One day last week, son and daughter-in-law popped in to say hello.

It’s always good to see them and we are fortunate in the fact that both of our sons live and work in the island.

More often than not, when someone calls on us there will be a pot of something wholesome simmering gently on the cooker.

This always takes me back to the memories of the boys coming home from school to a delicious smell wafting out of the casserole dish in the oven.

Unfortunately this was not always good news. Not from their point of view, that is.

I have always been a follower of old recipes and old traditions, but sadly, I was the only one in our family who was.

I have to add that it meant that there was all the more for me, but I was disappointed that no one else would try the delights of pigs head or trotters, ox cheek or ox tail and even a stuffed ox heart.

The delicate flavours of lambs heart or lambs fries, the pastry wrapped rabbit pie or the richness of a jugged hare.

Just the thought of a pheasant casserole or a plate of pigeon stew could make me drool.

And the absolute delight of a thickly buttered sandwich of cold pressed ox tongue cannot be described.

Anyway, as usual I digress. Son and daughter-in-law called and they had brought me a gift. It was a vacuum packed, attractively packaged pair of ostrich steaks.

Now normally I would not have bought any part of an ostrich.

In fact although you might think that I would eat anything that could run, swim or fly, I have always ignored what I would call exotic meat.

This rule would include animals such as crocodile, kangaroo and of course, ostrich. There is just something about these creatures that makes me feel that little bit uneasy.

I’m sure that if you lived in Africa or Australia or somewhere similar, you would not give it a second thought, but to me in the Isle of Man it just seems wrong.

I mean to say, how do you kill an ostrich?

You could hardly wring its neck or cut its throat, and to use a humane killer would be unthinkable.

They probably stun the poor bird with an electric shock.

Now I once worked in an abattoir.

It was in a clerical capacity, I hasten to add, but my job entailed making frequent visits to the slaughter house.

I know how these places work, I’ve been there dozens of times. It is not nice, but it is humane and very, very quick.

But I cannot feel comfortable about the demise of an ostrich.

However, I had to put aside my hypocrisy and face the facts. I had been given a gift and I had to do it justice. I read the cooking instructions, and put the frying pan on the hob. A decent sized knob of butter starting to sizzle and an ostrich steak cooked for 90 seconds each side.

Now I have to admit that I’m rather partial to a steak sandwich. Thick cut well buttered white bread and a slice of well hung fillet steak. Nothing added. No salt, no nothing, just as it is.

So that’s what I did with the ostrich. Bread and butter and meat. It was delicious but difficult to describe. It is quite dark meat, very tender with the hint of a touch of liver. Quite a bit like venison but definitely different. There were two slices of ostrich in the pack and I demolished the second one a couple of days later, cooked the same way.

In my time on earth, (so far), I have enjoyed eating birds of all sizes.

From the little quail to a largish turkey. I have killed, plucked and dressed most of them, ducks, geese, pheasants, and hens. You name it, I’ve probably done it.

I’ve caught, skinned and eviscerated rabbits and hares.

I’ve dressed crab and lobster and gutted fish of all shapes and sizes from sardines to sea trout. But the gift of ostrich steaks that I admit I enjoyed, will not be repeated.