A tale of two ducks: amble

[desperance]

These ducks are largely my task for the day. They arrived last night on our doorstep, and have sat quietly together overnight. This morning I have shopped on their behalf, for onions and pasilla & New Mexican chillies; then I committed butchery of a new sort to me, removing legs and wings and half the backs but leaving the breasts on the ribcage. Now I'm browning all the bits in succession, in my lovely 6qt cast-iron pot; soon I will be browning onions in the gorgeous gorgeous duck fat, before we move on to braising-in-spices. It's complicated, but when you find yourself gifted two ducks, a day's labour is the least response.

In other news, I wish purveyors of oven-ready ducks would stop sticking useless pop-up thermometers into the breast thereof. My first act is to remove and discard, and I'd rather just not have to do it. If they feel obliged to supply the things, couldn't they just include 'em in the cavity with the (also eminently discardable) orange-sauce packet?

(Also, necks and livers alone do not constitute "giblets". Where are my gizzards, where my hearts? Can I sue, can I...?)