So I'm watching "Hell's Kitchen," a mindless guilty pleasure, and the earnest chefs are serving, among other menu items, squab, which is, of course, pigeon. For some reason, they're calling it pigeon, not squab. Squab I could manage, perhaps, because it sounds exotic enough not to disgust me. But I'd rather not eat a pigeon.
During dinner service, one of the chef goons burns the remaining steaks and is forced to visit a table of hungry soldiers, most of whom naturally ordered steak. The goon apologizes for the mishap and suggests they order the squab instead. Problem is, he's still calling it pigeon. Many of the soldiers, I'd guess, never heard of squab and would readily accept it as a substitute. It kind of sounds like seafood. They reluctantly go along with the goon's suggestion, though, and I'm left wondering if they'd just as well take a pickle for dessert if the restaurant ran out of tiramisu.
To all the cooks and servers out there, please don't call it pigeon. Pigeons eat junk off the ground in the park. They crap on our windshields. They hang out with Mike Tyson. Use the euphemism "squab" and you might fool us. Tell us we're eating pigeon and we'll cry foul.