PASSIONATE RATIONS

Well, I couldn’t let this most food-y of American holidays pass without a mention now, could I?

I will forego pondering what this holiday must mean for descendants of the Native Americans who fed recently-arrived European immigrants so that they would live through the winter, only to result, tragically, in the eventual decimation of rich native cultures and a country that now seems intent on closing its borders.

Instead, let’s focus on the generosity of spirit inherent in that initial sharing of food—food that, for a moment, bridged a gap between cultures.  If sustained, I think the sharing of food could be the key to world peace.  We all must eat to survive.  It is common ground.  And, where there is common ground, there is a place to build.  Trade your North Carolina BBQ for some Korean BBQ and you have opened a dialogue with someone half a world away.  Eradicate someone’s hunger and you have made the world a better place.

Food is the entrée to culture, our own and the rest of the world’s.  So, this Thanksgiving, I give thanks for the food—the Polish pierogi, the Japanese sushi, the Thai noodles, the Ethiopian flatbread, the Moroccan b’stilla, the English fish-n-chips.

And, oh yeah, the Peking Duck.

I will stand down from food-fueled idealism now and share with you a fond T-Day story involving a duck and a certain olive-green Jeep Wrangler.

Wanting to do something a little different for Thanksgiving, my partner came up with the idea of making a version of Peking Duck instead of turkey.  Perhaps you, dear reader, are somewhat more versed in what such a thing might involve than was I.  Or, perhaps, you, too, would be surprised to learn that one of the initial steps typically involves inflating the duck.  As you can imagine, a duck not being a balloon, this cannot be as easy as it might sound.  Apparently, duck inflation historically was accomplished by certain strong-lunged individuals blowing through straws under the duck’s skin to separate the skin from the meat.  Just hearing that fun food fact made me lightheaded, as I can barely blow up a balloon without blacking out.  Luckily for me, we located a recipe that forewent inflation.

The next step involved scalding the duck (already deceased, of course).  That was fairly straightforward, as was lovingly brushing it all over with honey.  It was the next step, however, that led to some consternation.  “Hang the duck in a cool, dry place 4 to 6 hours,” read the recipe.

Let me digress now to mention that I have cats—ever predatory, ever famished, ever curious indoor cats.  And, at the time, I lived in a small apartment with limited options for foraging.  Thus, a duck dangling from twine anywhere in my apartment would have presented an irresistible temptation.  It would have been—ahem—a veritable sitting duck.

We pondered for a time what to do.  That’s when we remembered the roll bar….

Jeep-ing Duck, anyone?

Happy Thanksgiving.