It started as a simple tweet last night. I'm going out to a wild duck dinner. A lot of people thought that implied something. What was I up to exactly? What sort of wild? What sort of duck? And no, Henrik Ibsen didn't figure into this at all. Last night we were invited out to eat some duck that our friend Ron Mezzetta had hunted just the other day.
Ron and his wife Ruthie are good friends and part of our coffee group at the infamous Basque Cafe. Ron also makes some damn fine peppers and olives and pasta sauces and all sorts of goodies as Mezzetta Foods. He also knows how to cook a very tasty duck in a cast iron skillet.
But back down the hill at Rons' house was where all the duck action was.
I had started Saturday off pretty jealous after reading all about the foodie doings down in SF. We had script work to do which was going to keep me home in Sonoma for the weekend while I read all about the doings of Salty Seattle and Lawyer Loves Lunch and Bay Area Glutton on Twitter. Then out of the blue I got a duck dinner invitation! Who knew??? Hey, it's not a swag bag filled with homemade salt and all sorts of other craveables, but Ron gave me a plastic bag with some apples off his tree before we went home.