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Food and Drink

No blubber duckie

Maybe you love meat but feel squeamish about how it gets to your dinner plate - or at least you think you do. Maybe you're just curious about how an animal transits from walking around to lying in a roasting pan, a delicious golden-brown. Either way, this column's for you.

It's the final installment of a series I started in May to track the tale of two dinners from Pemberton Valley, one a white Muscovy duck raised by Jennie Helmer at Helmers' Organic Farm, the other a Queensland blue squash grown by Sarah McMillan at Rootdown Organics. Last week we covered the surprisingly successful ending of the squash; this week - the final chapter of the Muscovy duck.

The last time we checked in with the duck, he'd grown from a small puffball of down to become a sleek white bird close to his mother's size. By August, he was a rambunctious teenager splashing around the duck pond and sunbathing with his siblings, and jumping up to pluck berries from a mountain ash tree - a favourite treat.

Now here's the last chapter in our duck's saga from farmyard to tabletop.

 

ALL IS CALM

The day ducks, or any animals, are killed and processed on the Helmer farm, a quiet calm descends over it.

Usually a Muscovy duck is killed and processed before six or seven months of age. That's when the meat starts becoming tougher and gamier and the large, coloured pinfeathers develop, which are harder to pluck.

So it was that on Sept. 28 our duck was killed, along with the other ducks in his set, at about four months of age. It was an ideal time - he'd put on a few more pounds since August on his healthy diet of organic grains from In Season Farms in Abbotsford, foraged greens and lots of fresh water.

"We decide the week ahead and try to find a day when we're all around because it's a fair amount of work," says Jennie. "There were nine of us and it took us about five hours to do nine ducks, so it's quite time-consuming, really."

A few people come year after year to help the Helmers. They don't necessarily have their own ducks or chickens - some are simply interested in the process.

The day before, things are made ready. Tables are lined up in the barn and covered with plastic; the best, sharpest knives are brought out (these from Ming Wo in Vancouver); and garbage cans are lined with bags.

"I can't do any of the killing because I am responsible for taking care of them all summer so when it came time on that day, I think I went and dug carrots while mom and Anna did most of it," says Jennie.

First, the ducks that are going to be killed are separated from the other animals - even the dogs are tied up. It's all part of the love and respect the Helmers show their animals.

"We don't want the ducks that are alive to see what's happening with the ducks that are being killed," she says. "They're very calm, so mom picks them up, opens their mouth and runs a sharp knife into the top of their head through the soft palette. It stuns them right away. Then she cuts their throat and holds them over a bucket until they bleed out."

The birds are killed instantly with no pain and no struggle, so "there is no wing flapping or chopping off the heads and throwing them onto the ground. Otherwise you're dealing with broken bones, and it's not very nice."

It usually takes a couple of minutes for the duck to bleed out, then it's passed to the next table, where someone is waiting to cut off the head, the lower legs and the wing tips that don't contain meat. These parts along with the blood and feathers - everything that isn't eaten - are later collected and buried deeply in the compost, where they decompose. (Blood is a big part of replenishing nutrients in the soil. Commercial blood meal can be used, but that brings blood from other farms onto your land.)

Now the duck body looks much like one you'd buy at a store, except it's still covered in white feathers. This stage - plucking - takes the longest by far, and several people are on standby to start immediately since it's much easier to do when the animal is still warm.

"Everything is quite clean, if you can imagine, because once you cut the legs and wings off there are no bloody bits. Even the down itself and the feathers are all very clean," says Jennie.

It takes two people about half an hour to pluck one duck, then it's passed to the next table, which is run by Jennie's sister, Anna. A certain skill is needed here to pull out all the innards without rupturing anything and making a mess. Edible organs like the heart and liver are set aside. Surprisingly, there are no unpleasant smells.

When the birds are all plucked and cleaned, they're rinsed and placed into freezer bags, ready for the freezer or fresh eating.

After starting at about 7:30 in the morning the crew is done by early afternoon, when everyone settles in for a coffee and a chat about the day and how they're feeling.

"It's always very quiet when the whole process begins because everyone is a bit awed. No matter how many times we do it, it always feels like an experience that deserves silence and respect," says Jennie.

"But by late afternoon everyone is a bit more chirpy, ready to talk and be engaged again."

The calm quietude is nothing planned - it arises naturally, as does the simple but sincere thanks the Helmers declare at the table when the duck is eaten.

"It is a bit of a ritual to have one for dinner that night to realize what you are doing," she says. "We do the same when we dig up a new variety of potatoes."

The whole family was on hand to enjoy the meal. Jennie's mom, Jeannette, roasted the duck, which weighed about six pounds, in their old wood stove, adding butter, garlic, and sage and rosemary from the garden. She pan-fried farm-grown German butter potatoes in some duck fat, and served it all with a fresh salad made from cucumber, kohlrabi and tomatoes.

"It was amazing!" says Jennie. And that pretty much sums it up.

 

Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning freelance writer who is impressed by anyone who cooks on a thermometer-less wood stove.