Rinse the foie gras and gently pat dry. Carefully trim away all surface fat, blood, and any green parts without damaging the liver. There is no need to devein the liver for this recipe. Let it return to room temperature before roasting.
About ¾ hour before serving, preheat the oven to 425°F. Be sure the liver is bone dry for roasting. Put it in a small to medium oval enameled cast-iron gratin dish or ovenproof skillet and season generously with coarse salt and white pepper. Let the seasoned foie gras stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
Put the liver in the hot oven and roast for 5 minutes. Remove the liver and reduce the oven temperature to 300°F. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons of the rendered fat, reserving it for another use. Scatter the shallots around the liver.
When the temperature reaches 300°F, return the liver to the oven and roast for 10 minutes, basting with the rendered fat in the pan every 3 minutes, until the internal temperature registers 120°F on an instant-read thermometer. (The foie gras will be slightly undercooked, but it will finish cooking as it rests, and after slicing when the hot sauce is poured on top.)
Transfer the liver to a clean kitchen towel and pat it gently to remove the excess fat. Cover the liver loosely with the towel or tent with foil to keep warm. Pour off the fat from the gratin dish and reserve it for another use. Add the Port and sugar to the dish, set it on the stove, and bring to a boil over high heat, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Continue to boil until the liquid is reduced to a syrupy glaze, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the stock and bring to a boil. Cook for l minute. Stir in the dissolved arrowroot and cook, stirring, for l minute longer. Season with lemon juice or verjus to taste.
Slice the liver crosswise thinly on the diagonal and arrange the slices on warmed serving plates. Spoon the hot sauce over the slices (to finish the cooking) and top each portion with capers. Serve at once.
In Praise of Perfect Foie Gras
Back in 1980, I was sitting on the terrace of a restaurant in the Quercy, in Southwest France, beneath the leafy branches of a giant chestnut tree, gazing out at reflections in the lazy Ouysse River. Suddenly, the idyllic calm was shattered by a series of screams: “Idiot! Fool! You don't roast an entire foie gras like that! You are costing me a fortune! Fool!”
There was a crash, the sound of a slap, a shriek—and then a red-faced chef, shaking with fury, appeared at the kitchen door. He breathed heavily, rolled his eyes, regained control, and then rushed back inside. A long silence ensued, lasting perhaps fifteen minutes, while a second foie gras (an entire foie gras!) was lovingly and carefully roasted for my lunch.
The dish was called foie gras bonne maman, a whole duck liver roasted and then sauced with Port and capers. The chef 's apprentice had initially botched the job by placing the costly liver in too hot an oven, which melted half of it away. When the second attempt finally came to the table, it proved sumptuous eating: a dish of sublime and delicate taste, a perfect harmony, too, of disparate ingredients. The acid-piquant capers provided an ideal foil for the delectably rich, silkysmooth moist liver, all balanced by the sweet Port. “Worth doing twice to get it right,” said the chef, restored to his normal calm state.
]]>