Duck

Every once in a while I crave an old-school, crispy-skin roasted duck with a fruity but not-too-sweet sauce to drizzle over the top. Most of the fat will render out during the roasting process if you are patient and let it cook long enough. Cane syrup, which is made from sugar cane and has a deep, bittersweet flavor, is a Louisiana twist, but maple syrup or honey will work just as well. This duck is delicious with simple sides like wild or pecan rice, haricots verts, or sugar snap peas, or, on the fancier side, warm Butternut Squash Spoon Bread Soufflé (p. 316).

A sweet, hot pepper glaze is just the thing to complement the rich flavor of duck. In this recipe, the duck breast is scored, rubbed with herbs, and pan-seared. Be sure to get the pan nice and hot before adding the duck, to ensure a crispy, well-browned skin. A fine dice of jalapeño adds a bit more fire to the sauce, while red bell pepper offers sweetness. This dish can be served with any number of sides, from Honey-glazed Carrots and Turnips (p. 294) to Wild and Dirty Rice (p. 311).

This is one of the all-time most popular dishes we have ever created at Bayona. It was the brainchild of another former sous chef, Scott Freer. He had the original idea (duck and peanuts, who knew?), and we tweaked the various components until one day, after tasting the latest version, everyone just stood there silently, grinning in a Duck PBJ reverie. The cashew peanut butter can be made well in advance, as can the grilled onions. However, for super-crisp freshness, the Apple-Celery Salad is best when thrown together right before serving.

Although I was not born in New Orleans—we moved here when I was six—I most definitely consider it my hometown. Even post-hurricanes, I am eternally grateful to my dad for deciding to make this simmering, sumptuous, gumbo-of-a-city our permanent home when he retired from the navy. What a happy circumstance for a food lover like me! Speaking of gumbo, I could eat it every day of the week. And you can’t claim to be a cook in Louisiana without having your own version of its most famous dish. While I have to say that Donald Link, the chef at Herbsaint, makes the best gumbo I have ever eaten, I’ve learned to make a pretty mean version myself. Here is one of the most basic. Feel free to substitute an equal amount of roasted chicken for the duck.

These are little golden pyramids of puff pastry with a savory filling of smoked duck, sausage, and apple, served with a tart cider sauce. When it comes to entertaining, these packets can be made a day in advance and baked right before serving. Garnish with a scattering of pretty celery leaves.

Few dishes can be at the magnificence of a whole roast duck, a treat that most Vietnamese purchase at Chinese barbecue shops. For an easier at-home version that is just as rich and succulent, I use whole duck legs (thigh and drumstick). They are relatively inexpensive at Asian markets, and they freeze well, which means you can stock up for when you don’t have time to shop. The legs are steamed first, during which most of the fat melts away, and then they are roasted to crisp the skin. Finally, the honey glaze is applied, which puts a lacquer like finish on the skin while the meat stays moist. A simple hoisin dipping sauce adds a little extra sweetness to each bite. Present the duck with Everyday Daikon and Carrot Pickle (page 192) or Tangy Mixed Vegetable Pickle (pages 194) and accompany with a green vegetable stir-fried with just salt and a touch of sesame oil, a light soup such as Creamy Corn and Shiitake Mushroom Soup (page 74), and rice.

This soup borrows heavily from Vietnam’s northern neighbor. Mì vit tiem is one of my mom’s favorites, and she is partial to a version made by her friend Mrs. Tan, who, along with her husband, once owned a Chinese barbecue restaurant in San Diego. Unlike pho, which most Viet home cooks know how to make, mì vit tiem is usually left to the pros. The trick is cooking the duck legs until tender (but not mushy), mahogany brown, and deeply seasoned. The traditional approach is to marinate them, flash fry them for color, and then simmer them in the broth. Some cooks even refry the legs right before serving. When my mom finally asked Mrs. Tan for her secret, she divulged that she roasted and then steamed the duck legs, instead of frying and simmering them. Her method evenly colors the duck, seals in the seasonings, preserves the integrity of the meat, and easily removes much of the fat. I developed this recipe using Mrs. Tan’s method. Traditionally, the duck leg is served whole on the side for diners to attack with chopsticks and spoons. Since that is hard to do, even for a native chopstick user like me, I slice the meat and serve it in the bowl.

Native Americans showed the Pilgrims how to cook with maize (corn) and probably taught them to make johnny cake, a dense cornmeal bread whose thick batter is shaped into a flat cake and baked or fried on a griddle. These cakes (basically just fried corn bread) are the perfect vehicle for many toppings. One of my favorites is barbecued duck and cranberry butter. Feel free to make your own cranberry relish, use what’s left over from your holiday meal, or purchase a good-quality prepared one.

Dirty rice is a traditional Cajun dish of white rice cooked with chopped chicken livers. The liver darkens, or “dirties,” the rice and infuses it with its mild yet distinctive taste. My version is classically flavored but prepared in a not-so-traditional manner: I use Arborio rice, cook it as I would a risotto, and fold in cooked wild rice as one of the last steps so that its nutty flavor and chewy crunch run throughout the dish. I think of this as a Louisiana-style dish, and the southern flavors of deep bourbon and sweet, crunchy pecans are fitting accomplices to the rich duck and aromatic rice.

This is an obvious play on the southern pulled pork sandwich, which is typically made with braised pork shoulder. Duck legs are an interesting upgrade. While duck breasts are best cooked quickly and served rare, the legs need to be slow-cooked to make them tender. I believe in employing strong flavors such as fresh ginger, star anise, fennel, and cinnamon to cut through the richness of duck. The pickles and coleslaw are optional, but I can’t imagine having a pulled pork—or, in this case, pulled duck—sandwich without them. That crunchy, vinegary bit of freshness truly rounds out the sandwich.

You know you’ve got a taco problem when you make a duck breast recipe from a destined-to-be-classic Chinese cookbook and think, “Wouldn’t these be good in tortillas?” Yes, that’s what happened to me when I tried Eileen Yin-Fei Lo’s simple baked duck breasts from Mastering the Art of Chinese Cooking. I served them for a Chinese dinner that night, but pretty soon I was playing around with a riff on five-spice powder, combining Asian and Mexican ingredients and rubbing them into the breasts before using Lo’s baking technique. A sweet, sour, and spicy plum salsa was just the thing to cut through and complement the deep flavors of the rich duck.

Salt isn’t fat soluble. On the face of it, this statement might not exactly make your spine tingle with excitement. Another unsexy observation: solid fat melts when heated. But combined, these two fatty facts provide the basis for one incomparably delicious meal. Heat a Himalayan salt block and toss on a duck breast, fat side down. The fat will immediately melt, but because salt isn’t fat soluble it will not dissolve, and the duck breast will pick up only the faintest trace of salt. When you flip the breast to the lean side, the moisture on the surface of the meat will start to flow and the meat will take on a beautiful glaze of salt that carries the whole dish. Meanwhile, you can fry potatoes in the hot fat glazing the salt block! Simple as this dish may seem, it makes the best duck breast I have ever eaten. Serve with a good Rhône or Languedoc wine.

As turnips do so well with orange, it is only a small step to use them with marmalade. Duck has this affinity too, so the three can come together successfully in a darkly sweet and rich casserole. Like duck à l’orange but sweeter and more suitable for a freezing winter’s day. The orange flavors here, from both fruit and bitter marmalade, should not dominate. The final flavor can be tweaked to your taste at the end with lemon juice or, better still, a bitter Seville orange. Rice, pure and white, would be my first choice of accompaniment. If you start this dish the day before, you will have a better chance of removing most of the fat that floats to the surface.

A preserved duck leg from the deli has saved my supper more times than I can count. Cased in its own white fat and crisped up in the oven or in a sauté pan, these “duck confit” are as near as I get to eating ready-made food. One January, arriving home cold and less than 100 percent, I stripped the meat from a couple of duck legs and used it to add protein to an express version of one of those lovingly tended cabbage and bean soups. The result was a slightly chaotic bowlful of food that felt as if it should be eaten from a scrubbed pine table in a French cave house. An extraordinarily heartwarming supper, immensely satisfying. An edible version of the sort of people one refers to as “the salt of the earth.” I am certain no one would have guessed it hadn’t spent the entire afternoon puttering away in a cast-iron pot.

Fesenjan combines fruit and meat, a Persian cooking style that traveled to Europe in the Middle Ages. This version gets its deep ruby color from the addition of beets (shown opposite). Served with rice, this stew makes for a sumptuous feast. Instead of chicken, try using duck or tempeh. Look for pomegranate syrup at natural and Middle Eastern food stores. If you can’t find pomegranate syrup, substitute 2 1/2 cups of unsweetened pomegranate juice and leave out the stock.

This dish packs flavor with history. Take the word nanban, which refers to foreign influence in Japanese cooking. But duck is native to Japan, so what’s so foreign here? Back in the seventh century, the emperor issued a decree forbidding meat, and the country followed a Buddhist diet of fish and vegetables for more than a thousand years. Once Japanese started eating meat again in the nineteenth century, they called dishes like duck soba nanban—duck is something a foreigner would eat. It’s a convention that continues to this day.

This dish has much of the flavor of a cassoulet but is considerably simpler, because it uses ready-cooked duck-leg confit, which is obtainable today in most good markets and can also be ordered online.

This is where you want to break out that lovely duck fat—the liquid gold saved from making Duck Breast with Dried Fruit and Vin Santo (page 152) or Cheater’s Duck Confit and Bitter Greens (page 154). If you didn’t remember to save the duck fat or don’t have any, you can certainly buy it. And in a pinch you can use olive oil. Duck fat is fabulous for frying because it has a relatively high smoking point (it can get really hot before it begins to break down), so it will make your potatoes golden brown and crispy on the outside, light and fluffy on the inside, and REALLY tasty. Save your duck fat; it’s worth it.

When I worked at Savoy in SoHo, we had salt-roasted duck on the menu but we served only the breasts, so there was always an excess of duck legs hanging around. We’d eat the legs at our family meal, but after a while everyone was sick of them. Then one night, I was in a pinch for an hors d’oeuvres idea, and that’s when I came up with my cheater’s confit. As they say, desperation can be inspiration! My confit tastes just as good and authentic as a traditional confit, but it’s SOOOOO much faster. As far as I’m concerned, the time you save with my recipe is outstanding (this is one streamlined operation!) and so is the flavor.

Duck is one of those dishes that can be intimidating because it seems fancy and elegant. But there’s nothing to be scared of—making great duck just takes patience. To get a really beautiful, crackling, brown piece of skin you have to take your time and render the fat SLOWLY. If you rush it, you’ll end up with crispy skin but a thick layer of fat between the skin and the meat—which is totally icky. Taking your time to render the fat will not only make your duck absolutely delicious, but it will also leave you with a treasure trove of duck fat—an ingredient that in restaurant kitchens is considered liquid gold and makes killer Crispy Crunchy Duck Fat Potatoes (page 219). I think that duck lends itself to sweet flavors, so in this dish I use a sweet Tuscan wine—Vin Santo—to reconstitute dried fruit to make a chutney-like sauce with rich chicken stock. Together the rich, meaty, succulent duck and the intense, fruity sauce make this dish perfect for a holiday, a special occasion, or even a Tuesday.