Bits of rat hidden under a chair:

This isn't so much a recipe as a bit of advice in the event of members of the Anti-Souffle League or its simpering lackeys breaking into your flat. Your wife (or a friend's) should engage the pusillanimous toadies from the League in conversation, perhaps turning the chat to the price of corn and the terrible damage inflicted by all kinds of rodents on personal property, and rats attacking small babies (this always lakes the steam out of them) and you should have time to get any rat-bits safely out of sight. Incidentally do make sure that your current copy of The Rat Gourmet hasn't been left lying around, otherwise all will be in vain, and the braying hounds of the culinary killjoys will be unleashed upon the things you cherish: your chopping-board, the chopper caught in the blood-red glare of the fading sun. Bring it down—crunch! The slight splintering of any spinal column under the keen metal! The last squeal and the death twitches of the helpless rat!