Your goose is cooked

Christmas is coming. The goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in the old man's hat.

Another first. Always wanted to try a traditional goose for Christmas dinner.
We began with a wild goose chase. I called up Jungle Jim's on the Thursday before Christmas to make sure they had geese. "Sure, lots!" I was told. Well, put one aside anyway. "No need. I got a fresh shipment coming in tomorrow." And, of course, when we arrived on Saturday, we were told that they'd sold out of geese on Friday. After raging and gnashing of teeth (and a kind offer of six ducks to equal one goose, from the guy who sold me the veal breast, below), we returned laden with fish, but gooseless. While Dad and I put the fish away, Barbara kindly ran out to the local grocery store, where she'd priced geese before. And behold, it befell in those days, that the checkout guy hath said unto her, "$47.93 for a goose? That's ridiculous! Sell it to you for ten bucks." Truly a Christmas miracle.
Goose is just like duck, only more so. We followed Julia's method of steaming the goose in a closed roaster with just a cup of water for an hour, then pouring off the fat--six cups of fat. (It was very appropriate that the roaster in question - labelled "Savory" - was a legacy from our dear friend Bob, whose birthday was around Christmas, and who always loved such celebratory meals.) Made a sausage and sage dressing from the last of the duck bread (also appropriate). After stuffing the goose (with a lemon in the neck as a stopper to hold the stuffing in), we roasted it closed and bottoms up for an hour, over cut-up turnips, carrots (crudités from the festival of fish), and the last of the shallots, then bosom side up and open for another 30 minutes to crisp the skin.
The meat is all dark, dense, and despite the steaming, still covered in a layer of fat. The vedge had braised in the goose grease. A little Cumberland sauce (Thanks, John and Priscilla!) on the side. Delicious, but to be frank, there's really just not a lot of meat on a goose. One will just about do for four people, tops.
Had it with another bottle of Paradigm, a merlot (Thanks, JoDee and David), so it was a family feast.

Post-game analysis. I think next time I do a goose, I'll cook it like a duck, i.e. break it down completely beforehand and cut off the breast meat. Roast the legs in a high oven and sauté the breast in thin slices. There's no meat in the wings except a thin strip between the ulna and the tibia. However, on Boxing Day, we simmered the carcass and rendered out 2 more cups of goose fat. It's easy to see why the fat was so prized: it's abundant, semi-liquid even when cold, and very pure. So now we've got lots of schmaltz and our stock for some time to come is going to be Goose Juice.

As Apicius said, "De goosibus non est disputandum": There's no denying, them geese is tasty.