I've always found Sundays slightly depressing. I'm not sure exactly why this is. It might be a school thing; the hanging around waiting for Monday morning, the hanging around waiting for hotel bars to open. I'll explain. In the early 1980's it was still illegal to buy a drink on a Sunday, until I think, half past twelve, and on the occasions when my parents or grandparents took me out from boarding school, there was much driving around the sodden, empty Gloucestershire countryside- killing time. Surreal.
Joseph Losey captures the mood brilliantly in his 1967 film "Accident". There's a wonderful sequence in which Dirk Bogarde, playing a frustrated Oxford don on the verge of a mid-life crisis, hosts a languid Sunday lunch party, which degenerates into late afternoon, drunken stupor, revealing jealousies and half-concealed rivalries. Late August with wasps.
And there's all that Dickensy, tea and crumpets stuff on television. "The Antiques Roadshow", The BBC Tea-Time Period Drama (though I am currently loving "Downton Abbey" on ITV). It's all a bit mumsy, knowing and slightly gloomy isn't it? No, I don't like Sundays, and prefer the promise of a Friday evening or the zip of a breezy Saturday morning.
And what do people always serve you for a late Sunday afternoon lunch? Roast chicken. Without fail. And there's another thing I'm not keen on. You get invited for Sunday lunch; it's served up at about three in the afternoon. The result? Further hanging around as you become reaquainted with the gin bottle, and then a frustrating drive through a traffic-jam back to your dark and cold hovel very late in the evening. I was once invited to a lunch party in Wiltshire. Lunch wasn't served until about half past three in the afternoon; and ravenous, I went for a walk, and in desperation started eyeing up some rather juicy looking free-range chickens running around in a field.
So why not give the ubiquitous chicken and gravy a miss, and serve up a succulent, crispy roast duck with tangy orange sauce instead? A breath of fresh air.
This is the way I roast duck. As a method, it's a good one, and works.
Preheat your oven to 230C/450F/Gas mark 8. Prick a dressed duck all over and wipe the skin, so that it's dry. Rub salt and pepper over it, and sprinkle some of the salt and pepper into the cavity. Place the duck on a wire rack, and then put the rack within a baking tray. This will enable hot air to circulate underneath the duck, and most importantly will let you catch the duck fat as it drips off; and there's going to be quite a bit of fat.
Roast in the oven for twenty minutes, and then turn the temperature down to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Roast for a further forty minutes, or until you think it is ready. The skin should be crispy, and the meat succulent. As the duck roasts, you will find that the tray underneath will fill up with hot fat. It's most important that you should remove this at regular intervals, otherwise the fat will start to smoke, and you'll think that your oven's on fire.
The orange sauce is easy. I pour orange juice into a smallish pan, add a bit of chicken stock, a dash of white balsamic vinegar, about two tablespoons of honey, grated orange zest and star anise. Heat and let it bubble away for a minute or so. Next add a generous slug of Grand Marnier and reduce the sauce by about half on a high heat. To thicken up the sauce, mix up a teaspoon of arrowroot with water to form a slurry and stir it in. Whisk in a knob of butter, which will give the sauce a nice glaze. Remove the star anise before serving. The sauce should be reasonably thin.
