An Ode to Duck Fat

image from /www.luvaduck.com.au

Had we but world enough, and time,
Every dish would be made of thine!
We would sit down and think which way
To cook with thou, everyest day.
In the 'fridge, by the home made pesto's side
Shouldst there I find you.
Your vegetable love should grow
Vaster than braising, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
The sheen you givest to a red-wine glaze;
Two hundred to you and lemon zest,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Duck Fat, you deserve this state,
Nor would I cook at slower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Hungry children hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of fast foodie-ty.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
in a Macca's chain, ne'er shall sound
Your oleaginous song: then worms shall try
That long preserved confit,
And your quaint flavour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
KFC's fine and private place,
But Subway, I think, do not you, embrace.

Now therefore, while the oleaginous hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy salivating tongue transpires
At every pore with wood-fired ovens' fires,
Now let us sautee while we may,
And we'll get to use our Le Creuset ,
Rather at once our Chats devour
Than languish in the slow-cooker's power.
Let us roll all our Rosemary and all
Our Maldon Sea Salt up into one ball,
And tear your pleasures with rough strife
Forgetting what you'll do to our cholesterol, for life:
Thus, though we bought you for a hefty price,
you'll go SO well with Arborio rice!

Apologies to Andrew Marvell.