Walking through my local Acme on Monday, I discovered that, of all things, they were selling Ducklings. 5 pounders. On sale for $1.99 a pound. I was like, whaaaaaaa?
I have a more or less permanent craving for duck, and have always wanted to make it myself, but never found a place that sold it (I guess I could check a local butcher, but there’s not one that’s at all convenient). I consider it rather a gourmet item, so finding it Acme seemed incongruous; I half expected to find, I dunno, bricks of foie gras or something nearby.

Anyway, I grabbed me one and brought it home. Sarah was out with Charles, having dinner with friends, so I had plenty of time; I made a nice brine, pulled all the giblets out of the bird, and threw that puppy in there for a good soak. Mmmm…sugar salt water. While that sat outside in the snow to keep things from getting too bacteria-y, I worked in the garage building a custom-sized baby gate for our main staircase, which is only 5 steps high but 48″ wide, and all the pre-made gates that fit that size and were hinged were going to run us $60 and I said HA HA to that. HA.

After a couple hours, I covered the bird in salt and pepper, sliced up the skin a bit to promote rendering and tasty browning, and threw it into a 400 degree oven to try and get me a nice crispy skin. After about 20 minutes, the skin was sort of bubbling, but not yet brown; I lowered the temperature a bit and put my probe thermometer in the thigh.

After an hour or so, it started beeping. I was like, wait what? I thought this thing would take 2, maybe three hours. Nay nay, apparently. The skin was still kinda squishy, but I’m not terribly picky, so I cut in, and was nearly bathed in dark red liquid. Ummm…yeah, done my fat pink booty. Back into the oven it went, and I upped the temperature to 500 to try and crispify things.

5 minutes later….beep beep beep! What the hell. I got out my instant-read thermometer, though, and everything said 165, which admittedly is lower than the 180 demanded by the government, but if I did everything the government said I’d have a lot fewer hobo bodies under my floorboards. There was still red liquid, but I said to myself, hey, this is duck. Not nasty salmonella-y chicken. I’m gonna eat it.

And I did. And I’m still alive! It was delicious, although the skin needed way more crispitude. Next time: I’m just gonna let that bastard broil.