Duck tongues

Back in the days when trucks used to exhibit at The Motor Show, during one two-week stint, a group of about 20 of us headed into Birmingham's Chinatown one night for dinner. If you're ever in a large party, rather than pick from the menu, the simplest method is to grab the maitre d' and tell him to just bring food, working to a set price per head (£30 excluding drinks in this case). Although me and another guy did order a special with our dim sum.

All these plates started arriving and everyone was tucking in, when a steamer basket arrived in front of Mike & I. The lids were lifted and there stood four steamed duck's feet. As we were tucking in one lad, Nigel, kept looking over at us. When I asked if everything was OK, he asked if they were really duck's feet. When I nodded the affirmative, he expressed his disgust at our cruelty for eating the feet of a duck. I still don't know whether he had this picture of footless ducks, hobbling around a farmyard on crutches.

On holiday in Kenya in 1990, I went walkabout around Malindi one afternoon. I walked into a breeze-block hut, about the size of a domestic garage, that had "BAR" scrawled on the side of it. By the light of the single 40 watt bulb, dangling from the middle of the ceiling, I could just make out the bar and the concrete reinforcing wire that separated it from the clientele. I ordered my bottle of Tusker. As I sipped my beer I heard a voice from the corner calling me over and there sat one of the fattest Kenyan's I'd ever seen. A wandered across and sat at the chair he indicated. He asked if I would join him for lunch, so I agreed. He jabbered something in Swahili and shortly one of his daughters appeared with two plates and two forks. One plate held a steaming pile of boiled rice, the other meat in a sauce. I could see there were definitely three different meats and the sauce was lightly curried. When we'd finished he started laughing and when I asked why the laughter, he responded with. I don't eat offal and this thing was a goat-guts overload.

Quite like the sound of that.

They are horrible. Deep fried with the bone in? My mate had a plate of those while I ordered the crispy chile chicken in a resteraunt in Shanghai. We both tried a couple and then we shared the chicken.

Yep this had the bone/cartilage but wasn't fried. It was actually served cold with a basic soy/ginger/chilli sauce. It wasn't bad but I wouldn't order it again. I just did it because I could and wanted to be like my hero Anthony Bourdain!

onions

Sounds similar to Haggis that, certainly sounds more appetising than ducks feet.

I'd definitely give that a go.

Cod'ead in action with eggs ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

About one hour after that shot I spewed my fecking ring up. It was a boiling hot day and the eggs were coddling in the glass as I was necking them down

I remember that as well!!!

Any particular reason you chose to do this?

Raise money for the Jack Harrison Memorial. The oysters were consumed outside Top House at Odsal, there are photos of that knocking around somewhere

1. Sorry. I have the mother of all hangovers and am sunburnt to buggery for good measure. I didn't meant to launch into you like that......2 days of copious beer consumption doesn't make up for lack of sun cream apparently!
2. Tedium is an understatement, but until anything changes, it will continue......and nothing looks like it has changed.
3. Have a job thanks and the Boss is a really decent fella.......and the south island RL don't need me to come along and bang their heads together, they need an ex-NRL Kiwi....someone who they can look up to and who can get them all to unite. They are proving the most awkward of the 7 regions in the reorganisation that was started a few years back......

Had a meal in a Wetherspoons once....Enough said.