You want me to eat a bird's nest?

We arrived at the 16th Century farmhouse at the end of a road to a garden of sculptures. I said to Steven, “An artist lives here.” I asked Madam if she was said artist, but no, it was her husband.
In the description of dinner, I heard the following words: St Jacques (I assumed that had something to do with scallops), endives, buerre, orange, jambon, poire and fruits d’hiver ( I translated that to Steven as “winter fruits”). So far so good, except she turned to us at one point in the description of the jambon course and said “where the bird sleeps.”
Where did the bird fit in with the jambon?
An artistically arranged plate of six of the juiciest, sweetest scallops arrived with braised endives and an orange, white wine and butter sauce. Steven uncharacteristically decided to savour his food, whilst I characteristically inhaled mine.
Then, a pot containing ham and lots of hay around the edges… jambon in a bird’s nest! It was tender and moist and salty and delicious!
And for dessert, a pear tart with kiwi fruit sauce.
We slept under a canopy which was an old milk tank from the farm.
For breakfast the following morning, home-made bread, yoghurt and jams; a local specialty custard cake and buckwheat pancakes.
As we left, I said to Madam “You are an artist.” She smiled shyly.