Zorro the Peking Duck

Zorro the Peking Duck

I have always enjoyed the peking duck served at good Chinese markets and eateries. I heard it was hard to prepare but it seemed no harder than roasting a chicken. So I thought I'd give it whirl. I purchased a fresh killed and plucked 5 lb. duck. To my surprise he still had a head and eyes.

The recipe calls for killing the duck by first butchering him, then drowning him, then hanging him,dehydrating him, embalming him,and finally roasting him.I could not bear to see him look at me. So I made a little mask out of a black knee high nylon.I had to make a brace for him to hang dry after his bath so I stuck chopsticks under his wings and tied butchers string on each.With the black mask and chopstick sword under his wing, He looked like Zorro.So comical in fact that when my partner came in and saw it, he doubled over and laughed till he cried. I brought a quart of water to boil, added 1/4 cup of honey, 1/4 cup sherry,1 tablespoon vinegar,and 2 tablespoons corn starch.Stirring till it looked like a murky vaseline soup. I plopped Zorro into the nice hot bath.He deserved it after all I put him through. After he was baptised several times until I was sure he'd go to duck heaven,I hung him. While he was hanging there he looked like some poor, crucified victim of a serial killer I got out the fan and placed it in front of him and turned it on to dry out the skin. About now I felt like Hannibal Lechter as he was swinging gruesomely back and forth in the breeze.The sound of his life juices dripping into the basin under him was eerie. I left him to suffer his humliation alone.

Until four hours later when I took him down from his noose, shoved ginger root and scallions up his ass and threw him on a greasy rack into a roasting pan at 350.Since the mask he wore was not oven proof I removed it. Now I knew the true identity of Zorro. He seemed to be staring at me with his shriveled eyes saying,"Peek-A-Boo, I still see you.Zorro will have his revenge." I turned him over three times. Each time avoiding his accusatory stare, until he was done.

I gently placed him on the serving platter with pretty scallion funeral flowers surrounding him. I told my burly son to do the carving. I just didn't have the heart to do any more.My family told me that the guest of honor was to have the head pointing at their plate as Chinese tradition dictates.Yeah! Lucky me! Once it was carved and the duck looked like food and not like he was kidnapped from Old Mac Donald's Farm, I ate him -with fava beans and chianti- strike that- with scallions, hoisin sauce and pancakes. It was very good but it was too grueling a task. Now I know why serial killers are all sweaty afterward. It takes alot out of you. I served the poor bastard with a chilean merlot and chocolate fondue for dessert. It seemed only right to carry on the theme of torture and we stabbed and dunked our fruit in scalding chocolate. We washed it down with a tacky bottle of Korbel Brute champagne. Then I prayed for forgiveness to St. Frances and slept with the light on. Zorro did have his revenge the next morning when my colitis acted up from his decadent richness. May he rest in peace.