**imagine a lovely picture of a duck egg hash with an oozy golden egg yolk – coming soon once I can get it off my camera!**
There are some things that must be done. Even if you don’t know why. I am moving flat (AGAIN I know – it’s a long story but, succinctly, this small flat was only a short-term solution to my last lovely house being sold, it’s too tiny to stay), and on this most gorgeous of Easter weekends it’s even more traumatic than usual.
Packing, decluttering (kinda – I am not very good at that) and cleaning abound in this mini hell of mine. I went to the supermarket to get some oven cleaner, and came back with 2 bunches of asparagus and a whole fresh duck. Oven cleaner too you understand, it was on the list after all.
After a tough day packing and moving, I roasted the duck for the ultimate midnight feast with a little Spanish paprika and some sea salt rubbed on the skin, after it had had a quick splash with some boiling water from the kettle. It was a small duck so I roasted it at 200 deg C for about an hour and a half. Then took it out of the oven, rested it for 10 minutes, jointed it and roasted for a further 10 minutes at 230 deg C, as I had seen Trina Hahnemann do in her lovely book, The Scandinavian Cookbook. It delivered a gorgeous roast duck with moist tender flesh and crisp moreish skin.
It was perfect and guilty. I knew as I ate that all of that delicious fat would join the other fat communes that are intent on building on my poor body. (I will get my bicycle out soon!).
A bright and early – IT’S TIME TO MOVE – wake up call dragged me sleepily to the kitchen this morning. Intent on avoiding any reality I pondered, what will I do with the duck? (Boxes! What boxes?) It has got to be duck hash, doesn’t it?
Some Jersey royals lurk sleepily in a cupboard, I drag them from their slumber and wake them up with a feverish boil, then chop them in half and crisp them slowly in some duck fat in a pan. Some asparagus from that random shopping trip will cheer up the meaty intensity and are perfect for dipping in that golden egg yolk. A whisper of fresh sage as sage loves duck, but is a strong shouty contender for the star of this dish with that little bit too much.
And that’s breakfast. Now I must face reality. Wish me luck!