Pate de Canard en Croute--the Trilogy; Part II--Stuffed Duck

So here is where we left off:

                                                                          



Cognac, Truffles, and Port, oh my!

One poor flattened duck.  Time to plumb him up again, but like every step in this interminable recipe, this won't be easy.  Step one.  Marinate him overnight in some port, cognac, and truffles.   Yes--truffles, rhymes with "ruffles," but whereas Ruffles are cheap deep fat fried potato parts that can be found in every grocery store in most of the developed world, "truffles" are an incredibly expensive and exceedingly rare mushroom.  They're expensive because little old Frenchmen have to scour the Alsatian forests for years before they can ever find them, and when they do, they keep the knowledge of their location sacrosanct for generations.  I think that World War I was actually started by a Frenchmen who discovered a German stealing his truffles--or perhaps it was the other way around, but either way, a truffle is not something to be trifled with, and you need them for this recipe. 



Step Two.  Mix together 3/4 lb each of lean veal, pork, and pork fat. That's right sports fan--3/4  of a pound of  pure unadulterated, no preservatives added pork fat.  You should see the butchers at Wegman's go into a huddle as they ponder the mystery of the crazy chick in front of the counter who's not only asking for a pound of pork fat but who's also apparently willing to pay for it.  Even though they practically pulled it out of the trash, they still managed to charge me two bucks for it.

Empty Duck

So here we go.  Kind of like plumping up those furry little critters at Build-a-Bear workshop, we're going to stuff a duck.  Pull your marinating, but as yet empty duck, out of the refrigerator.  Lay him out. 





Step Three.   Take the mixture of veal, pork, and pork fat and mound it into the duck shell.  (I was going to say "duck carcass", but that's so unappetizing).  At this point it looks like a giant elongated meatball sitting on top of the duck.

Step Four.  For those of you (like me) that hated home economics because of the sewing part, this next step might well send you over the edge.  Take a giant coat needle, thread it with kitchen string and without tearing the duck's tender outer skin, stitch the whole thing up.    


The Eye of the Needle

   Important tip:  make sure that the tip of your needle is really sharp, or you will simply shred the duck's skin, and for this recipe to be successful, the duck and pate have to be fully encapsulated in the duck skin.  I obtained a needle that had been dutifully sharpened on a whet stone.  (Again, see this blog "Getting Started in the Kitchen"; Feb. 2011).  It worked like a charm.





Frankenduck

Step Five.  Our poor non-feathered friend has now suffered the indignations of being deboned, marinated, chilled, and stitched.  Now it's time to crisp up his skin.   Stuff him into a pan, heat him up, and turn every few minutes.  And be not mistaken, that's pure molten butter he's bathing in.


We're not done yet, but we're close.  Because this is a trilogy (and you thought Star Wars would never end), next installment we wrap him in homemade dough, bake, and dare I say it?  Eat him.  Stay tuned.

Pate de Canard en Croute--the Trilogy. Part I; Deboning a Duck

Pate de canard en croute is the signature dish of Julia Child.  In the movie Julie and Julia, you know where Julie Powell (the Amy Adams character) blogs her way through the entirety of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, it's the entre that she brings out at the end of the film to prove that she is one mean cook.  It's a recipe that takes up a 20 pages, including cross-references to other recipes, and took me about 8 hours to make.  I couldn't do the entire book--all I could manage was this one recipe and it pretty much kicked my butt.  That's why Julie Powell gets a full length feature movie starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams and I get this blog.  Nonetheless, I did take the time to chronicle my pate de canard en croute with pictures, and I'll share it with you here. (My apologies in advance to my Facebook friends who will clearly recognize this series of postings as cheap re-runs.  I should add, however, that there is new material--sort of like buying a DVD of a movie that you've already seen because it's the "director's cut" version.)

Debone the Duck

Step One.  Get yourself some good knives because you are going to debone a duck.  (Cheap plug--see my first blog entry "Getting Started in the Kitchen" for a primer on getting a good knife).

Step Two.  Take the plastic off the duck and start cutting.  Make sure you start at the top of the backbone.  If you start at the belly, you're toast and you might as well just go buy another duck, and sheesh, they're expensive little buggers.



First Cut


Step Three.  You're still cutting.  Julia Child states that deboning your first duck will take about 45 minutes, but it's a well-known fact that she loved her gin.  I only got about half-way after 45 minutes.  It's a slow process wherein you keep your really sharp knife next to the carcass bone.  Just keep repeating--let the bone be my guide.  Sort of like Yoda telling Luke Skywalker to follow the Force.  Follow the bone.  Follow the bone.  But it takes time.  It took me just about 2 hours the first (and only) time to debone a duck.


 


45 minutes in and still cutting

 

Sort of looks like you backed over it with a truck.



Of course, when you are all done, you have a deflated duck and a bowl full of bones, which if you add 2 quarts of water and a mire poix, you will have a lovely duck soup.

Whew.  OK then.  Your kitchen now looks like you've been entertaining Freddy Krueger most of the day.  Clean the place up and come back for Part II--Stuffed Duck.