A Late Night Confit

Saturday evenings are usually a time to spend 2 or 3 hours in the kitchen squirreling away on some meal that I tasted in my brain earlier in the day.

I consider myself among the fortunate that have very vivid dreams and can remember them. Granted, there are occasions when this isn't pleasant - I remember one in which I was leaping from rooftop to rooftop, very Calvino-like, across a deserted Vancouver, being chased by some of the insidious people me in my life - all wearing straight jackets! I chose not to analyse it.

However, on another occasion I woke up laughing - to the point where Kim had to tell me to shut-up and go back to sleep. I had been in a bus helping to rescue some children out of a war-torn Sarajevo; the bus had tipped over into a ravine and in an effort to keep the children calm a sergeant in the Canadian Forces, who was serving with the UN, started to tell jokes - and they were really funny. Unfortunately I can't remember any of them today, but I had recalled them the next morning - and to this day memories of that dream, which are still very vivid, make me smile.

Ok - I hear you sitting there thinking, perhaps a little sarcastically, "this is all very interesting, but where is it all leading?!

Well, last night I had the most vivid dream about Brome Lake Duck. Some enterprising young chap had bulk-purchased some jars of duck confit and was offering them for sale - and he was providing tastings. I distinctly remember sampling some - and the skin was unbelievably crispy. In my mind the crispiness of the skin is often the failing point of duck confit - but his was spectacular. I don't think I bought any - as far as I can recall I never have money in my dreams - but the taste and experience is still with me.

So here I am on Saturday morning, faced with a craving for crispy duck confit. But unfortunately, while a number of my friends regularly make their own confit, I have never done it - and I know enough about the process that even if I started some today I wouldn't be having it tonight. And then there's my wife who isn't a fan of duck. . . and finally there's the personal stand of mine that I don't eat cute animals.

I haven't figured out yet how to resolve this one. I'm headed off to the market in a few minutes to see what I can conjure up; but I fear it will come far short of that succulent duck skin I was eating this morning at 3 am.