This summer I fell in love with Julia Child. No, I did not buy one of her cookbooks and attempt to recreate her dishes. I just watched a movie in which someone else did. I read several memoirs by foodies - books that included life lessons and recipes. I held an end of the summer dinner party for several of my good friends. We ate scallops and sipped on wine I stole from my mother's stash. It was all very chic and self-empowering and warm and fuzzy and...
But underneath the pasta dishes with fresh tomatoes, the cooking shows, the concoctions whipped up after a late night out - all summer long, I still loved Julia most. My mother's friend made us boeuf bourguignon for our going away party, and as delicious as it was, I couldn't shake my zealous envy of the chef. I wanted to make something by Julia Child. Or at least something sort of like her dishes.
Thanksgiving Break offered me the golden opportunity. Or rather, the orange opportunity. Forget the Thanksgiving feast. Real cuisine busts out the day after, and real cuisine looks like Duck a L'Orange. Julia Child has a Canard a L'Orange - she would - but I went with a simpler recipe found on Oprah.com. Yes, Oprah makes even my dreams come true.
I'm from Gloucester County, Va. The only ducks I've ever come close to are the mallards swimming in our creek. My brother offered to shoot one for this meal, but I politely declined. So my mother - my sous chef who happens to know a LOT more about cooking than I do - and I headed to Williamsburg's Fresh Market to gather our ingredients. Fresh Market is a foodie's dream grocery store, with fresh produce and coffee beans in large barrels and organic chips and premium cuts of meat and every kind of wine you'd ever want - and just one small frozen duck somewhere in the back.
Sous chef and I decided that a small frozen duck was better than no duck at all. We also bought the oranges and port wine and thyme. We did not adhere to the "preferably organic" orange description. We also ignored the "strong chicken stock" suggestion. We had plenty of chicken broth in the pantry.
Remove fat from interior of duck, cut off wing tips and prick skin with fork without piercing the meat. These instructions did not cater to duck cooking amateurs. My mother and I did not see any interior. Ha! This duck was sufficiently clogged. We picked at some white goo around the edges of the duck. Fat, removed. Then came the wing tip cutting. Oh, the wing tip cutting. "Look at his little legs," my mother mourned. I laughed mockingly. I quickly stopped when I found myself snapping back Mr. Duck's wing tips and snipping them with scissors. "His little legs," I whimpered.
After pricking the skin - I found that diagonal forceful strokes worked best - we dumped our snipped and semi-fat-removed duck in a pot of water where he simmered for 45 minutes. My mother exited for a quick grocery run and left me in charge of the sauce. I learned that bringing two tablespoons red wine vinegar, one tablespoon sugar and one tablespoon water to a boil takes about three seconds. Taking care not to burn mixture, I turned the heat down and stirred the ridiculously small amount of liquid for five minutes until it thickened into a syrup.
Toiling over a thimbleful of sweet water for five minutes actually made me feel like a real chef. I added the cup of chicken "stock" - 1/2 cup "port" and 1/2 cup orange peels. (Did I tell you? Pare the orange and julienne the peels. Also totally chef-like). My mother had been gone 15 minutes, but I still frantically called her to see if the simmering sauce should be covered and if the duck should be totally submerged in the water. No to the cover, and she'd "be home soon" to check out the duck submersion.
There was an interior to the duck. After taking the duck out of the water, we discovered innards in its cavities. The boiling water must have loosened them up. We replaced the neck and giblets with orange wedges and thyme. We roasted the duck at 500 degrees for 30 minutes. Forgetting the duck and letting it sizzle for five extra minutes set the smoke detector off. The duck, though, was fine.
A "small" duck yields about three large pieces of meat. This was enough of a taste for me, my mother and sister, my visiting best friend, my father and his friend. Feeling clever, I served Duck a L'Orange on a platter to my father and his friend while they smoked cigars and drank beer around our fire pit. The fact that they ate it was compliment enough. When my father's friend informed me that the orange pretty much cut down on the general greasiness of duck, I thanked him for what may have been a nice thing to say.
I'm glad the first time I ever tried duck, I cooked it. I'm glad my mother likes to go food shopping with me or else I'd never be able to make wine dishes. I am glad that I created my first fancy - because that's what I'm calling it - meal in my favorite kitchen in my favorite house. I am glad that after I taste-tested Duck a L'Orange, I had a reunion party in my barn and danced around in my winter coat and smoked cigars and ate fudge with my friends from home.
I'm pretty sure Julia Child's mother did not help her through her recipes. Julia Child probably never served duck at a fire pit. I am almost positive that Julia Child would not consider broth an adequate substitute for stock. But I think Julia Child would have liked my version of Duck a L'Orange. Well, she would have at least appreciated the after-party.
Connelly's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com.
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