Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in his counting house counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey
The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!
Apparently:
"During
the Medieval times, there were occasions when the cook in the house of
a wealthy knight did indeed put live birds (often pigeons, but I'm
sure it could just as easily have been blackbirds) inside a huge pastry
crust, on his own initiative. This was seen as a great joke and the
cook would usually have a real pie waiting to bring in when the birds
had been released."
So
here's my cook, mashing potatoes in with ham and Starling meat, which
was then spooned into phyllo dough cups and baked with cheddar cheese on
top. I had two of my girlfriends take over after my competency in the
kitchen came under serious question and it was decided that I should
simply observe.

While the pies baked, some friends dropped by and joined me in dying eggs.





Later
we trickled into the kitchen and tested the pies. While some of my
friends loved them, others refused to try, and my husband and I both
voted them as tasting too gamey. Next time I will marinate the Starling
in some sweet wine at least a day in advance, instead of the rush job I
did for this occasion, substituting tonic water and agave syrup for the
wine I didn't have around. All is not lost however; the cats
practically bit my fingertips off trying to get some of the little
morsels so at least the leftovers have a place to go.
This
week I'll be skinning out the rest of the black birds and studying
them. I may have an order on deck for one or two, and I intend to use a
few others in a hairpiece which I will hopefully finish in time for an
event I've got to attend on Friday.
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