Frog's legs, like organ meats, are a type of food that reminds me a bit too much that they belonged to some other animal before they hit the table. Much as my daughter preferred to think of her little rabbit fur jacket as being made from bunnies who passed away peacefully in the woods, I prefer to avoid conscious consideration of where my food originates. As I've said before, if I ever have to "live off the land", I'm a goner unless I can find a wild soybean field to supply my protein.
Today's recipe is from Au Petit Robinson, a restaurant and inn on d'Ile Bizard, which is now annexed to Montreal. Today it exists only on postcards, which is disappointing, because it offered an interesting and unusual ambience - the tables were set up on treetop platforms a la Swiss Family Robinson.
The worst part of this recipe is the first step. I don't know how you pare a leg, and I hope I never have to learn.