Orchard Chops

In taverns and coffee shops all over Spain's capital last week, once respectable customers were sidling up to waiters and barkeeps to whisper the cryptic words: "Any orchard chops?" Often as not, the bartender would reply 'with a knowing wink and lead the customer around to a hidden door in the back of the shop. There, while both of them kept a nervous ear cupped for the sudden cry of "Poll!" (police) from a boy on watch, the avid customer would receive his prize -- a crispy, crunchy sparrow fried whole in deep olive oil. In one gleeful gulp, the lucky Madrileno would swallow it, claws, beak and all.

Thus, at last, were Madrid's gourmets driven underground by Madrid's bird lovers. For generations Madrilenos have been eating fried sparrows. There was a time when open-air stands on every street corner in the city sold the tender delicacies like hot franks at Coney Island. Then the bird lovers of Madrid's S.P.C.A. stepped in, flooding the city with leaflets quoting St. Francis of Assisi, who liked his birds on the wing and not the skillet. The fried birds were driven off the street corners and into the taverns.

Recently, bird lovers found a new and even more potent ally than -St. Francis. In an unexpected bureaucratic onslaught on the gourmets, the national confederation of farmers declared that mass slaughter of the useful and insectivorous sparrows was highly prejudicial to the nation's agriculture. Madrid's authorities promptly forbade the sale of pajaros fritos anywhere within the city. Specially appointed vigilantes now prowl Madrid's alleys to see that the law is observed. The price of black-market sparrows has soared from 2-c- to 25-c-.

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