Christmas (eve) goose

Crispy Roast Goose

Some birds get fed. Some birds get eaten.

I can’t take credit for this roast goose, but I can hear what it’s saying.

It’s saying, Don’t eat me! Don’t crunch on my crispy skin! Don’t savor my rich meat! Don’t render down the quarts of fat from my skin and body cavity into delicious, smooth-cooking, buttery goose fat! Don’t cook potatoes and parsnips and rutabagas in my sizzling hot drippings!

Bwa-ha-ha. Tell us what else we shouldn’t do, Mr. Goose. You’re cooked.

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