"Ah," said Dandy in her coolest voice, "it's all just like an old Flemish painting, isn't it?"
The pheasant probably weighed about five pounds. I left it with Billy and Ben to roast over the living room fire while I went up to bathe and change.
Dinner was about an hour late. The pork was tender and sweet. The pheasant was pretty tough, yet it had a particularly wonderful flavor and one that I have tasted neither before that Thanksgiving nor since. It tasted, I thought, just a little bit like turkey.