Cilantro Mint Pesto

Ingredients

• 1 medium clove of garlic
• ¼ cup pistachios, lightly toasted (pine nuts are usually the nut of choice, but pistachios or almonds are an economical substitute)
• ¼ cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese (I used an aged white cheddar)
• 1 cup fresh mint (leaves only, unless the stems are very tender, thoroughly washed and patted dry
• 2 cups fresh cilantro, thoroughly washed and patted dry (leaves and finely chopped stems)
• 1 jalapeno, finely chopped (optional)
• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• extra virgin olive oil (use the best quality you can afford)
• Coarse sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Directions

Using a mortar and pestle, make a paste out of the garlic.

Add warm nuts to the garlic and bash vigorously until almost creamy.

Add cheese and blend.

Add herbs, jalapeno (if using) and blend until you have a chunky paste.

Scrape down the sides and add lemon juice and olive oil to the consistency you like (usually ~¼ cup of oil)

Season with salt and pepper to taste.

To speed up the process, place half the nuts, all the herbs and jalapeno (if using) in a food processor. To start, pulse on and off until a grainy purée starts to form. Blend at low speed while adding lemon juice and olive oil. Add remaining nuts and blend to preferred level of chunkiness/smoothness. Add cheese last and blitz briefly (don't melt the cheese). Season to taste.

Pesto can be stored at room temperature with a layer of oil on top. It also freezes very well. Line an ice cube tray with cling film, before filling with the pesto. When frozen use the cling film to lift out the frozen pesto, wrap and store for up to 2 months in a ziploc bag.

Typical serving for 1 plate of pasta is 1-2 tablespoons.

Because Nice is my heart

All Nice photos were taken during my visit in 2007

I’ve read the reports. I even watched the clip. I forced myself to watch it. I’ve given it all the objective contemplation that I could muster. And despite all the political analysis and the demographic assessments of the region, I cannot accept what has happened in Nice.

La Promenade des Anglais

The Nice I know, the Nice I lived in, is where people go when the crazy, busy life of Paris is too exhausting and they need a break. It’s where you go to snowboard in the morning and sunbathe by the beach in the afternoon. It’s the place where the old guy selling flowers in the market can unexpectedly take you for a spin to La Vie en Rose and it’s sweet; not creepy. That is Nice – my Nice.

I thought I would launch into an intense analysis of data and facts, but I honestly can’t. Nice est mon coeur. It’s the first place I visited overseas. It taught me that there is a huge world out there; the world isn’t just a collection of Canadas that speak something other than English & French...the world is so much more than that – good and bad. It taught me the difference between countries in practical terms, as opposed to that obscure concept you learn in geography and history class: i.e. You know countries are different, but you don’t really know what that means until you’ve lived in another country.

Out of my time in Nice, my love for travel was born. My love for learning about how people live in other parts of the world – their customs and traditions; their philosophies and religions – grew from my life in this wonderful place. While I was a foodie before the term even existed, it was in Nice that I truly learned to embrace unfamiliar cuisine. I had coffee for the first time -- real coffee...not that shit they serve at Tim Hortons. I drank wine for the first time -- yes, at the age of 15. I ate raw beef for the first time -- Chinese people don't eat raw food. The entire experience planted all the seeds that grew to shape me into the person I am today.

Beef carpaccio in Old Town

The day I arrived in Nice, Claude, my exchange partner's mother, did everything she could to make me feel welcome. I was 15-years old. I had never gone anywhere without one of my parents. I had never left the country. She didn't know anything about Canada. She didn't know anything about Chinese people. But she was determined to allay any fears that I might have had. When we got home from the airport, it was close to dinner time. Do you know what she served me for dinner? She made her best attempt to give me a little piece of home. And bear in mind, this was pre-Internet. No Google. Dinner was chicken fried (brown) rice and dessert was vanilla ice cream with maple syrup. The fried rice was probably the worst fried rice I'd ever had in my whole life...BUT...it was also the most meaningful one. The one thing she said that night that has stayed with me throughout all the years was this: "I don't know anything about you, your background or your culture, but I would love for you to teach me. In exchange, before you go home, I will make you French."

Don't get excited. I'm not going to claim to be French. But she did teach me some very important things about being French. And in these areas, I am very French.

One day, I came home from school and I was very upset. I had experienced an epic tragedy. It obviously wasn't like yesterday's tragedy. It was one of those typical, earth-shattering, life-altering tragedies that 15-year old girls have regularly. I was sulking. I said I didn't want dinner. I said I just wanted to eat pastries in my room and be left alone. And that's when she said it:

If you want to take 5 minutes and do whatever it is that Canadian girls do when they're upset, that's fine. But after 5 minutes, you will come out here and help me cook dinner. Then you will set the table and we will sit down to our meal and our wine, like civilized people. It doesn't matter what is going on in the world. We never lose our culture. We never lose our pride. We are French.

After that, I never again in my life, let myself be dragged into the muck of wallowing sorrow for more than a few minutes (ok, there was that one time in University, but that's it.).

In the weeks that followed, I learned the importance of always sitting down to food, the value of fresh bread, and that the pain au chocolat from the vending machine at the lycée (high school) were better than any chocolate croissant you can get in Canada. Being a natural night owl, I don't do mornings. But every morning, Claude would go down to the boulangerie and can come back with a fresh baugette. The second the flat filled up with scent of yeasty goodness, I was out of bed and ready to start the day. I swear to you, when I came back to Canada, I refused to eat that Dempsters crap that my parents buy. Actually...to this day, I don't buy factory baked sliced bread.

des baugettes

I learned that gelato for breakfast is acceptable; spending the entire day on la terrasse with your favourite Balzac novel and ordering only a single Coca-Cola is a perfectly fine way to pass the time; there's nothing as satisfying as a hot piece of socca; one of the best pizzas in the world is sold out of the side of a truck near my exchange partner's best friend's flat; buying fresh flowers for your room is a totally acceptable expense - it's not frivolous at all; and when you greet people, you say, "Cuckoo" and do the double-cheek kiss. Even after I had been home for months, whenever I met up with or ran into any of the other Canadians from the exchange program, we would greet each other this way. To this day, whenever anyone tells me they're going to Paris, I say to them, "Paris is great, but Nice is better. You must go to Nice."

When the time came for me to come home, I had seen most of Provence. I had been to Monaco. We had gone grocery shopping in the San Remo markets (yes, Italy). In Grasse, I had learned to ride horses. In Eze, I bought a ridiculous amount of perfume because I wanted to bring home the smell of Provence to share with my friends and family. I had seen Nissa kick Monaco's ass in football. I had seen Monaco kick Nissa's ass in football. I almost fell asleep standing up, during my visit to the Marc Chagall museum (gawd that was boring). And everyone remembers the time I got motion sickness and threw up in the back of the bus as we were going up the Alps. In case you're wondering, yes, this is why I never sit at the back of a coach bus.

On my last day in Nice, the week before Easter, Claude said we had to make a special stop before going to the airport. We stopped in at her favourite chocolaterie. She bought me a massive, dark chocolate Easter bunny (because no self-respecting Frenchie eats milk chocolate), filled with the daintiest, most delicious chocolate bonbons ever. I wouldn't be able to check it in with my luggage (obviously). I had to carry it with me on the plane all the way to Amsterdam, spend our 45-minute stopover running clear across the entire, freaking terminal without breaking or dropping it, and then sit with it on the plane all the way to Toronto. As inconvenient as that was, I don't regret it. Because when Claude gave me this bunny, she said to me,

This was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I had no idea that Canadians were so kind and friendly. I hope I have been able to show you what it means to be French. And I hope you will never forget us.

I lost touch with Claude, mostly because my exchange partner and I had a massive falling out. But I never forgot the lessons Claude taught me. When I say that Nice is my heart, I mean it. My time in Nice shaped the very person I have become.

There are no words to sufficiently describe how much this tragedy affected me. And I'm not writing this post to make this all about me. I wrote this because I truly love Nice, and I wanted there to be something out there about Nice that was uplifting. When I finally watched the clip of the crash, it brought me to tears -- angry tears because some asshole committed such a heinous act in a place where I had so many wonderful memories. I spent a few minutes swearing and crying. After 5 minutes of doing whatever it is that Canadian girls do, I went into the kitchen and cooked myself a proper dinner, poured myself a glass of French wine, and ate it like a civilized person. Because it doesn't matter what is going on in the world. We never lose our culture. We never lose our pride. We are French. Viva la France.

Source: http://www.dw.com/image/0,,19402228_303,00.jpg

Brexit

England, last night you broke my heart. I, who have loved you my entire life, who genuinely believed that you had learned from the errors of your imperial ways and had truly become worthy of my esteem, was crushed by your cataclysmic fall from grace.

You let your xenophobic, ax-wielding village idiots make a decision that will irrevocably change the UK - and not for the better. You let racism and fear triumph over rational thought and reason. You forgot what it meant to be the England of Winston Churchill and became the England of Donald Trump. For the first time in my lifetime, you have given me reason to look at you with utter disgust.

How could you!?

How is it that you could not see? Nigel Farage and Donald Trump supported Brexit. That ALONE should’ve told you that it was a bad idea.

And while as a loyal subject of the British Commonwealth I have never spoken a word against the Queen, today, I will. Your Majesty, this is the first time ever, where I feel you have failed the people. Those who do not know better, look to the ones they trust to guide them. In this instance, you should have guided the people. You should have reassured them that a United Kingdom in the European Union is stronger than a United Kingdom alone. Instead, you chose to "let the people decide". In doing so, you left them vulnerable and exposed to the rhetoric of racists like Nigel Farage and unscrupulous opportunists like Boris Johnson. Had you come out and said what the rest of the world knows you believe, the Remain campaign would have won and this unnecessary turmoil could have been avoided.

I will be the first to admit that I am not a fan of David Cameron’s. However, in this issue, he has genuinely put the UK ahead of personal ambition and his conservative views. He negotiated the best possible deal for the UK giving it more autonomy from Brussels than any other member in the EU. This should have been a no-brainer. But under the pressure of the right-wing extremists within the Conservative party, he stupidly caved and called a referendum. This question is too complicated to be reduced to a simple yes or no, determined by the lowest common denominator of the population. The opinion of those with zero knowledge was weighed equally to those with the most knowledge. The narrow-minded were considered equal to those with a big picture view.

I'm also not going to leave out the accomplishments (or lack there of) of Jeremy Corbyn. As leader of the Labour party, he failed to unite the left. He lent less than tepid support for the Remain campaign. While I have no proof, I suspect that he did that just because he didn't want to be seen as siding with David Cameron. This was not the time to be partisan. It was not the time to be petty. This was the time for looking beyond oneself and acting to support the greater good. Maybe he thought the left would just vote Remain and he wouldn't have to tarnish himself by siding with the likes of Cameron. Well, a whole lot of good THAT did!

A decision like this should be made by politicians and their advisors after a series of comprehensive debates in the House. If something as boring and straightforward as tax rates isn't set via a referendum, why on earth would you think something as economically and politically complicated as trade unions should be decided this way? The people elected a government to do the heavy lifting in such complicated matters as these. They put their trust in you to decide on issues so multifaceted that it would be too complicated for any general member of the population to decide on their own. Making these kinds of decisions IS your day job. Putting it to referendum isn't "an act of democracy." It's delegating the decision to those who are not best positioned to make it so that you can shirk responsibility.

Of all the EU member states, you were the one I believed to be the most tolerant; the most progressive.  Perhaps I was willfully blind to the growing infection of bigotry festering in the nooks of crannies of the countryside.  Perhaps I gave you more credit than you deserved.  I want you to think of the words to Imagine and say to yourself, "What would John say about Brexit?"  And then slap yourself repeatedly until you blackout.

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today.

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace... You...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world... You...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland all chose to remain in the EU. Addendum: Apparently, only Cardiff choose to stay. The rest of Wales chose to leave. I shake my fist at you, Wales! And London, the very heart of England, also chose to stay. But now, because the ignorant, the racist and the xenophobic have spoken, the UK is going to embark on a journey into the unknown by falling headlong off the Stupidity Tree and hitting every branch on the way down. It is a downward spiral when you let fear and ignorance lead you. Half the time, I expect this sort of behaviour from America. But, you England, you, I held to a higher standard. I believed you were better than them. Maybe that was my mistake. Because clearly, you have failed me.

Since the news broke late last night, I have worked through and calmed my rage. Right now, I'm wallowing in sorrow. But honestly, for validating xenophobic bigotry, I really don’t know if I could ever forgive you, England. I am that heartbroken.

That is not a brawl!

This whole fiasco is being completely blown out of proportion.

I get it. Those of you who hate Trudeau, REALLY hate him. If he cured cancer, obliterate poverty, and solved world hunger, you would still be whining about him being too pretty and entitled. Yes, thank you. Your vote has been counted. Now sit down.

I know you think that all those who support him are going to try and sweep it under the rug. I’m sure some people will, but that’s not everyone. So, again…sit down.

I’ll admit the first snippet of the story I heard was that Mulcair was raving like a lunatic about an elbow. My immediate thought was, “This can’t be anything worth acknowledging,” so I ignored it. But no, the media had to wind this up like it was some matter of great import. Then my Twitterfeed was flooded with this crap. So I took 15 minutes (15 minutes that I will NEVER get back, mind you) to go and read up on this issue of earth shattering importance.

After I watched the video, I thought to myself, “That’s it? That can’t be it. All this stink over that? Have these people (and I mean both the politicians and media who are freaking out over this) never been on public transit during rush hour? I take more of a bashing than that every single work day, at least twice per subway stop. Why are people acting like the PM pulled out a baseball bat and bludgeoned her to within an inch of her life?"

There were MPs using the #WeBelieveVictims hashtag on Twitter to describe this. And those who didn’t use the hashtag brought up subjects like abusive husbands and safe work environments for women AS IF THEY’RE RELATED ISSUES!! They’re likening this CLEARLY ACCIDENTAL BUMP to violence against women. Because OBVIOUSLY when you watch that video, no one is thinking, “Trudeau is going to drag Brown to the front.” No, of course not. Everyone is thinking, “Trudeau is going over there under the guise of dragging Brown to the front, but we all know that his real intent is to elbow Brosseau. What a great strategy!”

And yes, I know, when I put it like that, it does sound pretty ridiculous, doesn’t it? BECAUSE IT IS!!

So thank you, Michelle Rempel, Brigitte Sansoucy, and Niki Ashton for minimizing the sufferings of women who ACTUALLY suffered and continue to suffer from violence. Oh, and let’s not forget Brosseau’s Oscar winning performance. In hockey, there’s now a 2-minute penalty for embellishment. I’d say Brosseau has earned those 2 minutes she spent sitting outside the chamber…catching her breath from laughing so hard over this giant stink she’s created.”

So I took a deep breath and watched the video AGAIN. And again. And then I said, “ENOUGH OF THIS MADNESS!”

The PM should never have left his seat. He should not have lost his temper. And yes, Canadians do (and should) expect better behaviour from him.

HOWEVER

I noticed that it completely escaped the notice of the anti-Trudeau contingent that several MPs were behaving like petulant children. And while Trudeau has apologized for his behaviour and everyone is discussing whether or not he should be “punished” now that he has admitted guilt (yes, I rolled my eyes as I typed that), everyone seems to be talking about it like his actions happened in isolation. They didn’t.

I expect ALL our Members of Parliament to behave better than that. I don’t only expect that from the Prime Minister.

I am honestly sick and tired of the nursery school behaviour in The House. And I’m doubly sick of the media making entire mountain ranges out of microscopic molehills. This was not a brawl. It was barely even worth acknowledging. You want to see a real parliamentary brawl? Go to YouTube and search for ‘Taiwanese parliament fight’. THAT is a brawl. And THAT happens on a regular basis in Taiwan. So unless The House starts looking like that, I don’t want to hear about this subject ever again.

Oh yeah, one more thing. Can people stop putting the suffix “gate” after every incident that they’re trying to sensationalize? Do you even know what Watergate was about? Idiots!

Slow-poached chicken with black rice & mushrooms

Yesterday, on Instagram, one of my favourite chefs (the chef/owner of Parts and Labour) posted a picture of slow-poached chicken and rice. It's been so long since I poached chicken, that this photo TOTALLY inspired me to make poached chicken tonight. And as luck would have it, I had two fresh chicken thighs in my fridge.

The good thing about slow-poached chicken is that the chicken stays really soft and moist...and you end up with a beautiful chicken broth from the poaching liquid. The other thing is that chicken isn't a tough meat. So slow-poaching a pair of thighs only takes 40 minutes. We cook for one in this house, so the chicken recipe is for one person. You can't cook rice for one person, so that recipe is for 4 people.

Slow-poached chicken thighs

• 2 chicken thighs, bone-in and skin on
• 1 tbsp salt
• thyme salt, for finishing
• olive oil, for finishing

Put the salt in a pot and fill with enough water to cover the thighs (Just eyeball it. Don't put the chicken in the pot yet.). Bring the water to a boil, then add the chicken to the pot. Turn off the stove, but leave the pot on the hot element. Leave it to poach for 40 minutes. At the 20-minute mark, turn the chicken thighs over. But do it quickly because you don't want to lose too much heat by leaving the pot uncovered for long. If you're pedantic and need to be really specific, you can check the meat with an instant read thermometer. The chicken is done at 160F/70C.

When you're ready to serve, carefully pull the skin off (cuz chicken skin crackling it will become), then pull the meat off the bone. It should be really juicy and tender. You can pour a few drops of the poaching liquid over it to keep it moist if you need to. I finished it with a bit of thyme salt and a few drops of olive oil.

Black rice with mushrooms

Since I'm Chinese, I obviously have rice cooker. If you don't have a rice cooker, then just cook the rice the way you normally would.

• 1 cup black rice
• 5 button mushrooms, coarsely chopped
• 1 tsp canola oil
• ½ tsp dark soy sauce
• ½ cup of cilantro, finely chopped
• 1 green onion, finely chopped
• 2 cloves of garlic, minced
• ½-inch ginger, minced
• 1 red chili, finely chopped (optional)
• 1 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice (don't use that crap that comes in the plastic lemon)

Cook the rice in a rice cooker or a pot. When the rice is ready, start cooking the mushrooms.

Heat the canola oil in a pan. Make sure the oil is nice and hot before you put the mushrooms in, and don't crowd the pan with the mushrooms, or it'll just be a sad, sorry, muddy mess.

When the mushrooms are ready, remove the pan from the heat and toss the mushrooms with the soy sauce. Add the mushrooms and all the minced/finely chopped ingredients to the rice cooker and mix well. Squeeze in the lemon juice, close the rice cooker and press the "cook" button again. Have a quick taste. If you need to add salt, do it now. If you're not using a rice cooker, just add everything to the pot of warm rice, stir it up and cover so that it can steam for ~10 minutes.

Add a scoop of rice to your plate of chicken and eat.

Butternut squash & chestnut dumplings

These were a big hit at the last potluck, and they were quite popular today. So, since a few people asked for the recipe, I've decided to post it.

Ingredients:

• Medium-sized butternut squash
• 2 lb fresh chestnuts
• ¼ Boursin cheese (I use the garlic & fine herbs one) or 40 g of herbed goat cheese
• Fresh ground pepper (to taste)
• Kosher salt (to taste)
• Dried thyme (to taste)
• Optional Christmas spices: ground cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg
• Shanghai dumpling wrappers
• Dried/fresh thyme (for garnish)
• Chili oil

Filling:

1. Wash and halve butternut squash. Roast for 1½ h at 350° F.
2. Wash chestnuts and cut a slit across the width of each. Roast for 25 minutes at 350° F.
3. Let chestnuts cool enough to handle and remove the shells. They're easier to shell if they're still warm.
4. Grind in food processor - but not too fine, because you want them to provide texture in the dumplings.
5. Remove squash from oven and discard seeds. Peel off the skin (I put the skin back into the oven until they're dried and then crumble them into salads...very yummy and healthy too).
6. Mash the squash in a bowl. While it's still warm, mix in cheese and ground chestnuts.
7. Mix in thyme and optional spices if you're using them.
8. Salt and pepper the filling to taste.
9. Let the mixture cool to room temperature.

Dumplings:

There are many types of dumpling wrappers on the market. You can also make your own. I, however, am partial to Hung Wang Foods, so this is the kind I buy.

Now, there a many different ways to wrap up your dumplings. Every Chinese family has their own way of doing it, and mine might not be the easiest way. So if you're a seasoned pro, just wrap it as you normally would. If you're a novice, here's a pretty easy method.

For these particular dumpling wrappers, I put about 1 tsp of filling in each.

If you're not planning on cooking them all immediately, this is a good time to freeze them. Place them on a parchment lined cookie sheet and place the sheet in the freezer until they are frozen. Make sure the dumplings not touching. Once frozen, you can place them in a freezer bag. They can stay in the freezer for ~2 months.

To cook, boil a pot of water with as much salt in the water as if you were cooking pasta. The water should taste like the sea.

When you have a rolling boil, place the dumplings in the pot one at a time, and make sure you don't crowd the pot. A trick to prevent the dumplings from sticking is to swirl the water with a wooden spoon as you drop in the dumplings.

The filling is already cooked, so these cook really quickly. After 2-3 minutes, or when they start floating, they are done. If you're cooking frozen dumplings, do NOT defrost them. Just throw them into the boiling water. They may need a minute or two longer than fresh dumplings.

To serve, drain the dumplings, sprinkle with thyme and drizzle chili oil. Finely chopped green onions or cilantro also go well with these dumplings.

If you have excess filling left over, it makes a great spread for toast, or a pasta sauce. Warm it up with a bit of water or cream to a sauce consistency, and then toss with your pasta of choice.

Salted Caramel Chocolate Cookies

The recipe is still a bit on the sweet side for my taste, but this sugar level seems to please most of my testers. It makes 2 dozen cookies.

Ingredients

• 110 g unsalted butter
• 70 g molasses
• 120 g white granulated sugar
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 55 g cocoa powder
• ¾ tsp baking powder
• 260 g all-purpose flour
• ½ tsp salt
• 100 g dark chocolate chips (If you want a little more texture, you can substitute the dark chocolate chips with cocoa nibs)
• 12 soft caramel candies, halved
• Coarse ground Himalayan pink salt for garnish

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. Melt butter over med-high heat. Let cool 1-2 minutes.
3. Mix in molasses, sugar and eggs (1 at a time).
4. In a separate bowl, sift together cocoa powder, baking powder, flour and salt.
5. Add flour mixture to butter mixture one cup at a time. Mix well each time before adding more flour mixture.
6. Mix in chocolate chips.
7. Roll 1 tablespoon of dough around ½ caramel candy.
8. Garnish each ball with a few grains of Himalayan pink salt.
9. Place balls on parchment paper lined baking sheet, ~1 inch apart. The cookies do not spread much.
10. Bake for 10-12 minutes on the middle rack of the oven. Cool on wire rack.

Peking duck - You're doing it wrong

So for lunch today, I decided to check out Tasty Thursdays at City Hall. Summer's almost over and I haven't even gone once. After checking out all the different food vendors, I eventually settled on Fusia Dog. I'll admit the shorter line had something to do with it, but it was mostly the promise of Peking Duck.

Okay supporters of fusion cuisine. This is where you and I need to have a chat. Please. Sit down. And TAKE NOTES.

In general, you like to take ethnic food and bastardize the crap out of it. And in general, I humour you and your fusion crap. But let's get things rightfully clear here.  If you say there's Peking duck in something, there better damned well be.

Peking duck isn't just bbq'd duck. It MUST have crispy skin. When you have Peking duck, you are served a slice of crispy skin with a bit of meat, slivers of scallions and hoisin sauce on the puffy bread-like wrapper. Crispy skin is the main event. Otherwise, it's just duck. CRISPY SKIN!!

So...when you serve me this...for $6...and call it a Peking Duck quesadilla, I will naturally be PRETTY FRICKING TICKED OFF!!!

Sure, flavours were good. But I bought this under the pretense that I was getting Peking duck. This is either a lie or an insult. Make your choice. The end result is the same.

My recommendation is that you call it Chinese style duck quesadilla or something like that. If you say "Peking" I better be getting crispy skin in there.  HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?!?!

Oh...and one more thing. If you're going to charge me $6, I expect to see SLICES of duck. It doesn't have to be a lot, but the remnant scraps from the cutting board is just a big "F U" to any paying customer.

All in all, not a good day for FoodPr0n. =(