ORANGES A L'ORANGE
A few years ago, we decided to try cooking a duck for dinner. And before you dash off to alert the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds of a potential avian misdemeanour, I don't mean by this that we went out, clonked a passing mallard on the beak and shoved it in the oven. Apart from anything else I've never hunted any sort of animal in my life so wouldn't have the first idea how to trap one (a fireworks-stuffed bread roll tied to a hammer, maybe?). No, this was a shop-bought specimen, and the idea was we were going to do some sort of extra-poncey Sunday roast.
However, as you may have spotted from the terms 'try', 'the idea was' and 'absolute shitfest', things didn't exactly go to plan - and if you're wondering where that latter phrase fits in, it's coming up right now: instead, it was an absolute shitfest.
You see, everyone knows ducks are quite lardy. Unlike your more land-based eating birds such as chicken, turkey, McNuggets and boiled eggs, ducks live in cold water most of the time so are absolutely sodden with fat to keep the heat in. They're like nature's duvets, assuming your duvet is full of adipose tissue and duck excrement.
This vast blubber content led to the duck we tried to cook to start sweating pure grease like a 1970s darts player attempting a marathon on a hot day. And when fat gets hot it of course starts smoking and spitting - so within about an hour of starting to cook it, instead of the makings of a delicious dinner we had a half-raw lipid-based tribute to Mount Vesuvius in our oven, a kitchen full of acrid mist and a smoke alarm that was practically melting from overwork.
Suffice to say we ended up having to sling the still-fuming carcass in the bin and went to the chip shop while the smoke cleared. But if you try my duck-free duck recipe, will you end up going to the chip shop too? Well yes, probably, because it's horrible - but at least parts of your house won't resemble the splashback of a ropey kebab shop afterwards.
If you've decided that your risk of scurvy is so great you need to ingest about 450% of your recommended daily dose of vitamin C in one go, you will need:
However, as you may have spotted from the terms 'try', 'the idea was' and 'absolute shitfest', things didn't exactly go to plan - and if you're wondering where that latter phrase fits in, it's coming up right now: instead, it was an absolute shitfest.
You see, everyone knows ducks are quite lardy. Unlike your more land-based eating birds such as chicken, turkey, McNuggets and boiled eggs, ducks live in cold water most of the time so are absolutely sodden with fat to keep the heat in. They're like nature's duvets, assuming your duvet is full of adipose tissue and duck excrement.
This vast blubber content led to the duck we tried to cook to start sweating pure grease like a 1970s darts player attempting a marathon on a hot day. And when fat gets hot it of course starts smoking and spitting - so within about an hour of starting to cook it, instead of the makings of a delicious dinner we had a half-raw lipid-based tribute to Mount Vesuvius in our oven, a kitchen full of acrid mist and a smoke alarm that was practically melting from overwork.
Suffice to say we ended up having to sling the still-fuming carcass in the bin and went to the chip shop while the smoke cleared. But if you try my duck-free duck recipe, will you end up going to the chip shop too? Well yes, probably, because it's horrible - but at least parts of your house won't resemble the splashback of a ropey kebab shop afterwards.
Ingredients:
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| This week's recipe is also vegetarian friendly! And I use the term 'friendly' quite wrongly. |
If you've decided that your risk of scurvy is so great you need to ingest about 450% of your recommended daily dose of vitamin C in one go, you will need:
A big orange
Some smaller oranges
Some orange juice
A child's chewy orange vitamin (as in vitamin tablets for children - I don't mean literally go and steal one off of a child. You monster.)
A Terrance's chocolate orange
Some Jaffa cakes
Some orange marmalade
Some orange liqueur OR, if you're like me and aghast at the thought of paying 20 quid for a bottle of horrific alcoholic cordial you'll only use a tiny bit of, a can of orange flavour red bull instead (why yes, I am an exceptionally classy guy)
An onion
A bottle of red wine
Some cornflour (not pictured as it wasn't orange or red enough)
The cooking this week mainly revolves around the sauce, or the 'a l'orange' bit. Which is somewhat ironically named, as in this recipe it's quite possibly the least orangey bit.
First off, sweat your onion in some oil for a few minutes until it starts to go translucent but before it goes less translucent because you've burnt it. Then, add about 75 ml of the red wine. This is excellent, because it leaves you about 675 ml of wine to consume that doesn't have onion in it (see, this recipe is looking up already!).
Then, lob in about half a can of the orange red bull or a couple of shots of cointreau if you're a rich ponce (and if you are, add about the same again in cold water because otherwise it'll be much like you - too rich and disappointingly thick), 150 ml of the orange juice, 2 tablespoons of marmalade and a couple of teaspoons of cornflour. Simmer and stir until everything goes glossy. Or at least until it looks like it isn't something that's just come out of a storm drain.
Once that's done, turn off the heat and let it cool slightly, and arrange your delicious orange selection on a classy platter. Or failing that, use a plate from IKEA like I did. Don't forget to peel your oranges, by the way - it's a lot easier to do this before they're covered in piping hot alcoholic liquid rather than after.
Then, just pour a generous helping of your sauce over the top and serve!
I hadn't originally planned to eat my various orange treats in any particular order, but this ended up being decided for me as some of them started melting in the hot, hot sauce. So in sequence of decreasing thermal ineptitude, here are my findings:
Chocolate orange
This wasn't as bad as you might imagine, mainly because chocolate orange is quite a strong taste and the melting chocolate tended to laminate the inside of my mouth so I couldn't taste much else. Passable!
Jaffa cake
I'm not a religious man, but I can suggest to any church looking to cut costs that replacing communion wafers with Jaffa cakes is a terrible idea, as wet, winey sponge is a really horrible texture - so much so it might actually be less pleasant than if transubstantion actually happened and you really were eating bits of a magic dead guy. More worryingly, the chocolate didn't seem to melt at all. What the hell do they make it out of? Some sort of liquid ceramic?
Vitamin tablet
Weirdly, this was actually quite nice! Probably because it was fairly small and easy to swallow as quite a lot of it had melted. In fact, it had melted so much I was worried it might disintegrate entirely so ate it before I took a picture just in case. Sorry.
Oranges
Now on to the main course of the...er...main course. These were, to put it as politely as I can, bloody rank. The sauce had heated the juice inside up just enough to make it lukewarm, and the onion and wine taste really didn't work with the substance, which was essentially pith and not much else. I imagine if, for some reason, you went swimming in the Caribbean with your mouth open and accidentally inhaled a small jellyfish, this would be much the same sensation. And it is this: an unpleasant one.
So what have we learned? Well, that orange sauce is too orangey for crows (allegedly), fine for ducks, but strangely not orangey enough for oranges themselves. Still, I can now say I've eaten an orange with a knife and fork, which sounds like something only an insanely posh person would do so probably qualifies me for an earldom at the very least.
Some smaller oranges
Some orange juice
A child's chewy orange vitamin (as in vitamin tablets for children - I don't mean literally go and steal one off of a child. You monster.)
A Terrance's chocolate orange
Some Jaffa cakes
Some orange marmalade
Some orange liqueur OR, if you're like me and aghast at the thought of paying 20 quid for a bottle of horrific alcoholic cordial you'll only use a tiny bit of, a can of orange flavour red bull instead (why yes, I am an exceptionally classy guy)
An onion
A bottle of red wine
Some cornflour (not pictured as it wasn't orange or red enough)
Method:
The cooking this week mainly revolves around the sauce, or the 'a l'orange' bit. Which is somewhat ironically named, as in this recipe it's quite possibly the least orangey bit.
 |
| Ah, chopped onion. That famously common companion to citrus fruit. |
First off, sweat your onion in some oil for a few minutes until it starts to go translucent but before it goes less translucent because you've burnt it. Then, add about 75 ml of the red wine. This is excellent, because it leaves you about 675 ml of wine to consume that doesn't have onion in it (see, this recipe is looking up already!).
 |
| Wine and onions - to you and me, a waste of 2 ingredients. To a French person a dream come true! Assuming they're some sort of mad, overblown national stereotype, that is. Or a particularly desperate alcoholic. |
Then, lob in about half a can of the orange red bull or a couple of shots of cointreau if you're a rich ponce (and if you are, add about the same again in cold water because otherwise it'll be much like you - too rich and disappointingly thick), 150 ml of the orange juice, 2 tablespoons of marmalade and a couple of teaspoons of cornflour. Simmer and stir until everything goes glossy. Or at least until it looks like it isn't something that's just come out of a storm drain.
 |
| The original recipe suggested you cook the onion in some of the fat from the roasting tray you cook your duck in, and at this stage you have to skim a load of greasy spume off the top of your sauce - so in a genuine first, I can confidently say my version is actually less disgusting than the real thing! |
Once that's done, turn off the heat and let it cool slightly, and arrange your delicious orange selection on a classy platter. Or failing that, use a plate from IKEA like I did. Don't forget to peel your oranges, by the way - it's a lot easier to do this before they're covered in piping hot alcoholic liquid rather than after.
 |
| I reckon this could catch on - I mean, people pay for cheeseboards. Why not an orangeboard? You could even have them served to dignitaries at football clubs as a play on the traditional half-time orange. Probably Premiership ones though - I doubt Championship clubs could afford Jaffa cakes. |
Then, just pour a generous helping of your sauce over the top and serve!
The results:
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| This gave me the idea for a new comedy cooking TV show: Roast Apocalypse! Well I say idea, what I actually mean is I came up with the title based on the fact it looks like an awful post-apocalyptic roast dinner and that's as far as I got. But then again 2 Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps lasted for 9 terrible seasons so you can clearly spin fuck-all out for a really long time if you try. |
Chocolate orange
This wasn't as bad as you might imagine, mainly because chocolate orange is quite a strong taste and the melting chocolate tended to laminate the inside of my mouth so I couldn't taste much else. Passable!
 |
| 'Terry' must be spinning in his grave. Assuming he's dead. And in a grave. |
Jaffa cake
I'm not a religious man, but I can suggest to any church looking to cut costs that replacing communion wafers with Jaffa cakes is a terrible idea, as wet, winey sponge is a really horrible texture - so much so it might actually be less pleasant than if transubstantion actually happened and you really were eating bits of a magic dead guy. More worryingly, the chocolate didn't seem to melt at all. What the hell do they make it out of? Some sort of liquid ceramic?
 |
| It says a lot that the onion I had with this mouthful wasn't the worst part. |
Vitamin tablet
Weirdly, this was actually quite nice! Probably because it was fairly small and easy to swallow as quite a lot of it had melted. In fact, it had melted so much I was worried it might disintegrate entirely so ate it before I took a picture just in case. Sorry.
Oranges
Now on to the main course of the...er...main course. These were, to put it as politely as I can, bloody rank. The sauce had heated the juice inside up just enough to make it lukewarm, and the onion and wine taste really didn't work with the substance, which was essentially pith and not much else. I imagine if, for some reason, you went swimming in the Caribbean with your mouth open and accidentally inhaled a small jellyfish, this would be much the same sensation. And it is this: an unpleasant one.
 |
| You know what no one has ever said? That they want a small balloon full of tepid liquid to go off inside their face. Funny that. |
So what have we learned? Well, that orange sauce is too orangey for crows (allegedly), fine for ducks, but strangely not orangey enough for oranges themselves. Still, I can now say I've eaten an orange with a knife and fork, which sounds like something only an insanely posh person would do so probably qualifies me for an earldom at the very least.
Next time: Croquembouche (no, really!)
PS If you've made it this far, you're obviously not easily frightened and/or some sort of humour deviant, so please check out the splendid Mr Biffo's Found Footage. I'm even in one episode! Though you'll be delighted to hear I'm not recognisable. Or doing the catering.
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