Bulking up for winter

When Gina and I lived in Philly, one of my favorite spots was a place called the Standard Tap. Located in Northern Liberties, on the Northeast side of the city, it's a casual bar-restaurant that understands that "low-key" doesn't mean serving Budweiser and frozen burgers. It has a great menu, a fabulous selection of local brews, some of which are hand-pulled, and a terrific jukebox. It's the kind of place where it's easy to while away several hours (days) with friends over a few pints (lost count) and a light meal (I need to eat?). One of my favorite items was their duck confit salad: a leg of duck slowly cooked in its own fat and then roasted until crisp, laid across fresh greens dressed with a rosé vinaigrette. Pair it with a hoppy ale, a basket of fresh-cut fries and I'm in heaven.

Since we no longer live in Philly, though, I can't just whimsically stop by the Tap for my favorite dish. Recently I've been longing for some duck confit, especially as cooler weather arrives, and I needed to quash these terrible cravings. My solution? Make it myself. I found a recipe in my Charcuterie book, ordered six ducks legs and two pounds of rendered duck fat from Hudson Valley Foie Gras in Ferndale New York and went to town.

Overnight, from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., the legs and fat cooked in the oven at a measly 160 degrees. Afterwards I stuck the entire dutch oven - fat and all - in the fridge for a few days. Last night I pulled out two legs, roasted them for twenty minutes, and lulled my system into a fat-induced coma. The meat just tumbled off the bone. True, I didn't have a hand-pulled Yard's ESA to wash it down or a basket of fries to further clog my arteries, but it was almost as good.