Twice, before dinner, plus snacks. Constant snacks, in the case of the Little Guy.
And, yet... we set upon that duck like a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat.
We couldn't carve it! We both tried. (This is why I really want an electric knife!) We aren't weaklings, but I guess this duck still had a little quack in it. After 5 minutes of smelling it's roasty, crinkly-skinned goodness and whacking away on it, while it slid on the platter now-greased with delicious duck fat... we gave up and agreed to just rip the flesh off it's bones with our forks.
And that's what we did.
Therefore, there was no plating. So, I completely forgot to take pictures.
It truly was gorgeous. So brown and crispy. My second attempt at mustard greens was successful... thanks to the addition of a bit of honey, to counteract the bitterness. But none survived the gorging. Our Little Guy didn't waste any time on his greens, which is unusual for him. No... he demanded duck. And more duck. And "more duck, Mom?" Yeah. He digs duck. I can see why. I now have it in my stock pot, with a couple of bay leaves and a few peppercorns. I want every last bit of goodness!
And even the roasted turnips were good. I have horrible memories of turnips from my childhood. As probably all kids my age were... I was forced (by my grandparents, not my mom) to clean my plate. That plate often included "icky" things like boiled turnips, microwaved squash, or onions. Now, of course, I like all those things... but prepared my way!
And I still don't like okra.
No comments:
Post a Comment