If you've ever cooked a duck, you can join me in my feelings of sadness and grossed-outness, all the while feeling slightly guilty that you totally LOVE the taste of such a cute little creature. It's not quite the same as eating an ugly cow or a goofy turkey.... ducks are cute. And they quack. I can almost feel good about eating something that simply moos or gobbles. But quacking is adorable, almost as adorable as that little waddle they have..... Ok, feelings of guilt are steadily increasing, so let me rewind back to yesterday's dinner.
As part of my new plan to try at least one new food or meal per week, I was excited to see that our local grocer had displayed whole ducks (insert teardrop here). I hesitantly nabbed one up and decided that I was going to make Duck La Orange. Now, if there's one thing that Betty C. taught me, it was that ducks are rather oily birds. They have incredibly thick skin that holds in the juices (grease) and that juice (grease) needs to be released. So, to prepare these birds, you have to tie their legs together like a turkey and then stab the crap out of them. Once the skin is sufficiently punctured (resembling a Law and Order: SVU victim), the oils will drain out of the duck as it cooks. What I failed to realize is that the oils will drain out into the pan and sizzle, smelling similar to a grease fire for the next 2.5 hours while it cooks (and then for at least another 28 hours after....still counting). I decided that I would have to drain the oil out of the pan every half hour or so in order to prevent having a fried duck as opposed to a roasted duck.
Upon smelling the house, my husband had decidedly made up his mind to eat elsewhere for the evening, sure that the meal was going to be a complete disaster. I convinced him to at least give my cute little bird a try (also telling him that grilled asparagus is really much better than it sounds). Sure enough, little Donald came out looking golden, crisp, and juicy, covered in orange sauce and spices. Once the fatty skin was peeled off and gagginly fed to the dogs, we were less disgusted and able to dig in to the deliciousness that was our duck. Pat even liked the grilled asparagus, although he felt that they did not live up to the praise that I had tried to give them earlier (he's apparently not strong enough in his masculinity to handle nasty smelling pee for a day). Finally, although the duck is gone and it's bony carcass removed from the house, it's smell may forever last with us. Well, the duck's smell along with Cinnamon Bun, French Vanilla, and Toasted Almond... if those don't work, I'll be forced to whip out Coffee Bean (the enforcer of all candle scents).
To summarize:
Ducks = Cute / Delicious / Greasy
Asparagus = So-So / Smelly Urine
Candles = Useless
As part of my new plan to try at least one new food or meal per week, I was excited to see that our local grocer had displayed whole ducks (insert teardrop here). I hesitantly nabbed one up and decided that I was going to make Duck La Orange. Now, if there's one thing that Betty C. taught me, it was that ducks are rather oily birds. They have incredibly thick skin that holds in the juices (grease) and that juice (grease) needs to be released. So, to prepare these birds, you have to tie their legs together like a turkey and then stab the crap out of them. Once the skin is sufficiently punctured (resembling a Law and Order: SVU victim), the oils will drain out of the duck as it cooks. What I failed to realize is that the oils will drain out into the pan and sizzle, smelling similar to a grease fire for the next 2.5 hours while it cooks (and then for at least another 28 hours after....still counting). I decided that I would have to drain the oil out of the pan every half hour or so in order to prevent having a fried duck as opposed to a roasted duck.
Upon smelling the house, my husband had decidedly made up his mind to eat elsewhere for the evening, sure that the meal was going to be a complete disaster. I convinced him to at least give my cute little bird a try (also telling him that grilled asparagus is really much better than it sounds). Sure enough, little Donald came out looking golden, crisp, and juicy, covered in orange sauce and spices. Once the fatty skin was peeled off and gagginly fed to the dogs, we were less disgusted and able to dig in to the deliciousness that was our duck. Pat even liked the grilled asparagus, although he felt that they did not live up to the praise that I had tried to give them earlier (he's apparently not strong enough in his masculinity to handle nasty smelling pee for a day). Finally, although the duck is gone and it's bony carcass removed from the house, it's smell may forever last with us. Well, the duck's smell along with Cinnamon Bun, French Vanilla, and Toasted Almond... if those don't work, I'll be forced to whip out Coffee Bean (the enforcer of all candle scents).
To summarize:
Ducks = Cute / Delicious / Greasy
Asparagus = So-So / Smelly Urine
Candles = Useless
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