Ducks have been on my mind a lot these days. It’s got to be the long, slow, cold arrival of spring that has me contemplating the bird. I can relate to their pale, fatty-dimpled, naked skin — that extra thick layer of insulation that keeps the duck protected from snow, sleeting rain, wind and freezing waters. Duck and me — we’ve got something in common – a nice bit of subcutaneous fat under our pasty-colored skin. It keeps us warm and buoyant.
Even though a stripped-down duck carcass is an elongated pathetic looking thing — to the home cook – all that fat that lies in wait is intimidating and the payoff can be uncertain. I’ve made enough tasteless greasy duck that I finally decided to seek out some guidance on cooking this problematic bird. I turned to my chef-friend Charlie. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a master of duck – he’s fed many of us with great success and is particularly fond of roasting it Asian-style so it comes out looking like those birds that hang in the windows of restaurants in Chinatown. But Charlie’s path — that ends with steamed duck dumplings — is a lengthy journey. Three days, to be exact.
He starts off by setting the bird on a rack, above a water bath seasoned with star anise, cinnamon, cloves, black peppercorns, scallions, ginger, garlic and five-spice powder. Steaming, he explained, eases the fat out in a persuasive sweat while at the same time it cooks the meat, leaving it tender, moist and aromatic. Pure duck fat and its gamy essence is all that’s left in the bottom of the wok when it’s done. Then he leaves the bird to rest overnight, exposed in the refrigerator, coated only with honey and the juice of an orange.
The next day, the bird is a little wobbly from losing all that weight and the skin has broken away from the ends of the drumsticks. He preps it to roast by smearing Chinese bbq sauce over its shrunken form — and that fake strawberry-colored goo droops over the bird like a bad prom dress. But in a searing oven set to 450 degrees — the sugar in it burns up and crisps the skin. The duck roasts at that high heat for about twenty to thirty minutes and then like a mood swing, he drops the temperature drastically, down to 225 degrees or so, and lets the bird cook for a few more hours until it’s lacquered tight.
On the third day (as if the duck hasn’t been through enough already) Charlie shreds it, chops it and mixes in things ginger, garlic, shitake mushrooms, scallions, and a sauce he makes up along the way, using sesame, soy, some duck sweat from day one, hoison, oyster sauce and maybe more of the red bbq stuff. ‘But that burnt skin is what really makes it’ he said filling a sweeten yeast dough with his duck. The white round dumplings cook quickly in a bamboo steamer and expand with a smooth glossy sheen. Inside, the duck is juicy – three days deep in flavor — and it seeps into its wrapping. These are my favorite things to eat for breakfast.
Charlie’s recipe is all about the process, the practice and the patience it takes to get there. Of course, there are short cuts and easier ways to cook a duck but for me, this is a meditation. There’s just no other way to explain it.
