Archive for duck ducky duckduck

I wouldn’t hate on her if she smelled like fried food

Posted in Portland with tags , , , on January 7, 2009 by Donna Arriaga

…that’s what @wwwdotjenna Tweeted back in January of ’08, and it’s been lodged in my mind ever since.

It’s got me thinking about the wide world of fried food.  Not just your run-of-the-mill French fries, but golden foods that stretch the mind’s imagination (or repulsion).

On the one hand, we’ve got the lowbrow side of fried with French-Fry Coated Bacon on a Stick…  mmmm. bacon.

French-Fry Coated Bacon on a Stick

And on the other hand is the highbrow side of fried…

…with Emeril Lagasse’s Fried Duck Confit with Blueberry Sauce.

I admit, the “Blueberry Sauce” portion of this menu item doesn’t sound all that enticing… at first.  But with a closer look, you see that this sauce calls for a lavish, mouthwatering duck stock reduction spiked with the sweet richness of port.  Port is the bridge here.  It’s combination of deep, earthy flavors and rich sweetness helps to ease blueberries into the savory spectrum (and away from all those images of pies and muffins I’m sure you were picturing).

But I’m a realist.  Despite the fact that I can’t stop my mouth from watering over the mere thought of fried duck, I willingly admit that my chances of eating French-Fry Coated Bacon on a Stick are — sadly — much greater than those of savoring Fried Duck Confit with Blueberry Sauce.

Emeril’s recipe points out that cooking time alone is about 10 hours for that dish! And that doesn’t include prep time.  Oh right. And if I was seriously inclined to prepare this recipe, I would need to round up two whole duck carcases just for the stock reduction.  Last time I checked, duck ‘aint cheap.

I’ve got a craving. I checked prices on whole duck a couple weeks ago. Needless to say, I brought home chicken.

I *HEART* Duck

Posted in Portland with tags on March 26, 2008 by Donna Arriaga

She meant this…

But for the life of me, all I could think about was this…

So, a coworker was telling me that her back yard was actually a little forest complete with a pond and a family of ducks. The ducks are wild, she tells me. But I raise my own ducks too.

You raise ducks? I asked, as my mouth salivated. I could already taste the seared duck breast, it’s smooth, rich flavor spreading across my tongue. Then came potatoes fried in duck fat. Against my better judgement, I asked: So, you raise ducks for food?

Oh no! I could never eat my ducks.

I have to admit, I kinda knew this would be her response. Still, I had to ask the question. I had to take the very small chance that, perhaps, she too might love and respect this revered animal in the same way that I do.

But, as chance had it, she’d tried duck once and never again.