What the Duck?!

In which I consume alcohol and roast a duck late into the evening. 

Some months ago, through several convoluted events, I came into possession of a frozen duck. I am not a person known for their cooking skills, I barely tackle anything more complicated than some pasta sauce, or throwing some crap into a crockpot. But that's besides the point. The point is I have this duck: 

This is the fowl in question, I think he looks suspicious.

And no fucking clue what to do with it. 

Enter fellow nerd, Dana, my hilariously witty friend who also happens to be a food blogger. Our weekly hangouts are always an adventure in nerdy domesticity. We paint Warhammer models: 

In the grim darkness of the far future there is only foie gras

We go on musical Youtube journeys, play video games, and we occasionally make food. (note: we piloted the recipe on a Saturday, and she did the soup again the very next day with the addition of the croutons: that's how amazingly delicious that soup was) So, I had the brilliant idea that we would blog the preparation of this duck. It would benefit us both, Killing Thyme gets to blog a duck, a meal that isn't too common, and I get to eat delicious duck. Win-Win (except for the duck). Now, the success of this plan hinged mainly on Dana's cooking and photography skills, as well as her mad wit. I'm sort of a tag along when it comes to the cooking thing. When we made soup, I cleaned a fountain pen while she did all the work. Yeah, it's like that.

Right, onto the duck. It so happens that when you intend to cook a duck from frozen you have to thaw that fucker out. It takes DAYS, seriously. Especially in my insane refrigerator, wherein the front of the fridge is not sufficiently cold to keep butter hard, yet at the back liquids freeze.  I put the bird in the fridge on Tuesday, we intended to cook it on Saturday. AND THEN DANA WAS KIDNAPPED BY GOBLINS! or got a cold, either way: TOTAL DISASTER!  I had no choice, it had to be cooked. I was going to wait until Sunday, so that we could eat it at a normal time. But then on Saturday I got bored and hungry, the decision was made for me when I opened the fridge and discovered the damned thing had leaked duck.. liquids everywhere. It was now or never. I charged into battle! 

SHOW ME YOUR WAR FACE

I could not allow this web footed martyr to have died in vain. Even though it was contaminating my cold-box. After I determined that it had not spoiled, and cleaned the disgusting pink duck-juice out of everything. I spun my plan into action. 

I gave this duck-roasting guide, sent to me by the ever-prepared Dana, an extremely brief cursory glance. And then I set about turning this posthumously defiant avian into food. Without even sparing a thought as to whether or not I had everything I needed (I did not), I started to prepare the duck haphazardly, occasionally stopping to snap a photo. Hoping that it would just work out and be delicious (spoilers: it was) 

First: I took the duck, and rinsed it out, because the inside was still slightly frozen, and the neck and giblets were stuck inside. I tore them out and set them aside to be boiled. No pictures, because my hands were covered in duck guts, and I was feeling mighty indeed. Consulting this extremely thorough and useful guide  I made the duck look like this: 

Most of these scores were too deep,
in my bloodlust I cut through the fat right into the meat.

More slashes that were supposed to be scores.
I was channeling Toshiro Mifune by this point. 

Then I got distracted and turned this: 

For best effect, use liberal amounts.

Into this:

brrrrap!

Then, even though this amazing guide that saved my life, did my taxes, and saved a dozen orphaned baby nuns from a horde of slavering warp-creatures, does not include a recipe for stuffing I thought it would be best if I put something inside the duck, to keep it company inside the fiery heart of my oven. I did that as follows: 

CELERY!

MORE DIFFERENT CELERY!

GARLIC!

EVISCERATED GARLIC! 

ONION: LIVE AND UNCUT!

ONION: TIESTO SUPERMIX

Then I added some of this stuff to the resultant heap of mangled produce (the little bottle is sage, or what passes for sage in the probably toxic spice set I got on sale):

"Sanka, you dead?" "Yeah, mon."

Behemoth was intensely interested in all the kitchen happenings, but failed to be a successful kitchen assistant, as he has no thumbs and wants to eat everything raw.  

You can not let your guard down for one minute.

So, I had another beer: 

"Mandatory Yakov Smirnoff joke."

And then I put all the vegetables in the duck! 

Yeah.. Anyways...

 It was at this point that I realized that I didn't have any butcher's twine because I'm not a cook, and I was already feeling the effects of the liquid Russian weaponry combining with the bloody zeal of  Viking beer, and I know that I was going to have to improvise, because going to get anything was just not happening:

Macgyvered that shit with the tinfoil. 

It was at this point that the drawbacks of haste were becoming apparent: I was rapidly losing the sunlight, making picture taking (not my strongest skill) difficult. As well I had been missing several things needed for success. Like the appropriate tools, ingredients, and time. Lucky for me I have a willing spouse who ran out to get the ingredients for the glaze, which I had only just realized I didn't have, and I was able to jury rig replacements to make up for the tools I lacked (like a proper roasting pan/ grill, twine, properly sharp knife).  

After an hour of roasting and another beer the duck looked like this: 

If it looks like a duck...

Flipped:

Like I give a duck.

And ovened again for another beer, resulting in this:  

It also resulted in me forgetting to take a shot before I flipped it.

More cookening and beerenation!!! 

Looking through the photos it looks like I just gave up on being thorough. 

I put it back in the oven and then set about making a sticky, sloppy mess all over my stove with this stuff: 

This is what you need to make glory juice. 

Still following these completely perfect instructions that helped me do the dishes afterward I prepared the glaze, and applied it to the bird. I didn't take pictures of this because I was trying very hard not to spill molten, chili-infused honey all over myself. Once the operation was completed and I blasted the bird at 400°F for ten minutes. This is the final result. You'll note that I don't plate or nicely present the bird. By this point I was drunk and ravenous, singing sea shanties and swinging from chandeliers like a pirate. The bird was devoured right off the broiling pan, with our hands. WARNING: CARNAGE 

The GLAZING! 

Moments before the frenzy. 

We pretended to be civilized enough to use forks.
You'll note the forks don't have any duck on them.

I paused to take one more shot of my triumph.

But then shit got real. 

That escalated quickly. 

Fork is still perfectly clean. 

Once the bones were picked clean I picked up the pan and promptly covered my favourite jeans with hot, greasy duck juice:

Nobody's going to notice that stain, really. 

And thus ends the saga of the Random duck that found its way into my freezer. Next time: The value of preparation and forethought.

Bye bye.