Eat This Story.

My wife and I are going to France in less than a month, and I've started to do my prep work. First stop: food. I Googled our friends' Paris neighborhood and found there's a T.G.I. Friday's near their apartment. I've made reservations for a Wednesday evening at 5:30 but, unfortunately, our friends can't make it. They both have important business meetings that night, as it turns out. Strange timing, at least to an American, but hey, I guess that's France for you!

There will be plenty of other nights, though, and that's good, because I'm feeling very inspired by a story I heard about the late president of France (and alleged Nazi collaborator) Francois Mitterand, who ruled the country from 1981 until 1995. Late in his tenure, he learned he had prostate cancer, and by the December of '95, he knew his end was near. Faced with the prospect of imminent death, Mitterand did what most of us will do as the grim reaper nears -- he traveled to Egypt to commune with the pharaohs. The disease hadn't diminished his ego, and when he returned to France and was asked what wanted for his final meal, he knew he deserved something fit for a king.

Mitterand decided to have 30 friends join him for a royal feast, beginning with fois gras and oysters. The guests dined at the table and watched as the already weak pharaoh-channeling former president, stretched out on a chaise lounge, ravenously consumed the shellfish until he felt sick. Then came the ortolan.

Ortolan is a tiny, very rare songbird. So rare, in fact, that eating it is now a violation of French law. How does one prepare ortolan? Excellent question. From In the Devil's Garden - A Sinful History of Forbidden Food:

The birds must be taken alive; once captured they are either blinded or kept in a lightless box for a month to gorge on millet, grapes, and figs, a technique apparently taken from the decadent cooks of Imperial Rome who called the birds beccafico, or "fig-pecker." When they've reached four times their normal size, they're drowned in a snifter of Armagnac. Cooking l'ortolan is simplicity itself. Simply pop them in a high oven for six to eight minutes and serve.

Mitterand knew the magic of ortolan was in the eating, and he did it just as prescribed by the experts:

. . . place the entire four-ounce bird into your mouth. Only its head should dangle out from between your lips. Bite off the head and discard. L'ortolan should be served immediately; it is meant to be so hot that you must rest it on your tongue while inhaling rapidly through your mouth. This cools the bird, but its real purpose is to force you to allow its ambrosial fat to cascade freely down your throat.

When cool, begin to chew. It should take about 15 minutes to work your way through the breast and wings, the delicately crackling bones, and on to the inner organs. Devotees claim they can taste the bird's entire life as they chew in the darkness: the wheat of Morocco, the salt air of the Mediterranean, the lavender of Provence. The pea-sized lungs and heart, saturated with Armagnac from its drowning, are said to burst in a liqueur-scented flower on the diner's tongue.

Hungry yet? I am.

One other thing. Mitterand wore an ornamental napkin on his head as he chowed his endangered species. There's some dispute over why he did this. Either it was to help capture the bird's succulent aroma, or it was to hide his act from the eyes of God. Regardless, he ate his bird and never consumed another meal. I'm sure he and King Tut had a lot to discuss after Mitterand died in early 1996.

Needless to say, I'm now planning my final meal. There will be no dainty little napkin on my head, oh no. I don't want to hide from God; in fact, I'll do whatever I can to attract his attention, because I know Jesus (the official deity of the U.S.A.) will want to watch me dine on deep fried bald eagle. Look for me wearing a red, white and blue cowboy hat on that fateful day.

But that's years away. For now, it's time to plan for Paris. Maybe my friends can find a little place that serves the illicit ortolan. Mmmm . . . fig-pecker.