Fancy a duck, mister?

They're big on duck around here, so mid-morning we headed off for La Ferme de Ramon at Aiguillet, about 15 minutes away. They were having an open day, and lots of other local producers would be selling their wares. You name it and if it's duck related you can buy it, well, that and oysters, cakes, cheese and wine. It's an Aladin's cave of goodies, with lots of ideas for Christmas, but there's no concern about keeping stuff fresh because it's very cold both inside and outside of the various marquees.
Luckily, Harold has reserved places for lunch, so we sat down in a large very old barn, with a hundred or so others, at huge trestle tables. The atmosphere is very jolly, the French being quite amused at being joined for this very French affair by some English. We start with an assiette degustation which is washed down with a sweet Domaine Amblard 2000 and then the best duck's breast I have ever had, it being very large, very pink and very tender. With this, we drank a Merlot, a 1998 Chateau de Salles. Cheese, pudding and coffee followed. All this food for the princely sum of 16 euros each. Excellent value.

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Talking about ducks reminds me of the time, in my previous life, when our CEO was in town. Ross (I've changed his name to protect the innocent) stated that he wanted duck for dinner the following evening. What Ross wanted, Ross got, so being the youngest (but far and away the best looking) I was sent out to organise said meal. We were at the Inn on the Park, on Park Lane, London, and someone mentioned that the Shepherd's Tavern nearby served good duck, as long as you booked it in advance. Bearing in mind that it was now midnight, I had to get this pub to open up for me so that I can make a booking and ensure that they have lots of duck in for the following evening. Naturally the pub was shut but I could see people inside, and I tried to attract their attention by shouting through the letter box. Being a little worse for wear, I'd forgotten that I was in Shepherds Market, where, at that time of night and for the right money, you could buy a lot more goodies than just duck. Anyway, there I am on my hands and knees, shouting through this letter box that I wanted a duck. Inside, they appeared to get very agitated and shouted that they were going to call the police. As the mist lifted and I started to sober up a little, I reconsidered my position and got the hell out of there, deciding that I wasn't going to spend a night in the slammer for Ross' bloody duck. By the way, the next day, even though I'd managed to make the booking first thing in the morning, he'd changed his mind and we went out for seafood.