Today We Have The Naming of Parts

(Duck meal #2 Click here for more info.)

There is a good part of cooking that can only be described as marketing. How a dish tastes is only part of the experience of eating it. It must smell good, and just as importantly, look appealing. I’m sure you all know this – we instinctively want to eat things that look and smell fresh, plump, and healthy; it’s a survival tactic. Beyond all of this, however, cooking involves another sense: sound.

I’m not simply talking about the sounds of cooking, though these can be incredibly appetite-inducing. Imagine, for example, the crackling-tearing sound a hot loaf of woodfired bread makes when you tear a chewy end off, or the sizzle of fried eggs in butter, or the soft, sighing hiss a perfect fire-roasted marshmallow makes as it cools, just before you pop it into your mouth.

It is another type of sound I’m grappling with today; the dish description. This, more than presentation or smell or taste, is most akin to marketing. For example, I love to cook a Moorish Spanish chicken dish with wine, vinegar, olives, capers, and prunes. It is so damn tasty I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like it, but when I tell people about it I always make sure I don’t mention the prunes. Why? Prunes are bad press, and people won’t even try the dish.

The story is much the same in commercial cookery. Chefs struggle with the wording of dishes on their menus to the point of obsession. It’s tempting to dismiss this practice as an extension of the control freak syndrome that possesses so many chefs, but the truth is it’s good business. A former head chef of mine changed one word in the description of a dish that came from my section – the generic “clam” to the Italian word for the same “vongole” – and orders for the dish doubled in one night. Perhaps in my case “prunes” could be “dried fruits.”

One might consider good menu writing an art. A well-worded menu should leave the customer unable to choose between the equally delicious-sounding dishes. It is a skill I have yet to master. I can’t tell you, for instance, why my special served with “grilled sourdough” didn’t sell but the same special served with “toasted baguette” flew out of the kitchen.

I also can’t tell you what else you might call this next dish, one suffering badly from poor naming. The “neck” bit turns people off, but I don’t know how else to describe a sausage made from the deliciously crispy skin of a duck’s neck. Any suggestions?



Duck Neck and Leek Sausage with Puy Lentils

1 duck breast skin on
1 duck neck, skin on
½ leek, fine slice
1 clove garlic, cracked
1 sprig thyme
2 tbsp rendered duck fat
pinch nutmeg
pinch fennel seeds
enough additional duck fat for poaching

Holding the exposed bone of the duck neck, gently pull the skin off downwards, taking care not to rip it. You should be left with an inside-out tube of duck skin; turn it right-side-out and set aside. In a grinder or food processor mince the duck breast, skin included, being sure that it stays cool at all times. Place in refrigerator. In a small pan sauté the leeks, thyme, and garlic in the duck fat until the leeks are soft and sweet. Cool with the fat; remove the thyme and garlic.

Mix the duck meat with the cold leeks, the nutmeg, and fennel seeds. Season. To test the flavor cook a teaspoon sized dollop of the mixture in a pan over medium heat and taste. Adjust the seasoning as needed. Using a piece of butchers twine tie the thin end of the duck neck skin shut. Using your hands or a piping bag fill the neck with the meat mixture, leaving enough room to tie the top shut.

Once you have formed the sausage, melt enough duck fat to cover the sausage in a small pot. Over low to medium heat poach the sausage (careful not to let it get to hot and fry) until it feels quite firm. Transfer sausage to a clean container and completely cover with warm fat. Allow to cool and then place in the refrigerator overnight or up to a couple of weeks.

To serve the sausage, heat oven to 180ºC (350ºF). Retrieve sausage from the cold fat and, in a pan on medium heat, gently fry on all sides until golden brown. Transfer to oven and roast 5-10 minuets, until it is hot in the center. Slice into medallions and serve on lentils with a tablespoon of hot duck jus.



Lentils

1 small carrot, small dice
1 stalk celery, small dice
1 small brown onion, fine dice
1 clove garlic, peeled and cracked
100 g bacon, small dice
1 C puy lentils
1 bay leaf
1 sprig thyme
3-4 cups stock or water, near boiling
olive oil

In a medium pot over low heat sweat diced bacon in a touch of olive oil. When the fat in the spec begins to melt, increase the heat and add the chopped vegetables and garlic. When the carrots just begin to soften, add the lentils and the herbs and toast along with the spec and veg for a couple of minuets. Add the stock a bit at a time and simmer, as if making risotto, until lentils are soft, but still hold their shape. They should have a bit of bite and most or all of the stock should have been absorbed.

Duck Jus

bones from 1 duck
1 carrot, large chop
1 brown onion, large chop
1 celery, large chop
1 clove garlic
1 bay
1 sprig thyme
100ml red wine

In a hot oven roast the bones and vegetables until they are dark brown. Transfer these to a pot large enough to hold everything and fill with water. Pour red wine into roasting pan and, over medium heat, boil and scrape all the bits stuck to the pan. Pour this into the stock. Bring to a boil, skimming any fat or scum that rises to the top, and then simmer for at least 4 hours, topping up pot as needed. Strain stock, discarding solids. Return to pot and boil until it is reduced to a thick glaze. You’ll end up with about 4 tablespoons of concentrated duck jus.