Would-be diners sign up through a website which appeals to activists to “please
let us enjoy our moments left alone with our soon to be banned deliciousness”.
To avoid the location leaking, guests receive an eleventh hour email with an
exact address.
At one of the cloak-and-dagger feasts last week, furtive foodies gathered at a
well-heeled apartment on a tree-lined street in Los Gatos. It is one of
America’s wealthiest towns, known for its Michelin star restaurants and
antique shops, and the average home price approaches $2 million (£1.3
million).
An extravagant, belt-busting menu featured eight courses, all of foie gras.
They included foie gras panna cotta, foie gras benedict, foie gras mousse with
custard and snickerdoodle crumble, and even foie gras cupcakes.
“We believe in the freedom of people to eat what they want,”
organiser Tracy Lee of the website Dishcrawl, told The Daily Telegraph
between courses. “But we keep the location secret because foie gras is
best enjoyed without protests.
“Everyone is entitled to their opinion but we want to avoid people with
megaphones showing up banging pots and pans like they have done. A lot of
chefs have been concerned about their safety.
“I wish we didn’t have to hide this, but based on the circumstances, we
have to. The intrigue around doing something underground is quite exciting
though.”
As guests, including several Silicon Valley computer experts, tucked into pan
seared foie gras with bacon, maple and chive, conversation turned to
epicurean adventures around the world. One diner recalled a recent $800 foie
gras dinner at a Joel Robuchon restaurant in Las Vegas, which they said was “worth
every dime”.
Another brazenly vowed to smuggle foie gras in from other states and was
prepared to risk the $1,000 fine for each offence. “How will they know
you’re eating it?” the diner asked. “We’ll just have to close the
door and not get caught.” Another said knowingly: “We’ve got
contacts out of state.”
Some said they would simply drive over the border to Nevada or Oregon for
dinner. One had already bought a year’s supply ahead of the ban and frozen
it.
Diner Bob Huenemann, 74, a retired electrical engineer, looked wistful
surveying the first of his eight courses. He said: “Foie gras has just
got a wonderful taste like nothing else in the world. It’s one of the most
wonderful things you can eat.
“I think in California they just love to ban everything. If someone looks
like they’re having more fun than them, they’ll ban it. I’m going to have to
go to Las Vegas or Reno in future.”
Anna Tseitlin, 36, looked genuinely distressed at the thought of no more foie
gras. Mrs Tseitlin described how she ate it almost daily as a child in
Georgia in the former Soviet Union.
“I love foie gras and I can’t live without it,” she said. “It
wasn’t very expensive there and I grew up with it. We just ate it pan fried,
it needs nothing else. I think the ban is just silly. We have bigger
problems than worrying about foie gras.”
The ban was signed into law by former Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger in 2004
but given a start date of 2012. Needless to say, Mr Schwarzenegger was not
popular at the Los Gatos dinner table.
There was also scepticism that the process of force feeding ducks by putting a
tube down their throat, known as gavage, was cruel.
“People don’t understand how a bird eats,” Christopher Coon, 37, an
accountant, said. “They eat a whole fish, they don’t swallow like us.”
Backers of the ban disagree. John Burton, the current chairman of the
California Democratic Party who drew up the law, has compared gavage to
waterboarding.
He recently told The Daily Telegraph: “How would you like to have a tube
crammed down your throat and corn forced down it? It’s inhumane.”
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