A Lesson in Roast Wild Goose

This goose was a year in the making.  Since Christmas 2009, to be exact, when I read a food article about roasting a Christmas goose.  I was charmed.  Visions of a happy Tiny Tim, crutch and all, popped in my head.  "A roasted goose?  Dear mother, aren't we the luckiest English family this holiday?  Now how about a spot 'o tea?"  And heck, I'm married to a hunter, after all.  I definitely had a goose resource there.

So I requested a goose.  A full plucked goose, not breasted out like my huntin' husband usually does, grinding the goose meat up to make jerky.  Nope, we're roasting it Tiny Tim style. 

Goose has a really strong flavor to it, and my past experiences with goose haven't been too kind to my palate.  Goose jerky is good, goose stir-fry is edible, but frying up an entire goose breast and eating it like a chicken breast is not advisable, at least not from my experience.  So when it came to roasting a whole goose, I knew I needed advice.  So I did what any modern cook would do: I asked for help on Facebook.  And fortunately, my buddy Al responded with a very good question:

Is it a domestic goose or a wild goose?

What?  There's that big of a difference?  In short, YES, there is a huge difference, and thank goodness he reminded me of this because otherwise I would've followed a cookbook recipe for roasted goose (which 99% of the time will be talking about a fatty domestic goose) and I would've been left wondering a) where's all that delectible rendered goose fat I'm supposed to get from this bird for making pommes frites later and b) why the heck did my bird turn out so dry and tough? 

You can get away with cooking a wild turkey similar to a domestic turkey, but wild and domestic geese are worlds apart, simply due to fat content.  Domestic geese have much more fat, thus can be cooked at higher temps and you'll have that extra fat leftover (which restaurants in Chicago use to make french fries and charge you $6 for the honor).  Wild geese are lean, so the name of the game is preserving moisture with low, slow cooking and bacon.  Lots of bacon.

I stuffed this goose, which I won't do next time.  I took a lot longer to cook (remember, I'm worried about cooking time since I don't want the bird to dry out) and the stuffing didn't really seem done, so I had to take it out of the bird anyway and put it in the oven in its own dish.  Plus, the stuffing turned a funny pinkish color from the juices of the goose, which is best classified as a beefy, red meat bird, not a white meat turkey. 

However, the bacon was a great suggestion (thanks Al) and in the end, it was not only edible, but I can say it was the first time I actually enjoyed eating goose. 

Ready for the goose challenge?  Here's a rough guideline from what we did (minus the stuffing). Just remember: low and slow, trying to preserve as much moisture as you can. 

Roast Wild Goose
Pluck a goose, leaving the skin intact.  Rinse thoroughly to clean.  Prep a roasting pan by filling the bottom of the pan with broth and/or water, about 3/4" deep.  Place rack over the liquid (the goose should not be touching the liquid).  Meanwhile, salt and pepper the goose, rubbing it into the skin.  Heat some butter/oil mixture or bacon grease in a large pan and sear the outside of the goose, rotating to sear each side.  This will a) crisp up the skin and b) lock in moisture.  Remove goose from searing pan, set on prepared roasting pan, and lay strips of bacon over the goose, covering the bird.  Roast in a 325 degree oven until internal temperature reaches 165 degrees (at least that's what we cook it to - I've seen recipes that say up to 185 degrees, which I think is way too high, but do as you see fit).  Remove from oven, let rest 5-10 minutes, then carve and serve.