Jolly Green Giant on my Plate

I know. Looks stupid.
But you have to know this: The braising liquid from small animals is heavenly.
Small animals = ducks, rabbits, goats. And braising liquid = champagne; accept no substitutes.
You will need mirepoix: finely diced carrot, onion and celery. The amount depends on the amount of meat, and I'm not your teacher, never have been; figure a couple of handfuls of a mixture of equal portions of the veggies per pound of meat (and, boy, am I faking it here).
Champagne to cover the meat and the verdure. Salt and pepper. Herbs? Knock yourself out.
Slow simmer. Timing depends on... tenderness.
AND: You did not remove the bones first. They add the ineffable ineffableness you are looking for. Bones matters.
How did I get skewed off into a braising lesson? All I want you to do is save the braising liquid for the Next Thing you cook. You will know what to do with your braised meat (and in my case, it keeps being rillettes).
Here's the deal. The braising liquid will develop gelatin, flavor, body, depth, utter pookiness. Save the liquid. Do the rillettes later. Eat the liquid ASAP.
For today's Jolly Green Giant Inadvertent Presentation, I circled some angel hair pasta in a plate and spooned over the incomparable richness of braising liquid made from confit of duck legs (department of redundancy department, I know, but double-cooked duck is divine). The onions and celery from the mirepoix had melted away, but the carrots were still vibrant, viable, visible.
Then I placed a portion of tender English peas inside the pasta circle, where the carrots roared into semi-prominence, creating an inadvertent orange/green Jolly Green Giant tableau.
Stupid looking. But delicious beyond words.