The idea of epicurean clubs has been a constant fascination to me after having read a short story by Neil Gaiman. This is a puzzlement as my carnivorous tendencies are limited to beef, chicken, pork, and one or two types of fish. This, I’m sure, is a constant source of aggravation to my parents, who periodically bring home things that are capable of winking at you from a pot.

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Of course, a “real” epicurean club will not serve mere lobsters and snails. Their menus tend to be a lot more exotic and in violation with Fish and Wildlife Services. Oh, and each plate costs enough to run a small third world nation.

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I wonder if snails had a propensity to taunt other creatures who are far more tastier than the wad of mucus mollusks represents. That is, until the French showed up with their garlic sauces and those little two-tined forks.

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