Duck Curry

K loves papayas

From the very beginning of our arrival on the farm, there has been talk of harvesting the big male duck, the only duck in the chicken coop until a former feathered friend flew back home after having been sold to another farm a year or so back. Each week it seems the idea of harvesting the duck has come up, but until last week, no definitive plans had been made. Then for no particular reason, we all agreed it was time. In order to stick with the plan, we based the upcoming potluck theme around the duck to ensure the harvest would happen. Since he is a free-range duck and a little older than typical harvest age, we decided that duck curry would be a wiser option than another roast duck, which we are told was a big disappointment the last time since the meat just wasn’t as fatty or plentiful as ducks professionally raised as meat birds.

Come harvest day, my role was to hang out with little K whom we all agreed was not quite old enough to benefit from being either witness or participant. She is a tough cookie and could likely have handled it, but I’m not sure she’s at the point where we could have had a productive conversation about what was happening and why. There’s always next time, K. We had plenty of fun doing our own harvesting as we searched the farm for a ripe papaya to eat, saving the seeds to plant later on. Anyway, since I saw nothing of the harvest save for the meat brining in salt water in our fridge, I left it to Dylan to fill you in on the experience. Here is what he had to say:

Sasha and her little duckling hunting for bugs to munch

This time of year in Hawaii the clouds tend to roll down the volcano in the afternoon. You can look up the hill and see rain somewhere else, and the threat is there all day. Most of the time it is a welcome relief that never comes to fruition. It almost always breaks for sunset. Yesterday it was raining lightly when I went to go feed the chickens. Sasha (the lady duck) and her new duckling were standing in the rain, under the basketball hoop. They say that baby ducks don’t do well to get wet, but they didn’t seem to mind.

           

When the chickens see me coming they parade down the fence to greet me. I take my time scooping out some feed, shaking it around in the pan to taunt them. Sometimes the girls try to hop the fence and are quickly reminded that they are terrible aviators. Opening the gate, I throw some feed in the coop and they all file in to be locked away for the night. The male duck stays outside, quacking at me the whole time until I give him some food. Yesterday he thanked me by taking a wet shit right next to my foot. I told him to enjoy his last meal.

 

Farewell Therapist, thank you for providing us dinner.

They call the male duck Therapist. If you are not a fan of clever wordplay or the mating habits of ducks, take some time on Wiki to familiarize yourself. Suffice it say, consensual is not part of the duck vocabulary. He is a terror, or as much as he can be with his short legs and lack of arms. Since I have been feeding him the last few months, I felt that I had been complicit in his rampant duckery. I owed it to these girls to end it.

We set up a ladder in front of the garage with some cardboard underneath it. Some twine is hung down from the top and the tree stump that we use to crack coconuts was placed in front. The whole thing resembled some kind of altar. We sharpened the machete and headed over to the pen. Ducks are smarter than they look, and therapist seemed to know that we had ulterior motives. He was skittish and hard to catch, but a shot from the pellet gun right behind the eye alleviated this problem. We carried him, still a bit alive, to the garage and the duck guillotine. While the blood drained into a bucket, we brought out a large pot of boiling water. Dip the bird in for 30 seconds, then tie him up by his feet and pull all the feathers out. They come out easily. After that I made a cut around his backside into which I could insert my hand. I worked blindly around the cavity to separate the warm organs from the bones, and pulled the whole thing out in one handful. Liver and heart are saved; everything else goes in the compost with the feathers. Rinse off the blood and you got yourself a meal.

Dylan's Duck Curry in homemade Red Thai Chili sauce, so tasty and farm fresh

I must admit that I was hesitant about the whole process, but not because of the murder part. My disdain for Therapist was real and I have no moral objection to being omnivorous. I was afraid that if the whole process made me squeamish I would have to stop eating meat. Hypocrisy is the worst of human faults for me, and if I could not do myself what others often do for me I would have to stop eating meat. I like meat.

No worries! I’ll have to work my way up to bigger animals, but any guilt I may have had about harvesting Therapist faded fast. I used every little part of that duck, with only the head going to waste. When you are wrist deep in a still warm duck, the moral implications of eating meat get pushed aside. We need people who are willing to slaughter, and really I think everyone should do it at least once in their lives.

Sweet mango sticky rice for dessert, another dish to add to my favorite list.

...So I bet you are wondering how the duck tasted, huh? I must admit that seeing the body of a duck we fed every day brining in the refrigerator was a bit off-putting and at first I was unsure I would be able to take part in his consumption. Having been a vegetarian for 16 years I wasn’t surprised at how contemplative I was about eating duck for dinner when the potluck finally arrived. I didn’t expect it to be an easy decision. Thankfully, Dylan was in charge of preparing the duck and he understood how I was feeling and agreed to chop the duck rather than roast it whole, which is how we ended up with the red Thai curry that set the theme for our dinner. Though our potlucks are always fantastic, this one came together so beautifully. Everyone’s dish was inspired by our curry and we ended up with green papaya salad to start and ginger chicken to snack on, with mango sticky rice for dessert. Once we had all filled our plates, we had a brief moment of thanks to Therapist for feeding us, and we all dug in. Each dish complemented the others and I am happy to say that the curry was a huge hit and the perfect way to celebrate the harvest. We ended the evening with fully bellies and happy hearts, thankful for the beautiful feast that crazy duck provided for us. His was not a wasted or unappreciated life, and now that duck lives on in his tiny offspring whom we all welcome to life here on the farm.