I was at work, flipping through Martha Stewart Living (like you do),
and came across a pornographic image of a bowl of buckwheat noodle soup
with shredded duck in it, and a poached egg on top, and some scallions.
I think there was probably some microgreen or other in there too. I was
immediately entranced by this, because it reminded me so extremely of
one of the truly great meals of my life. It was a late lunch, taken at Momofuku
in New York, on a sweltering, stinky, gritty day which had already
involved a long airplane ride and my total inability to get in touch
with Will, with whom I was ostensibly in the city to visit. There was
nothing to do but go to this wonderful chic, dim, icy noodle bar, and
sit at the long communal dining table next to a nice lawyer from DC who
was noshing on BBQ pig's tail (delicious), and drink an overpriced
Stella and eat a divine, slithery little bowl of cold soba with
shredded pork and a poached egg on top, and probably also some
microgreens.
That meal was a jewel, a clean, shining example of the power of food to Soothe and Fortify, and I emerged with my coping skills much enhanced. So Martha's soup, though not identical -- there was the different protein for one, and also Martha's was hot, not cold -- just seemed like a really good idea.
Until I read the recipe. The recipe was stupid in a number of ways that contrived to make me kind of irritated at the usually peerless Ms. Stewart. Like how she wants us to make this soup "for party". At least I assume as much, because the recipe is supposed to feed 8-10 as an appetizer. Read that again: slithery, splattery, slurpy noodle soup. At a dinner party. Martha! You are supposed to be the mistress of Entertaining! Do you actually hate your guests so much that you enjoy watching them dribble duck stock all over their Jil Sander? Trying to converse at the same time? I ask you! Noodles like this are street food. They are late-afternoon food at least, and breakfast/brunch food at best. They are meant to be eaten in silence with strangers, or maybe one select fellow-traveler, not a bunch of people who want to talk about real estate and Geraldine Ferraro and how well the daffodils are doing.
Also, I was confronted by a bit of moral queasiness, rare in my usually cheerfully omnivorous life, about the fact that the recipe called for two ducks. You are supposed to buy these ducks and roast them, then tear their flesh off and turn the carcasses into stock. Two waddling, quacking little lives, sacrificed for something that is a Bad Idea in the first place. "For party", you must honor the duck; you must harness its ultimate ducky self, the quiddity of duckness, and lay it to rest with mindfulness and reverence. I think roasted simply with some dried cherries stuffed into it, and a little port sauce, and potatoes done in the duck fat, and a simple salad involving oranges afterwards. That's what people really want to eat at your party, not duck as placeholder protein; besides, the soup would probably be fine with no meat at all.
But that soup sounds good, doesn't it? So here's what I'm going to do. Next time I am at the meat counter, I will buy a couple of little duck breasts, and I'll beg some duck bones and other random parts off the meat guys for my stock. I will get home, and I will not go through that whole roasting/scratch stock/blah blah blah rigamarole; I'll simmer the scavenged parts with some plain old regular chicken stock, while I am getting that night's dinner together (probably burritos, we've been having them a lot lately). Also a couple coins of ginger and some garlic, nothing fancy. When the stock is sufficiently duckified, I'll strain it and set it to chill, and forget about it until I want my soup.
It'll have to be a hot, fetid afternoon. I'll get home, and I'll start the noodles so they have a chance to cool off after they're finished. I'll panfry the duck breasts slowly, skin side down, so all the fat renders out and the skin gets golden and crispy. I will then allow the duck to get lukewarm on the counter, and the noodles to get cold in the fridge. Then I'll take out the stock and distribute it in bowls, with scallions and a handful of enoki mushrooms, and probably some microgreens... and a splash of sake, maybe, and the noodles and duck slices. Then I'll poach the eggs and perch them on top, and that will be a wordless late lunch, for just Ceej and me. And it will be so, so good.
Suck it, Martha.
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