I enjoyed my first taste of the unbridled joy that is duck in my early twenties, while attending a gathering at the Manhattan apartment of an acquaintance and writing
companion. I found intrigue at the refreshment table in an award-winning New York horror author who, having tasted a portion of grilled meat from a platter positioned before us, exclaimed “My god, this is so evil.”
He delivered the assessment between lip smacks, his face telling blue food tales on which his mouth could not expound because although I stood awaiting further exposition, he refused to empty it. This was endorsement enough for me.