Life is hard in the big city.
If you’re a duck.
You get used to people who know you, talk to you, feed you. They treat you real nice-like here.
Then you notice that some of your friends go missing. There’s a pattern. They go on Wednesdays.
Then, one Wednesday, your number comes up.
I spent most of yesterday kneecapping ducks.
Chef laid it down. “You see the ducks in the box? Kneecap ‘em.” Sounded cool-like, kinda detached, like he was barely there. Couldn’t look at me when he said it. He was calling to me from inside the frig.
I work for Chef. He says ‘”Kneecap ducks”: I do it.
Life is hard in the big city if you’re a duck.
I put some Blues Brothers on the player. “Baby, Dontcha Want To Go?” Cranked up the volume. Gotta go out rockin’. Put on my glasses.
Then I went for the ducks.
I kneecapped the ducks, frenched the lower legs, disposed of the feet. Chef seasoned them and they went into vacuum-seal bags with a little EVO (extra-virgin olive oil). I ran the machine for about 10 minutes, and the legs spent all last night and will spend most of today in a very slow oven, stewing in their own juices. They will be delicious.
See steamy oven picture (above).
It’s a duck’s life.
Way to go.
Quack.
No funky chicken for this Chef. He got duck.
