Emergency Room Roast Duck

Author Notes

I should start off by saying that this will be a longish introduction. To read only about the recipe notes, skip to the bottom part. So, she says, indicating that you should get comfortable, the story goes something like this...... There is a list of cooking challenges that I keep on my fridge - my white whales. Paella, soufflé, you get the idea. Parenthetically, if you want to read a funny story about when I battled the giant octopus (and lost), you can find it about 3/4 of the way down the hotline question about foods that polarize: http://www.food52.com/foodpickle... Anyway, getting back to it. Whole roasted duck has been on that list for a while. I've always been a little intimidated by the gaminess and, well, the price. Not wanting to completely balls up a bird that can cost upwards of $40. About two weeks ago I decided that the time had come to cross that item of the list. I consulted my step-mom who had mentioned this awesome green tea duck she had made about a year and a half ago and I sucked it up and went to Whole Foods and got a duck. And I brined that bird for the better part of three days. Oh and the brine smelled sooooo good. I mean, if there are angels and they are Asian, this is what an Asian angel would smell like. I wanted to take a bath in this stuff. So for three days I am nursing this brine, loving it, occasionally turning the duck over in the pot so that all parts are exposed to the liquid. Then, when the time was right, I reverently removed it from the liquid, brushed off the star anise and the green tea and put it in the oven. I made my mom's Special Rice (I'll post another day). I made edamame. I opened a bottle of wine. My husband was going to remember why I am the best wife in the whole world. The kids were winding down and all was on track to get them in bed before we enjoyed a romantic dinner (which in our house qualifies as a meal, eaten when hot, together). Jameson (the elder son) was upstairs getting his pajamas on. I am basting every ten minutes with lovely duck fat. Jameson starts crying, which I should say is not entirely unusual behavior for a four year old who doesn't want to go to bed. "Oh hush up and get your jammies on," I snap irritably up the stairs while I return to cooing over my bird. The crying continues. I sigh. My husband sighs. Connor (the younger son) starts intoning "bottle bottle bottle bottle!" which indicates incipient melt-down. I sigh again. I bargain with my husband: I'll fix the bottle, you go fix the four year old. The bottle goes in the microwave; the husband goes up the stairs. The duck, a glistening glorious brown crispy version of heaven comes out of the oven smelling exotic and exciting. I place it lovingly on the stovetop to rest. The husband immediately yells down the stairs for a towel. Something about gaping head wounds. Turns out that Jameson, while hiding in our bedroom trying to avoid the inevitable onset of bedtime, stood up too fast and split his head open on our armoire door. Since I took Jameson to the hospital the LAST time he had to get stitches in his noggin, I inform my husband that it is his turn. The whirlwind departs in a flurry of bloody towels and sniffles and a squalling Connor who is quite alarmed by all the commotion. I put Connor to bed. The rice has scorched on the stove. The duck has "rested" into a coma. Quiet descended on the house and I look forlornly at my duck. Shrugging, I carved that sucker up and ate a breast all by myself. Delicious. Wine wasn't bad either. Decided it was THAT kind of night and took a second glass into the living room to keep me company while I watched an episode of The Walking Dead. ****** OK, recipe notes. There are two versions of this. The first is the way I did it and comes, according to my step-mom, from "some Asian Fusion cookbook I seem to have misplaced." Apologies for the suspicious provenance. The second was adapted, by my step-mom, from the first when she didn't have the time to brine for the 2-3 days needed. Even the 'short' version will need 24 hours to sit, so plan accordingly. —Niknud