Monday, May 18, 2009


I have eaten and enjoyed frogs' legs on a number of occasions. Their taste is vaguely akin to that of chicken. However, at the back of my mind has always been the thought that I might inadvertently be eating the limbs of an enchanted prince.

One often hears of witches and wizards putting spells on minor European royals, turning them into amphibians. Usually, the transmogrified nobles simply hop off and eventually settle, grudgingly, into their new existence. I would imagine this involves meeting intellectually compatible female frogs, forming relationships, and thereafter raising tadpoles together. The possibility of being caught and having one's legs cut off and served up in a London bistro is therefore part and parcel of this existence; like the risk a human runs of being knocked over by a lorry or having Ant and Dec move in nextdoor.

At this point let me get one thing clear. I personally am not concerned about the provenance of the frog. If, for example, during the course of the meal the waiter informs me that I am in fact tucking into the hindquarters of a member of the House of Hapsburg, my only reaction is to order a superior bottle of wine to wash them down. But the likelihood of this happening is so remote that I can usually stick to the house red with confidence.

Usually. I am becoming increasingly concerned, though, by reports of deviant princesses touring lily ponds and making unwelcome sexual advances towards their frog inhabitants. Under normal circumstances I suppose this is pretty harmless, even if both parties do go “all the way”. Unfortunately, there always exists the risk - however slight - that one of these princesses will eventually meet and “get off with” a metamorphosized prince. I am informed that the mere act of kissing one has the effect of converting him back into his human form, which could have potentially disastrous consequences.

Let me explain. To create the dish known as frog's legs, one simply hacks the hind legs from a frog and then tosses his body into a bucket. Thereafter he usually dies. Nevertheless, there remains the possibility that he will somehow manage to crawl out and escape. If so, his amphibian metabolism is such that the amputated legs will eventually grow back, allowing his to resume his career in the pond. Which would be no problem with a conventional frog. But what if this happened to an enchanted prince who at some point in the future was kissed by a princess?

My guess is that as well as the prince himself changing back into human form, so too would his lopped-off extremities, wherever they happened to be. Thus a diner might suffer the acute embarrassment of a pair of human legs suddenly appearing on his dinner plate, covered in a puff-pastry parcel or in sauce. More embarrassing still if he had already eaten them when the reconversion occurred, especially if the transmogrified prince had been a rugby player with really muscular limbs. The poor diner would probably explode in a scene reminiscent of the film “Alien”, showering the restaurant clientele with giblets.

And what if, during his frog days, the prince had indeed met a female frog, fallen in love, and produced children? The ponds would suddenly be full of hybrid royal-amphibians, all of them claiming kinship with the House of Windsor, and all, no doubt, demanding a payout from the Civil List. As frogs breed at an exponential rate, the country would soon be bankrupted. Democracy would collapse, too, as bunches of aggrieved tadpoles tried to dissolve parliament, claiming that their marshes had been drained to make way for the Channel Tunnel rail link or the new runway at Heathrow.

In my opinion, in order to forestall such an occurrence, top London restaurants should start to employ princesses to kiss the frogs as and when they are delivered. This would allow many of the country's sponging royals to actually pay their way, as well as guaranteeing the future of our constitutional democracy.


Anonymous said...

This raises many interesting points. First, legs. Yours are scrawny and no Princess would look at them. Unlike say Pudzianowskis legs, or mine. Second frogs, what is it with gay repressed "custody assistants" and frogs? Is it a perversion due to not getting into Hendon police "college"? Will you get truncated Princes hobbling into the Cajun Mongoose in Hertford saying Where are my legs, Christ you've eaten half my quads.

Joe Slavko said...

I shall do some more squats tomorrow at the gym, further boosting my already enviable legs and making my arse extra pert. Sometimes I wish I could bottle by attractiveness and sell it. I'd make a fucking fortune.

Anonymous said...

Essence of Joe? Yes it could be marketable. A word of explanation. The flag counter well & truly fucked up my precis on Lithuanian politics. It is now gezellig. Would Wladislaw be interested? It msu be better than have Mr Stonewall chase him around Tescos.

Anonymous said...

I shall do some more squats tomorrow at the gym... making my arse extra pert.Will you be wearing your hat too?