Counterfeit Duck Confit

I think the first time I had duck confit – at least the first time it made an impression on me – was in Portugal a couple of years ago. We were staying in the Douro Valley, looking for a good winery where we could do a tasting on a Sunday afternoon. Somewhat by accident, we ended up at Quinta Nova. Since it was lunchtime, and since we were already spoiled out of our minds with the scenery and the food and the luxury, we were easily talked into a several-course meal with wine pairings on the patio overlooking the river. Gazpacho, swordfish carpaccio…by the time the duck confit arrived I was a little drunk and my mind was fully blown.

If you’ve never had duck leg confit, think of it as the richest, most flavorful duck meat on the inside and the crispiest, crackliest skin on the outside. It’s like a dainty fried chicken on flavor steroids. Typically, preparing this takes basically 2 days because the duck legs need to relax in rendered duck fat for hours on end before they’re prepared (this is a throwback to ancient times when this was a way of preserving meat in a big ol’ pile of grease) on the stovetop. Now, I’ve cooked a lot of things, but prior to this recipe I had botched duck twice. Most recently, I’d attempted a Moorish-influenced duck breast that I somehow overcooked despite keeping a close eye, and was so frustrated I threw most of it in the garbage. So when David Lebovitz, who is right about just about everything, and especially everything French, wrote in his book My Paris Kitchen that he had created the perfect shortcut duck confit, I was skeptical.

The steps were super easy. Duck legs, allspice, bay leaf, garlic, salt, gin (had plenty of that on hand, for situations like the last duck dinner I’d made). Prick the legs all over with a needle (okay…), rub them lovingly with the 5 key ingredients, let them rest for a few hours, and then bake for a few more. That’s it. Seriously! The recipe practically made itself. But I took credit for it, because it was outrageously delicious. Crunching through that crispy skin brought me right back to that afternoon in the Douro Valley, lunching like a sophisticated European family, but with my mom accidentally taking videos of us eating rather than pictures. But this time, I wasn’t in public so I picked up those legs and gnawed every available speck of meat off the bone.

So if you’re looking for some spring dinner party food, I think you’ve found it. This recipe serves 4 but could easily be doubled for a par-tay and it requires so little hands-on time that it’s really the perfect thing to prepare for guests. Plus, once you prepare this, it doesn’t even matter what you put alongside it or give people for dessert – they will not even notice once they’re crunching their way through this dinner.