Honey-Lavender Glazed Duck Breast with Pickled Rhubarb and Kohlrabi

This is the plate that defined Eleven Madison Park's savoury courses for years — a whole duck, dry-aged, lacquered in lavender honey and armoured in a crust of toasted spices, carved tableside over a mirror of duck jus. You don't need a whole bird or a dry-aging fridge to capture what makes it sing. Duck breast, rendered properly and finished with the same honey glaze and spice crust, gets you most of the way there in an hour — crisp skin, rosy centre, and that unmistakable interplay of sweet, floral, and deeply savoury. The pickles are not a garnish; they're the acid that keeps the whole plate honest.

How to cook

Start with the pickles, because they need time and they're completely hands-off. Slice the rhubarb into thin batons and shave the kohlrabi into translucent sheets on a mandoline — thin enough to go pliable in the brine but with enough body to hold a curl on the plate. Bring the rice vinegar (150ml), sugar (100g), water (100ml), and salt (1 teaspoon) to a simmer just to dissolve, then pour it warm over the two vegetables in separate bowls. Keep them separate: the rhubarb bleeds a beautiful pink that you don't want staining the kohlrabi. An hour is enough; a day is better. This is your make-ahead anchor — the pickles hold happily in the fridge for up to three days.

The spice crust is where the dish gets its signature look and aroma. Toast the coriander, fennel, and peppercorns in a dry pan until they smell warm and fragrant and just start to pop — two to three minutes, shaking constantly so nothing scorches. Toasting is not optional here; raw spice tastes flat and dusty, while toasted spice tastes like the restaurant. Cool them, then grind coarsely with the lavender, flaky salt, and a whisper of brown sugar. Stop while it's still gravelly — a coarse crust gives you that crackle against the crisp skin, where a fine powder just turns to paste.

For the lavender honey, go easy. Lavender tips from floral into soapy in a heartbeat, so a single teaspoon steeped in warm honey for fifteen minutes is plenty, with a strip of orange zest to round it out. Warm it gently — you're loosening the honey and infusing it, not cooking it — then strain. Taste it: it should read as honey first, with lavender as a quiet perfume behind it. If it tastes like potpourri, you've over-steeped; start again with less.

Now the duck. Score the skin in a fine crosshatch, cutting through the fat but stopping short of the meat — this opens channels for the fat to render out and gives the crust something to grip. Pat the breasts bone-dry and season all over. The single most important move with duck breast is to start it in a cold, dry pan. Lay the breasts skin-side down, then turn the heat to medium. As the pan warms, the fat under the skin melts and renders slowly instead of seizing, so you end up with thin, glass-crisp skin rather than a thick chewy layer. Render for eight to twelve minutes, pouring off the fat as it pools — save every drop; duck fat is liquid gold for roast potatoes. The skin is ready when it's deep amber and crisp and the pan has gone quiet.

Flip the breasts and give the flesh side just two to four minutes, spooning a little of the reserved fat over the top. Duck breast is a red meat and wants to be served medium-rare — a kitchen thermometer takes the guesswork out of this. Pull the breasts at 52°C internal and rest them skin-side up on a rack for a full ten minutes; carryover will carry them to about 54-55°C, and the rest lets the juices settle so you don't lose them to the board. Don't tent tightly with foil — you'll steam the skin you just worked so hard to crisp.

While the duck rests, build the jus. This is a compact version of the restaurant's — a proper reduction rather than a thickened gravy. Sweat the shallot and thyme in butter until soft and golden, hit it with the sherry vinegar and cook it almost dry to concentrate the acid, then reduce the red wine by two-thirds. Add the stock and simmer steadily — not a hard boil, which turns bitter — for twelve to fifteen minutes, until you've got about 150ml of liquid that coats the back of a spoon and holds a line when you drag your finger through it. Strain it, whisk in a tablespoon of the lavender honey to tie the sauce to the glaze, and mount it with cold butter off the heat for that glossy, restaurant sheen. Taste and season — reduction concentrates salt, so season at the end, not the start. It should be sharp, deeply savoury, and only faintly sweet.

To finish, brush the crisp skin generously with the warm lavender honey, then press the spice crust firmly into it so it sets in an even, craggy layer over the top. Slice each breast on a slight angle into thick slices, keeping that crusted skin riding on top of every slice.

Bonus points

• Make your own duck stock: Roast duck wings, necks, and any trimmings at 220°C until deep brown, then simmer for three to four hours with mirepoix, thyme, and a splash of red wine. A real duck stock reduced into this jus is the difference between good and unforgettable — and it makes use of the parts a whole bird gives up.
• Dry-brine overnight: Salt the scored breasts and leave them uncovered on a rack in the fridge overnight. The salt seasons deep and dries the skin, so it renders crisper and browns faster — the closest a home cook gets to EMP's dry-aging without the fridge.
• Duck-fat potatoes on the side: Use the fat you rendered off the breasts to roast waxy potatoes at 200°C until shattering-crisp. It closes the loop — nothing from the duck goes to waste.
• Pickled rhubarb two ways: Reserve a little of the pink pickling liquid and reduce it to a syrup, then streak it on the plate for a sharp, fuchsia counterpoint to the dark jus.
• Torch the crust: For the lacquered restaurant finish, pass a kitchen torch briefly over the honey-brushed skin before you press on the crust — the honey bubbles and sets into a true glaze.
• Chamomile or fennel-pollen crust: If lavender isn't your thing, swap it for fennel pollen or a pinch of dried chamomile in the crust — both keep the floral note without the soap risk.

Serving

Plate this as a composed course. Pool a spoonful of the warm jus off-centre and drag it into a comma. Lean two or three duck slices against the sauce, crusted-skin up, so the mahogany crust catches the light. Build the pickles into a loose tangle to one side — a few rhubarb batons, a fold or two of kohlrabi, and the curled scallion draped over — and finish with chive blossoms or micro herbs if you have them. Keep it sparse and let the plate breathe; this is a dish that trades on restraint, not abundance.

For a more generous, family-style version, carve both breasts onto a warm board, pour the jus into a small jug, and pile the pickles in a bowl alongside. It loses a little of the fine-dining drama but none of the flavour.

For wine, duck and Pinot Noir is a near-perfect marriage — a village-level red Burgundy or a cool-climate Oregon Pinot has the acid and red-fruit lift to cut the richness and echo the honey. If you want something with more presence, a lightly chilled cru Beaujolais or a mature Northern Rhône Syrah both hold their own against the spice crust.