Duck, duck, goose!

Among all my vivid memories I cannot seem to remember the first time I ever ate Peking duck. I do, however, remember all the rest. I remember the days when Peking Garden was still in Glorietta and the large room was thoroughly impressive for a little girl. The Lazy Susan was heavy for my little fingers to push around, but one had to fight. In a big family like mine, those tiny little duck pancakes were rare commodities. You had to be quick before it was all gone in seconds. I also remember an impressive display in Hong Kong. In this one restaurant on the Kowloon side, one had to pause and gasp at the sight of over 40 ducks being hauled out of the kitchen by 40 servers, each server ceremoniously holding one duck, walking with a purposeful stride. A good Peking duck is captivating, especially when you know how old of a recipe it is.

Imagine a time when all of Europe was living in the Dark Ages barely crossing over to the Renaissance. Their eating utensils crude and the food was giant hunks of meat for the lucky and bits of root veggies in broth with stale bread for most. Across the snowy mountain ranges, China was flourishing. The kitchens of the Yuan Dynasty (1206-1368) were churning out amazing things, among them roast duck. In the 15th century when the Ming Dynasty capital was moved from Nanjing to Beijing, the popularity in the Imperial Court of roast duck soared and its preparation techniques became even more complex.

Happy at work: Shangri-La Hotels Chef Yuan Chao Ying, the Peking duck master.

Bianyifang, allegedly the oldest roast duck restaurant in Beijing (opened during the Jiajing Reign, 1522-1566), developed the technique of hanging the ducks and cooking them using radiated heat. The walls of the oven were first heated, then the duck was to cook evenly without getting scorched by direct open flames. In the mid-19th century, a restaurant called Quanjude developed a technique of basting the duck and hanging it to dry before roasting over fruit wood. The result was the deep mahogany-red color of crisp skin and tender meat. As time passed, the roast duck became the emblematic dish of Beijing. Poets lauded it, emperors relished it and in contemporary times, diplomats could be intoxicated by its goodness.

During Henry Kissinger’s visit to Beijing in 1972 after a long day of inconclusive talks with Premier Zhou Enlai, they feasted of a lavish dinner of duck. The next day, Kissinger and the premier had come to an agreement over the highly controversial Shanghai Communiqué. Kissinger was later quoted as having said that “After a dinner of mao tai and Peking duck, I’ll sign anything!”

True Peking duck enthusiasts can empathize with the diplomat’s less-than-diplomatic statement. That sumptuous, triumphant parade as they roll out the duck with pomp and grandeur, the skin glistening under the light — a shiny object of adoration. The chef masterfully cuts the skin, the first crack of crispness sounding like the prophetic crack of Buddha’s enlightenment. Crack after crack, it slowly reveals a tenderness, soft and succulent, the peaceful foil to a bold and flavorful skin. Wrapped in paper-thin white blankets, a touch of green freshness and a kiss of sweet plum sauce — who would not be swayed? Years of technique and preparation to arrive at perfection. There is duck. And there is duck. There is also sometimes goose. I trust that Premier Zhou served only the duck to end all ducks. Poor Kissinger didn’t stand a chance.

Duck in: Succulent pieces to be wrapped in paper-thin handmade pancakes

Last Jan. 4, I couldn’t either. Starting the year with good intentions of veggies and greenery, I had to succumb to the Peking duck master. Chef Yuan Chao Ying was in town, doing his rounds of the Shangri-La Hotels to teach their chefs his special techniques. Cooking duck for over 34 years, it’s no surprise he’s earned the title of Master. Despite his limited, almost non-existent English, his passion and joy for what he does shine through. A man with a face practically devoid of wrinkles save for very prominent crow’s feet, you can tell that he doesn’t frown much and his face truly lights up when he smiles.

His secret starts with the choice of duck. The duck has to be a young 45 days old. Traditional recipes call for 65 days and most ducks on the market are already 100 days old. The duck is dipped in a flavorful mixture of spices and maltose for sweetness and caramelization, then hung to dry with a fan. This procedure is done a minimum 10 times over before the duck even nears an oven door. Spending only one hour in the oven, the duck should come out perfectly crisp and tender. When I think of the thousands or even hundreds of thousands of ducks he’s roasted, one can easily assume that he’s sick of seeing it, but when you ask him what his favorite dish is, he’ll still say with a huge smile, “Duck!”

Shang Palace has now changed their Peking duck formula to pattern it after chef Yuan’s techniques and recipes. From what I had, it’s definitely worth a try. Just make sure you won’t be making and business deals over lunch or you might just pull a “Kissinger”!

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Shang Palace is located in the Makati Shangri-La Hotel. Call 813-8888.

Palace favorite: Tiny bites of imperial pleasure