Martinigansl (St. Martin's Day Roast Goose)

Every year in November, Austria belongs to the goose. The first Martinigansl appears on Gasthaus menus around November 11, St. Martin's Day, and from that point until Christmas the whole country smells like roasting poultry and warm red cabbage. It's the dish that tells you autumn is ending and winter is on its way, and Austrians treat it with the kind of reverence other people reserve for a holiday turkey.

Gretel always said the goose was the most generous bird in the kitchen. One goose feeds a table and gives you enough rendered fat to cook with for weeks afterwards. When I was a child, the annual Austria trips with Gretel and Eva always overlapped with Martinigans season at least once. I remember sitting in a Gasthaus outside Salzburg, seven or eight years old, watching a waitress carry a whole roasted goose on a platter through the dining room. The skin was the color of dark honey. The smell stopped every conversation at every table it passed. I knew before I tasted it that this was serious food.

Roasting a goose is not difficult, but it is slow. You need four hours, maybe closer to five, and you need to understand what's happening inside the oven. A goose carries a thick layer of fat under the skin, and the whole point of the long roast is to render that fat out while the skin tightens and crisps. You prick the skin, you baste, you pour off the fat, and you trust the process. The reward is meat that's rich and succulent under a shell of crackling, shattering skin. Serve it with braised Rotkraut, Kartoffelknödel, and a cold glass of Grüner Veltliner, and you have a meal that every Austrian recognizes as home.

This is not a Tuesday night dinner. It's an event. Clear your afternoon, invite people you love to your table, and give the goose the time it deserves.