|Duck a l'Orange, and the Oscars
||[Mar. 8th, 2010|09:36 am]
International Bon Vivant and Raconteur
I don't blog about food often, but this weekend's cooking bears mentioning. Back when I was a kid, I had a friend named Andy who described fancy, expensive restaurants as "duck a l'orange" restaurants. It was always funny, even though I had never had duck a l'orange and could only piece together what it actually was from the name and my working knowledge of sixth grade French. As the years progressed, I still rarely if ever ate duck a l'orange--circumstances put me more in line with Peking duck, which I love. But still, duck a l'orange remained fetishized in my mind as a dish for the upper crust of society, the blue bloods and aristocrats and those poofy-haired old ladies who live on Madison Avenue with their toy dogs.
Saturday night, my girlfriend and I made duck a l'orange. You can imagine what an experience this was for me as someone who thought duck a l'orange was the lambada of foods--the forbidden dance of poultry. We got a duckling from a local butcher, and it took nearly four hours in the oven total to get it nice and crispy. We made the orange sauce from marmalade, rum (because I didn't have orange liqueur, and rum is one of the few liquors the gf can drink) and apple cider vinegar (because we couldn't find any good white wine vinegar), and then boiled it down to a light syrup. Even with the substitutions, it came out awesome.
Oh, and we roasted potatoes in the duck fat. Then used more duck fat and the leftovers the next morning to make a duck hash for breakfast. Lord have mercy.
More food fun: Sunday night, for the Oscars, we decided to have Brunch-For-Dinner: blueberry gluten-free pancakes, apple and maple sausages, and Bloody Marys (with potato vodka from Poland!). Yum!
Speaking of the Oscars, after suffering through an endless interpretive dance number that "honored" all the musical score nominees, and those insufferable "testimonials" for each of the Best Actor and Actress nominees, it's become increasingly clear that the Oscars need to be produced by someone outside of Hollywood. The whole thing is already self-congratulatory, it doesn't need to be so glaringly self-indulgent too.