"On occasion of your next visit, I propose that we dine together, as it's been a while now. My pantry is stark in these winter months, but I'm thinking at least of tochimenbō. ..."
"Still going on about tochimenbō. Sheer insolence!" The master is a bit perturbed.
"However, the ingredients for tochimenbō are in short supply these days, and it may well be that I can't procure them. If such is the case, perhaps I can offer peacock tongue instead to suit your palate. ..."
"He's covering all the bases." The master is intrigued now and reads on.
"As I'm sure you're aware, the volume of tongue meat from a single peacock is no greater than half of one's little finger at best. To satisfy that voracious belly of yours will hence require ..."
"Pure rubbish!" The master remarks in passing and continues.
"I'll have to get my hands on twenty or thirty peacocks. That being said, though peacocks can be seen here and there in zoos or at the Asakusa Amusment Park, the typical bird handler doesn't carry them. This is causing me some consternation. ..."
"Consternation of his own making." The master expresses not the least bit of sympathy.
"In ancient Rome, at the height of Roman power, this cuisine of peacock tongue was in great favor. If you would be so kind as to indulge me, please know I've always yearned to sample for myself this ultimate extravagance. ..."
"Indulge you in what? Absurdity?" The master is fully unmoved.
"Down through to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, peacock was standard fare at any European banquet. If memory serves me right, when the Earl of Leicester hosted Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth they dined on peacock. In depictions of feast by the renowned master Rembrandt, peacock tails adorn the tabletop. ..."