Gareth and Everton in “Do the Right Thing”

The partridge I want is one which has eaten wild food and lived a wild life, has struggled, hoped and dreamed, has sown wild oats, has tasted the bitter disappointment of middle age, and knows what it is to eyeball The Grim Reaper in the watches of the night; the partridge sunk in the veil of years, with all the flavours of its rich eventful life captured in its texture, its juice, its very flesh. I do not want this callow, milk-fed, adolescent, uncouth, undeveloped wodge of protein. I don't believe in eating virgins! This partridge.

Yeah, that's right, Chef.

This partridge on the other hand.

Got its leg well over, I shouldn't wonder.