Foie gras has become a byword for cruelty, but in this extract from his book The Third Plate, cook and activist Dan Barber meets one Spanish farmer who says he knows what’s good for the goose – and doesn’t use force-feeding
We arrived at Eduardo Sousa’s farm late in the morning, after an overnight flight from New York. My friend Lisa picked me up at Madrid airport, and we drove southwest toward Badajoz, traversing Extremadura. An unmarked dirt road led up to Eduardo’s farm, or we guessed it did. No one was around. A furious barking dog tied to the side of a shed greeted us. The place looked deserted. We found Eduardo lying on his back in a small, open field, his mobile raised above his head. Two dozen or so geese circled him in a raucous chorus of quacking and feather shaking.
“Bonita!” I heard him say as we approached a bright orange fence. “Hola, bonita!” Thinking he was on speakerphone, we slowed down, only to realise he was snapping pictures of his geese.
“Hola – Eduardo?” Lisa said. Eduardo snapped more pictures. By now I was close enough to see that he was laughing.
The geese shrieked and ran for the other side of the fence line, and Eduardo stood up quickly, his carefree air marred briefly by concern. After whispering something in the direction of the geese, he beamed even more brightly, then turned to acknowledge us with a gentle wave.
Lisa introduced us. “Vale,” she said. “Dan es chef de Nueva York.” Eduardo raised an eyebrow in my direction.
“It’s an honour to meet you, sir,” I said, awkwardly formal. In the instant of that raised eyebrow, I was overcome with a feeling that our trip was doomed. Foie gras without gavage [force feeding]? Who was I kidding? More to the point, who was Eduardo kidding? You didn’t need to be Columbo to question this guy’s story. He looked nothing like a farmer, and this didn’t look anything like a farm. There were no tractors, no barns, and no silos. There was only a smiling, slightly chubby man in a green sweater-vest and a phone filled with portraits of his geese.
A long moment of silence followed. I fought the urge to speak bluntly.
“How often are you moving the geese to new grass?” I asked abruptly. Lisa, startled, repeated the question in Spanish, drawing it out for the sake of politeness.
Eduardo shook his head. “I listen to the geese,” he said. “I give them what they want.” We began walking the perimeter of the fence.
“And what are you feeding them?” I asked.
“Feed? No, we don’t feed,” he said.
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Website: https://eduardosousafarm.com/index.php?&idioma=en
