This year for Christmas Eve I roasted a goose. I did it for the first time last year, mainly because fresh goose is pretty widely available, and I’ve always been curious about what goose tasted like ever since reading A Christmas Carol as a kid. Yes, I draw on literary references from my childhood into my everyday life here in London. Why wouldn’t I?
That’s when I fell on the best part of roast goose (aside from the delicious fattiness of the bird itself): the best roasted potatoes ever, cooked in goose fat. Oh, molly. This is the stuff dreams are made of.