The duck confit is ready. I suppose most people stick a few cuisses in a jar and seal them. By the time the confit is ready for this, I’m tired, busy, feeding some animal human or otherwise and / or laughing. So, I stick the entire confit pot in the fridge when it cools down a bit. There it sits and gains flavor ready to be eaten a week or so later. After the first few legs have been exhumed, I warm up the pot slightly and stick in ziplock bags. You can stick these in the freezer if you wish, but with six monsters, we go through confit like six monsters going through confit.
Duck confit for lunch it is. Wish you were here.
Good day, it’s time to stick that salty, peppery duck leg and friends in a hot vat of its own fat.
Thankfully I’m friends with a duck farmer who has fat to spare.
Gorgeous stuff, duck fat. Add a couple of fresh bay leaves and a dash or three of thyme. Then, cover that goodness in duck fat. Slowly, as the fat warms and the legs render, you’ll begin to here sounds of the absent-minded professor. Though, instead of an amazing Flubber invention, you will be creating a modest dinner in your future. To really enjoy the moment, dig up your old John Cage records and enjoy the sounds of broken glass hitting concrete, incomplete piano scales, muffled sounds of Milan and the bubble and gurgle of duck confit in the making.
… And you wait. You wait for time and fat to work magic.
Though probably not tonight. Duck confit is a week long extravaganza of preparation, cooking in a vat of fat and waiting.
Today’s step is: salt and pepper the crap out of the legs. The French for this is “genereusement” ( the are some accents in there, but this iPhone don’t make it easy ). Then let it snug overnight.
Oh but what a wait. I heart duck confit.