped geese are forcefed corn through a tube jammed down their cuticle-lined esophagi until their livers nearly blow up—a technique not dissimilar to the way Moore’s fellow thespian Sally Struthers stumbled across her physique.  What neither PETA nor Moore will tell you is that most inhumane part of the treatment involves showing geese an endless loop of Bullseye! while French people stand around and bet which will explode first, their livers or their brains.

"D-d-d-d-delectation, folks!"

What  Moore also forgets to mention is that in dairy farming, cows undergo a lifelong process of forced impregnation using an instrument known as a ‘rape rack,’ while male calves used for veal production are castrated and forced to live in crates, while male chicks born to egg producers are often ground up as soon as they hatch and used for fertilizer, and that pigs, who are admittedly smarter than me and likely know what ‘delectation’ means, may undergo skinning alive.

Shall we even mention that they make cheese out of juice from sheep stomachs?  Or Jello from horse’s hooves?


Liver transplant recipient

Food, my children, can be ugly stuff.   If Roger Moore gives the silent treatment to everyone who does Jello shots or eats burgers or BLTs or Cheez Whiz or Egg McMuffins, he won’t have anybody left to talk to but his forty-third wife and his agent—who isn’t returning his calls anyway.  Okay, we should stop illegal mistreatment of our furry, fuzzy mealtime favorites, but within reason.  On Sunday, maybe say three extra Hail Marys for the geese.  Donate to Save The Waterfowl.  Goose your girlfriend.   Buy a Goose Gossage t-shirt.

I mean, if you eliminate foie gras from your special occasion menu, what are you left with?

Sauternes and liverwurst doesn’t have quite the same ring.

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