Fat Duck or duck fat. Both are apparently the acme of their kind. I can only confirm that truth about the latter, as I have never entered the lair of the wizard Blumenthal. Should he inaugurate a new branch nearby with an 8€ menu magique ouvrier, there’s a chance, if I saved up, that I’d get a chance to tuck into his mandarin covered foie gras. Fat chance. One of the many delights of our part of rustic France is the ready availability of all things ducky. The Vendée is one of the main producers of foie gras de canard, which means there are a lot of bits left over that aren’t liver. Confit de canard is not difficult to make but, surrounded as I am by the ready made product, not something I do myself. If life is too short, as Shirley Conran said, to stuff a mushroom then there certainly isn’t the time to get down and dirty with a duck. Each container, glass or metal, of confit contains, apart from the duck, a great deal of duck fat. That is the seam that I mine. I find it hard to believe, but I’m happy to go along with the belief that duck fat is good for you. Add a glass of red wine and it’s as good as going for a run. Sandy Toksvig recounted that her father used to carry in his wallet a cartoon picturing two old men in a retirement home. One was saying to the other “If we hadn’t given up smoking and drinking we’d have missed all this”. Involve a potato with duck fat, and only good will come of it. No wonder Heston settled on the duck as his emblem. His particular duck appears to have some genetic link to the goose family as it appears to be ceaselessly laying golden eggs.