I was rummaging through the freezer looking for dinner possibilities when a package of antelope meat fell at my feet. "Antelope Noisettes," it read. I'd forgotten it was in there, but I remembered buying it: months ago, I needed several pounds of venison for a fancy dish I was serving at a party. When I went to order it from a game farm online, it turned out that shipping was wicked expensive, but you got free shipping once you'd ordered a certain amount of meat. Essentially, for the same amount of cash, I could either get the venison I wanted, or I could get the venison I wanted plus some frozen antelope and a package of teeny tiny frozen quail. Seemed like an intelligence test.
"Noisette" is French for hazelnut, I think, but I examined the package carefully and I'm pretty sure they're just small antelope steaks, not antelope nuts. I draw the line at eating reproductive organs.
Anyhow, when my husband came home I was setting ingredients out on the kitchen island. "What's for dinner?" he asked.
"Antelope," I said.
"Antelope?" he said. Pause. "What's that taste like?"
I said, "No idea."
"So," he said, "umm--Shiraz?"
"Noisette" is French for hazelnut, I think, but I examined the package carefully and I'm pretty sure they're just small antelope steaks, not antelope nuts. I draw the line at eating reproductive organs.
Anyhow, when my husband came home I was setting ingredients out on the kitchen island. "What's for dinner?" he asked.
"Antelope," I said.
"Antelope?" he said. Pause. "What's that taste like?"
I said, "No idea."
"So," he said, "umm--Shiraz?"
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