Cranberry-Orange Roast Ducklings

Friday night. Cherry Creek. We won, twenty-eight to twenty-four. We were down ten at halftime. We were down four with three minutes left. We scored on a fourteen-play, eighty-yard drive that took every second on the play clock and every ounce of grit on the team. The drive ended on a Diego touchdown — a slant route from the eight-yard line, on third-and-three, with one minute and twelve seconds left in the game. Marcus put the ball where only Diego could catch it. Diego caught it. The crowd at Cherry Creek's home stadium went silent. Our small visiting section lost their minds.

The plan. The plan worked. The plan was a heavy use of our run game in the first quarter to set up play action in the second, and then in the second half to switch to a quick-passing rhythm that would neutralize their pass rush. We had been a balanced offense all season. They had been preparing for a balanced offense. We came out and ran the ball forty-two times in the first half — they were not ready for it — and by the third quarter their linebackers were cheating up on every snap. That was when we started throwing. The slant route was the play we had been setting up the entire game. It was the play I had drawn up Sunday night on a napkin in my kitchen at three in the morning. It was the play.

The defensive plan. The defensive plan was Tony's and it was even better than the offensive plan. Tony had Daquan slide outside on certain looks to disrupt their offensive tackle, who had been a weak link in their last three games. Daquan ate the tackle alive in the second half. Three sacks. A forced fumble. Anthony had two pass breakups and a clutch fourth-down stop on the Cherry Creek drive that ended with us getting the ball back at the eighty-six. The defense bent in the first half — gave up two long touchdown drives — and broke not one ounce in the second half. The kids found another gear. They found it because they believed they could.

The plane ride home — well, it was a bus, Cherry Creek is forty minutes from us, but the bus ride home felt like a flight from the championship game. The boys were ecstatic. They were also — and this is the thing about a championship-quality team — quiet about it after the first ten minutes of cheering. They did not stay loud. They did not chant. They sat. They drank Gatorade. They ate the sandwiches the booster moms had packed. They watched film on their phones. By the time we got back to the school they were already thinking about week seven. That is the discipline of a championship team. The win is the win. The next game is the next game. You do not bank cheering. You bank reps.

I shook every assistant's hand. Tony and I hugged. Mike Reyes and I hugged. The trainer hugged the equipment guy. The school AD met us at the door of the field house and said, "Coach, that was the best win this program has ever had." I said, "AD, it was the win we needed." We did not say more. The AD is a thoughtful guy. He let me have the moment without forcing more conversation.

Saturday morning I sat at home with coffee and my laptop and watched the game tape twice. The plan had worked. The plan had also depended on twenty-two boys executing the plan at the highest level of their lives. The plan is on a clipboard. The execution is in the kids. The kids did the execution. I will keep telling them that. The clipboard does not win games. The boys win games.

Saturday afternoon I made tailgate-style brisket for the family — half a packer, the smaller end, only twelve pounds, smoked from six in the morning until two in the afternoon, rested for two hours, sliced thin against the grain. Lisa made slaw. Diego ate four sandwiches. Hayley came over and ate two. The twins ate one each, and Marco asked for a second. Sofia had hers as a salad with no bread because Sofia ate hers as a salad with no bread. We sat on the patio in the October sun. Diego said, "Dad." I said, "Yeah." He said, "Did the slant work because of the play action in the second quarter." I said, "Yeah." He said, "I knew it." I said, "I know you knew it." He said, "Mike said the same thing on the bus." I said, "Mike is a smart coach." Diego said, "He is. So are you." I said, "Diego, the plan works because the team executes it." He said, "I know. I am still saying it. The plan was good." He grinned. We did not talk about it more. We did not have to. Feed your people. The game is won at the table. And in the second quarter, when you are setting up the third-and-three slant in the fourth quarter, even if nobody knows you are setting it up except you.

I had planned on brisket — I always plan on brisket after a big win — but the brisket was already gone before Hayley even sat down, and the family was still at the table wanting more, so I filed away the idea of doing something bigger and slower the next time we had a moment worth marking. Cranberry-orange roast duckling is that dish: it takes patience, it takes a plan, and the payoff only comes if you execute every step right. That is exactly the kind of cooking I respect. You do not rush the resting. You do not skip the basting. The table does not lie about whether you did the work.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 2 hr 30 min | Total Time: 2 hr 55 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 whole ducklings (4 to 5 lbs each), giblets removed
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1 orange, quartered
4 sprigs fresh thyme
1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries
3/4 cup fresh-squeezed orange juice
1/3 cup honey
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon orange zest
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

Instructions

Prep the ducklings. Preheat oven to 375°F. Pat both ducklings completely dry with paper towels inside and out. Score the skin in a crosshatch pattern across the breast and thighs, cutting through the fat but not into the meat. Season inside and out with salt, pepper, and garlic powder.
Stuff and truss. Tuck the orange quarters and fresh thyme sprigs into the cavity of each duckling. Tie the legs together with kitchen twine and tuck the wing tips under the body.
Initial roast. Place ducklings breast-side up on a rack set in a large roasting pan. Roast uncovered for 1 hour, draining off accumulated fat from the pan every 30 minutes using a bulb baster or careful tilting.
Make the cranberry-orange glaze. While the ducklings roast, combine cranberries, orange juice, honey, butter, Dijon mustard, soy sauce, orange zest, and red pepper flakes in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir frequently and cook until cranberries burst and the glaze thickens slightly, about 12–15 minutes. Remove from heat.
Glaze and finish roasting. After the first hour, brush the ducklings generously with the cranberry-orange glaze. Return to the oven and roast an additional 1 hour 15 minutes to 1 hour 30 minutes, brushing with glaze every 20 minutes, until the skin is deep mahogany and a thermometer inserted in the thickest part of the thigh reads 165°F.
Rest before carving. Remove ducklings from the oven and tent loosely with foil. Rest for 15 to 20 minutes before carving. Do not skip the rest — the juices need to redistribute. Serve with any remaining warm glaze spooned over the top.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cranberry-Orange Roast Ducklings — When the Win Calls for Something Worth Celebrating