Quailed my Hunger

Tonight's dinner: Quail. Six little fellows from Vermont made their way to my apartment, jumped into my enameled cast iron pan with a splash of oil a sprinkle of salt and cracked pepper. Their skin crisped up to a light golden brown as they jumped from the pan to a dish. One of them told me to throw in some onion, fennel, garlic, carrot, and celery and to deglaze my pan with a slush of red wine. So I did. I ate the smallest of the six as the vegetables and wine turned translucent and began to give of one hell of a heavenly aroma.
As I went for another quail the object of my hunger eagerly mentioned that some fresh herbs might be nice. So I put him down and threw in a couple sprigs of thyme, rosemary, oregano, and sage. He was right so as I at him I responded that the kitchen was really smelling wonderful now. The last four little birdies had the honor of resting on a lovely white plate while I poured over them the scalding wine and vegetable reduction. Shit the steam was enough so make my cheeks start to tingle. I ate them all drank some more wine and used an onion ficelle to sop up any wayward juices. This one was a yummer.