GOOSE IS COOKED

A goose roasting sounds like chicken frying. Fuckload of chicken frying. Six to eight pound bird yields nearly three cups fat over its two hours under fire. Remarkable. Some are turned off by this. And they are encouraged to give me their rendered fat.

If you've never browned brussels sprouts in spoonful of goose fat, you've never really had brussels sprouts. At least never "enjoyed" them. If you're one of ten Americans actually roasting goose for the holiday, get earthenware crocks ready; this is fat from ethereal locus: Lipid paradise.

Anvil heavy supper encouraged after long day of "cheer." I eschewed vodka and tapped Everclear and added V-8, lemon juice, Tabasco for yultide cocktail that shall forever be regarded as a "Slay Ride." Two jiggers of ethanol substitue cuts two-handed sword well through viscous juice. Discipline the alcohol with enough citrus and hot sauce. Then try to remember you've got a feast to prepare later in the day...

As with turkey or simple chicken, I follow in Beard's twenty-ton footsteps. Tandem heirloom apples. Handfuls of stoned Agen prunes. Chopped apples and muddled prunes. Swam them in three shots kirschwasser. Kitchen smelling like Fanny och Alexander screen-cap; chintz, pageantry, cold, earthy Yule.

Stuff the goose with the fruit; truss her legs; tuck wings under. Rubbed with sea salt and white pepper. Under the fire at 400 degrees for one hour. Another hour and she's ready to rest. I removed neck - long Dickensean cane - ruddy liver; heart and gizzards large as super balls. All three to a pan, garlic head, shallots, white wine, chicken stock. Slow braise on stove top.

K cooked up buttermilk stuffing. Mingus' ...Erectus on the turntable. Finished the plate with sprouts shredded and softened in goose fat. Sliced breast, liver, heart. Coarse salt over top. Several German beers. A quick plate with no conversation. The kirsch calling.