You know: they taste good. Not just satisfying. Good. Like oysters, and venison, and roast goose washed down with Moselle wine that tastes like apples, and pâté de foie gras de canard, and (I hear tell) caviar, putting aside all our pieties about ahimsa, these are lives that I am willing to sacrifice while I'm eating them, because they're too delicious, alas, not to. This, by repute, is how 'Centaurians (flesh-eating lizards such as are found in the State Department) feel about two-year-old Mexican children à la Bave et au Sang--a dish they like, 'tis said, too much ever to give up.
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