Monday, September 27, 2010
In the finest tradition of haute cuisine a pig lops off his head and displays it to a roomful of potential customers.
See, things work differently in the chi-chi restaurants populating Suicidefoodland.
In any other region a decapitated hog would be expected to put diners off their feed. But in this depraved district the ghastliest of ghastlies are tolerated so long as the muddied, bloodied beasts give the okay.
And this one isn't complaining! No, monsieur! Ever the serveur professionnel, he is thrilled to death. Literally! To death and beyond, in fact.
So delighted is he to know that his clientele will dine so well, dipping spoons, perhaps, into the congealing consommé of his neckhole, that not even his own grisly beheading can put out his fire.
Still, the waiter/entrée must be distracted (by joy, maybe?), for he's holding aloft his tete, not his pied. C'est la vie. As long as he's happy.
(Thanks to Dr. Chris for the referral.)