What would be the first thing to come to mind if you were invited to dine on pigeon? Would you run the other direction? Would you question the sanity of the person offering the invitation?

Pigeons are not held in high esteem by the average person. These are the filthy birds that seem to litter public spaces the world over. (These noisy birds sit outside my window and wake me in the morning or disturb me as I try to work.) They formerly served a useful purpose in times of war, carrying messages, but they are now left to begging on the street for food like other veterans damaged by the experience.

In English, “pigeon” often denotes a negative context. A pigeon is an easy mark, a dupe. A stool-pigeon betrays confidences. Walking pigeon-toed sends us to a podiatrist. And clay pigeons are too stupid to hide when necessary!

When we do consider eating these “flying-rats,” we call them squabs. And this is not a new practice, the Oxford English Dictionary cites a 1694 reference referring to the raising of squobbs for food. (There seems to be a consensus that the word squab is of Scandinavian origin, probably Swedish, where the meaning referred to anything that was soft and thick.) Although we eat squabs — don’t call them pigeons — a squab can also be a short, fat person or a couch. Don’t squabble with me, it says so in the dictionary.

As the poet Ogden Nash once quipped:

Toward a better world I contribute my modest smidgin;

I eat the squab, lest it become a pigeon.

Technically, a squab is a young pigeon — about four weeks old. (The French word for a young pigeon, or squab, is pigeonneau. The French word for a pigeon is pigeon.)

The squabs available in the market are farm raised. I have never tasted wild pigeon, but I assume it is like other fowl in that the wild ones tend to be gamier and tougher than their farm-raised cousins. (Plus there's never any buckshot in the farm-raised birds.) Although there is some meat on the legs and wings, most of the meat on a squab is breast meat. When the breast meat is cooked medium-rare, it is both moist and succulent. Because of the lack of fat, squab will be chewy if even slightly overcooked. Like duck, the meat is layered not marbled.

The concept for this recipe originated with Chef François Kiener at Auberge de Schœnenburg in Riquewihr, France. On a recent visit, I had the pleasure to participate in the boning and skewering of a bunch of squabs. (What is the right name for a group of young pigeons? A clique?) At the end of my visit I had the pleasure of eating the completed dish in the main dining room of the Auberge.

Chef Kiener never disclosed the actual sauce ingredients he was using — I never asked — so the sauce provided in the recipe is a traditional, simple sauce made from the bones of the bird. Chef Kiener served the squab with cooked vegetables as described in the recipe. Because of the small quantity of each item used in a single serving, this can be an inconvenient recipe for just a few people. At the Auberge, twenty servings were prepared at once. A simple vegetable accompaniment, such as sautéd spinach or chard, would be very nice with this dish.

The following recipe serves two.

Preheat oven to 205 °C (400 °F). Melt the butter in a frying pan over high heat. Season pigeon halves with salt and pepper. Brown one side. Turn the halves over, and place the pan in the oven. Cook for 7 minutes.

Place the baked pigeon halves on a plate, tent with foil, and set aside to rest for five minutes. While the pigeon is resting, continue to reduce the sauce until thickened. Taste the sauce and season with salt, as required. Also, place the serving plates with the vegetables in the oven for a couple of minutes until the vegetables are reheated.

When the meat has rested, slice each half on the bias in four places. Arrange the pigeon slices on the serving plates. Top with the reduced sauce.