Once the Goose Is Cooked

In Christmases past, my dad has sent me home with a jar of goose fat, which I invariably neglect to use up. It gets lost behind the milk and the beer, and when I find it again, it’s starting to smell rancid. This time, we hosted Christmas, so for the last two months a large container of fat—one goose will drip off more than a quart—has been taking up space in our fridge.

Because it’s is in my face every time I open the refrigerator, and because we paid for the goose (more than $70 for organic, free-range, etc.), I have been much better about adding the fat to my cooking repertoire.

Goose fat is fairly soft, even at 40 degrees Fahrenheit. My tub of fat, which I poured directly out of the roasting pan and didn’t strain, has a meaty, goosey smell. It melts immediately when I throw a spoonful into a pan and, unlike butter, can take high temperatures. I experimented with using it in a variety of dishes, substituting it for butter, olive oil and lard.

Bean stew After sweating the vegetables in the fat, then adding meat, spices, tomato and stock, I couldn’t taste the difference between olive oil and goose fat, but the stew did have a pleasant, silky texture a little like that of gumbo.

Buttermilk biscuits I cut the fat into whole-wheat pastry flour, then stirred in the buttermilk. The result were fluffy biscuits with a hint of meatiness—excellent.

Fried eggs Eggs cooked in goose fat are fairly bland. Salted butter really is the way to go with eggs.

Sauteed kale I like kale better with olive oil, as the olive gives it a slightly bitter edge.

Hash browns Goose fat and olive oil are both good with potatoes, but the best was a combination—a hint of meat, a dab of bitterness.

Pie crust I mixed goose fat with chilled palm-kernel oil (which is solid at room temperature) to make crust for a pumpkin pie. The flavor was great—like a crust made from leaf lard—but it was crumbly and tender rather than flaky.