Cooking the Goose
There are three people milling around in a kitchen too small to swing a frying pan in, and two of them are rubbing against you as they flitter between kettle, toaster and fridge. Neither of them are of any help.
You haven’t brought your soup-stick, there’s no fresh parsley and the chestnuts come in a net, not a can. Countdown: four hours ’till Christmas dinner. At six, everyone’s due for a visit at the neighbours. No delays.
It would help to have an idea how much the goose weighs. It rests on a wooden chair, wrapped in white plastic bags. It’s the size of a baby.
And how should it be cooked?
It will come together, it always does. At last, the visitors leave the kitchen, having assembled the breakfast on the dining table. It takes 45 minutes to peel and chop the chestnuts, but that is just enough time to work out a recipe for the stuffing. You make hasty notes on a post-it smeared with butter and breadcrumbs. Meanwhile, the man of the house makes a detour to the neighbours’, standing on their bathroom scales, holding the wrapped goose. Like a baby.
“Eight pounds.”
That is—what? 20 minutes per pound plus twenty minutes. Exactly 3 hours. You grunt contently. “We’re on target. Dinner at 17:00 hours, sharp!”
What follows is a precise military operation, which is remarkable, regarding the complete lack of any advance planning.
Will one egg be enough to bind the stuffing? Yes, but one handful of breadcrumbs isn’t. You wait until everyone is out of sight and surreptitiously sprinkle some flour into the mixture. It doesn’t make the final recipe:
Chop the shallots very finely and sweat the onion in the butter and oil, along with the rosemary (also chopped) and bay leaves. Leave to cool and fish out the bay leaves. Meanwhile, cut the apricots into quarters and soak briefly in the orange juice and brandy. Beat the egg with some seasoning. Chop the chestnuts (they will remain soft, so no need to chop them too finely) and parsley. Convert the loaf into crumbs. Mix everything together, using enough stock to just moisten. The filling will expand slightly, so should be just enough for a small-medium goose.
Cut the fat deposits from the goose and transfer to a small baking dish. Place in oven (lower shelf) to render. Chop the giblets, except the liver and put on another dish, along with the neck. (The liver can be chopped, fried and added to the stuffing.) Roast for 15-20 minutes and add to the stockpot for gravy. If making the stock from scratch, add herbs and veg and simmer gently for 2 hours.
Prick the goose all over, but do not pierce the flesh. Rub with seasoning. Stuff.
Once the goose is in the oven, it needs to be checked every half hour for basting, pricking and possibly turning. This is the time for the remaining preparations. Start with the red cabbage, which will increase in flavour when warmed up later, finish with the soup. In between, peel the potatoes. They go in the oven for the last hour. Par-boil, roughen with a fork or a wire-sieve and place warm potatoes in hot goose fat.
After the first ½h, turn down the oven to 175°C, pour off the excess fat (the rack can be removed).
With operations timed at half-hour intervals, a gap opens up suddenly. There could be time for a sandwich. Or…
A row of wrinkly, red apples are arranged on a lower kitchen shelf. They are the size of medium potatoes. There is a bag of raisins and clementines and lemons in a bowl…
Soak the raisins and zest in the brandy, dilute with a bit of clementine juice or cider to just cover. Core the apples and rub in goose fat. Stuff with raisins and bake on lower shelf ½hour-45 minutes. No sugar: this is a vegetable side dish!
You have kept an eye on the goose, haven’t you? Good, because the temperature probe says the bird’s cooked 40 minutes early. Being long and bony, a goose cooks in 15 minutes per pound. Something to remember for next year.
Transfer to a heated dish, cover with foil and towels and rest until dinner time. Turn up the oven to get those potatoes browned.
Apply finishing touches and holler for someone to lay the table.
Oh yes, the starter:
The quality of the soup depends on a good stock. Add enough to just cover ½ celeriac, 2 leeks (whites only) and 1-2 potatoes, all cut in chunks.
If you didn’t bring a soup-stick, press through a wore sieve with a wooden spoon. Add liquid bit by bit and continue pressing until your smell alerts you to other tasks. Warm through just before serving, season and finish with (dried) parsley and a dash of double cream.
That’s it for another year. As I said: it always comes together, somehow. I’ll just have to remember to bring the soup-stick next time.
Denni