Consider the ortolan:
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Years ago, I was, improbably, on the Champs-Elysées, drinking in a sidewalk cafe late at night with my then-girlfriend and a Belgian stranger. He was named, improbably, Claude Souvenir (he swore it wasn’t a pseudonym). We met him at a small, dark restaurant run by a blind Frenchman—the owner and only waiter—whose daughter was the chef. (You’ve never seen a waiter until you’ve seen an old blind one weaving flawlessly through tables, carrying trays of full wine glasses.) It was Claude Souvenir who told us about the ortolan, a toe-sized bird that was eaten by the Romans, then the French—a tiny, sweet songbird sadistically tortured and consumed in one bite.
The ortolan does not exactly taste good. It is more art than nourishment. One does not eat it for the simple pleasure of flavor; one eats it to experience something transcendent—to commune with life, suffering, and death in one mouthful. It is said to be the final course ingested by French President François Mitterrand at his legendary, opulent last supper. Mitterrand, dying of cancer, drifted in and out of consciousness during the meal. He died eight days later.
You catch the ortolan with a net spread up in the forest canopy. Take it alive. Take it home. Poke out its eyes and put it in a small cage. Force-feed it oats and millet and figs until it has swollen to four times its normal size. Drown it in brandy. Roast it whole, in an oven at high heat, for six to eight minutes. Bring it to the table. Place a cloth—a napkin will do—over your head to hide your cruelty from the sight of God. Put the whole bird into your mouth, with only the beak protruding from your lips. Bite. Put the beak on your plate and begin chewing, gently. You will taste three things: First, the sweetness of the flesh and fat. This is God. Then, the bitterness of the guts will begin to overwhelm you. This is the suffering of Jesus. Finally, as your teeth break the small, delicate bones and they begin to lacerate your gums, you will taste the salt of your own blood, mingling with the richness of the fat and the bitterness of the organs. This is the Holy Spirit, the mystery of the Trinity—three united as one. It is cruel. And beautiful.
