The Christmas Goose

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This short story is from my book "A TIME AND PLACE The Making of an immigrant." It is expanded and will be published as part of an e-book in the future. 

THE CHRISTMAS GOOSE

Several times we had goose for Christmas. Imagine, looking back, how did Mother do it. I wouldn't doubt she cashed in a silver coin for it, one of the ones she illegally hoarded in the early forties. 

No such thing as a frozen goose. Freshly butchered, the only way to go in the forties. Though I never witnessed the act, but after the head came off the blood drained immediately into a pot for future use. 

We dipped the lifeless goose into scalding water after which our little family plucked off the feathers. Mom carefully removed the non-edible innards. She cleaned the goose feet then dropped them into the pot of goose blood. The neck she cut off and also put into the pot. The gizzard she turned inside out, cleaned it, and it also ended up in the pot. The heart, split in half, and the fresh liver, all salted and peppered, was fried on the spot. It made a lip-smacking snack. 

Now, that pot of blood, with its delectable additions, was destined to become the New Year’s Eve meal. Before the lid went on the pot, Mom added a good cup of vinegar, salt, bay leaves, a couple of sliced onions, some celery leaves, fresh carrots, parsley, and plenty of peppercorns. This special concoction marinated until the appointed day when all was brought to a boil and left to simmer till done. To achieve the desired thickness of the blood based sauce, mother added flour.

On New Year’s Day the feast was complemented with Semmelknödel (bread dumplings), cabbage, and boiled sugar beets. This Bavarian delicacy is called Gansjung (young goose), a perfect extension and finale of the holiday season. Good luck and Happy New Year!

Our Christmas goose was stuffed then oven baked. Stuffing included chopped stale bread and hard rolls, onions, celery, parsley, a couple of eggs, some sage, salt and pepper tossed together with scalded milk to get a loose, moist mixture. 

Every meat dish always grew much gravy. The Christmas goose was certainly no exception. Gravy not only stretched a meal, but it added comfort to the other trimmings. 

Of course, the rendered goose grease was like gold. Some of that fat Mom skimmed off the gravy. A golden yellow spread when cooled. Sort of granular, it easily covered rye bread with a little added salt for a mighty treat when the snows howled.

A bit of that yellow gold we saved for medicinal purposes. Hot goose grease rubbed on the chest, then covered with hot damp towels, was a sure bet to loosen a winter cough. 

Story has it, the fat Christmas goose had been force fed. The way my mother explained it, it was simply done by placing the goose in tight quarters. She was then systematically forced to eat much more than normally. This they did by holding the head back, pry open the beak, then stuff the food down the throat with the handle of a wooden spoon. Not a comforting picture, but it rendered a bounty of yellow gold.
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