`Hey guys, what's up?" said Christian Gasset in his heavily
accented English, affectionately greeting a flock of snowy-white
Muscovy ducks as they pecked through the mud on a drizzly winter
afternoon. Gasset produces Au Bon Canard foie gras, and yes, he
talks to his birds (all males; the female liver is too veiny for
ideal foie gras). In fact, every thoughtful action Gasset takes -
from the quiet way he speaks to the newly arrived newborns to their
expeditious, low-trauma slaughter four months later - is focused on
maximizing their comfort. The payoff is a superior-quality foie
gras - a result of what Gasset considers to be a more humane way to
produce the culinary delicacy.

In the quest to create what is French for, literally, fat liver,
many consider the traditional practice of force-feeding ducks and
geese to be an unseemly one. The issue recently caught fire in
California, where the legislature passed the nation's first law
banning the production and sale of foie gras; the statute takes
effect in eight years.

That had to come as bad news to Sonoma Foie Gras, the California
mega-producer that is one of the country's two principal foie gras
sources (the other, New York's Hudson Valley Foie Gras, is the
world's largest). But it wasn't a complete surprise to Gasset.

At his tidy farm in the far southeastern corner of Minnesota -
Wisconsin and Iowa both seem to be lurking just over the next hill
- the native Frenchman has started producing an extraordinary foie
gras, in an extraordinary fashion. With kindness.

"Making foie gras is a funky thing, like making art," said
Gasset. "It's not complicated, but it doesn't take much not to
succeed. You have to be gentle, all the time."

Paris Hilton would kill for this kind of cosseted existence. When
the ducks arrive from California - less than a day old and a fuzzy
yellow - they're sequestered in a small barn and bask in a
Bikram-yoga-like warmth for a week. As they mature, the ducks start
making forays into the great outdoors, roaming free through the
series of roomy pastures that spread out below Gasset's gray
farmhouse. They feast on a protein-rich mixture of corn and
soybeans plus all the grass, grubs and insects they can lay their
beaks on.

For their final two weeks, the ducks are pampered in a cozy,
mellow barn decorated with a soothing collection of landscape oil
paintings, all purchased on the garage sale-junk store circuit. At
this juncture, the average duck tips the scales at around 12
pounds. Then the fattening begins, each one consuming about 1 1/2
pounds of food a day as it slides toward its optimum 13- to
14-pound weight.

"They're teenagers," said Gasset. "They are growing really fast,
and they eat like crazy."

Unlike industrial-scale foie gras producers that rely upon
compressed-air technology that forces nutrients down the birds'
throats, Gasset, following a centuries-old practice, fattens his
birds by positioning them in his lap and quickly funneling into
their gullets a soft, easily digestible corn-water mixture he cooks
each morning. By adhering to Gasset's regimen - good food, fresh
air, sunshine, exercise and low-trauma living - the ducks develop
livers that hit a desirable weight somewhere between 3/4 and 1 1/2
pounds.

"The livers could get bigger than that, but you'd have to push
them," said Gasset. "Then you're going to kill a lot of birds. I
can't afford to lose even one. That's my paycheck."

Call it parsimony, sympathy, just good business or all of the
above, but it's a strategy that works, because Gasset's calm,
collected birds yield a plush, silky, meltingly luxurious foie
gras. In just a few short months, Au Bon Canard foie gras has
captured the attention of Twin Cities chefs and wholesalers. This
would not come as a surprise to anyone who has met the
single-minded Gasset.

"Passion approaching obsession makes a great product," said Jeff
Pierce of Great Ciao, the Minneapolis fine-foods distributor that
hawks Gasset's foie gras to a handful of local restaurants.

Just how good is it? Pierce and company recently conducted a
blind taste-test with Au Bon Canard foie gras and several
competitors.

"The first thing we noticed is that Au Bon Canard
foie gras seared up more evenly," said Pierce. "Less fat rendered
off of it, which means a greater yield. And while others had a
gamey or coppery taste, Christian's foie gras had a sweetness, like
beef tenderloin. There isn't a better foie gras in this country."

Count Alex Roberts, chef and co-owner of Restaurant Alma in
Minneapolis, as another Au Bon Canard fan. "It's phenomenal," he
said. "I've used it in tasting menus, and people who know foie gras
say that it's the best they've ever tasted."

Roberts is also drawn to the farming philosophy behind the foie
gras.

"Gasset has respect for the land, and for the animals," he
said. "A duck's natural instinct is to eat a reasonable amount.
There's a fine line between instincts and cruelty, and Gasset
respects that. That's a refreshing viewpoint for someone who
produces meat."

Gasset, a former restaurateur who ended up stateside after
marrying Minneapolitan Liz Gibson, was drawn to Caledonia because
Houston County's rugged, antiprairie landscape has a squeak of a
resemblance to the mountains of his native southwestern France. On
the couple's first exploratory visit, they knew they'd hit paydirt
before their car had even made it to the end of the farm's long
gravel driveway.

Fast-forward through three years of hard work - rehabbing
buildings, importing equipment, conducting research - before the
first foie gras left the farm in April. Gasset quickly established
a workable rhythm: 50 birds are processed each week, their numbers
replenished by 200 additional birds every four weeks, a rhythm that
continues from late summer to late spring. All parts of the duck -
breast, legs, wings, gizzards and fat - are harvested and sold.
Future plans include making rillettes and other products on site.

That most of the farm's processing equipment had to be purchased
in France speaks volumes about the artisanal mind-set of French
food production vs. its big-business Yankee counterparts.

"In this country, you go to buy equipment, and the first question
is, `How many thousands of birds are you going to process?' " said
Gasset. "Or start a small business here and within a month you're
talking about franchising and Wall Street. That's not my idea. I
spend a lot of time with my birds, watching them to know what they
need. If you're slaughtering 10,000 ducks a week, you can't do
that. But I can with 200 ducks."

Foie gras doesn't come cheap, and Au Bon Canard is no exception.
Its retail price hovers around $77 per pound, slightly higher than
Hudson Valley's and Sonoma's mass-produced product. But the farm's
quality-not-quantity structure and Gasset's manic attention to
detail more than justify the premium price tag.

"Foie gras is like caviar," he said. "You have to pay the price
for it. I'm not going to get rich, but I'm enjoying what I'm doing.
And I don't think I'm doing something bad for the ducks." .

Rick Nelson is at rdnelson@startribune.com.

WHERE TO BUY
Home cooks can purchase Au Bon Canard foie gras at Clancey's
Meats & Fish, 4307 Upton Av. S., Minneapolis, 612-926-0222. Some
restaurants where diners can enjoy Au Bon Canard foie gras
include:
Corner Table (4257 Nicollet Av. S., Minneapolis, 612-823-0011)
Dakota Jazz Club & Restaurant (1010 Nicollet Mall, Minneapolis,
612-332-1010)
D'Amico Cucina (100 N. 6th St. Minneapolis, 612-338-2401)
Levain (4762 Chicago Av. S., Minneapolis, 612-823-7111)
Nicollet Island Inn (95 Merriam St., Minneapolis, 612-331-3035)
Restaurant Alma (528 University Av. SE., Minneapolis, 612-379-4909)
Vincent (1100 Nicollet Mall, Minneapolis, 612-630-1189)