IN SEARCH OF DARBY DUCK, IRELAND FILLS THE BILL.(ARTS)

Byline: WILLIAM M. DOWD Associate Editor

It was the early '50s in the tiny kitchen of a third-floor walk-up in Darby, a Philadelphia suburb then dominated by second-generation and recently arrived Irish.

The young visitor from New York is balking at the chicken dinner being put on the table in front of him.

``I don't like chicken,'' the young ingrate mutters to his gray-haired granny.

`` 'Tisn't chicken, darlin' boy,'' she says in her light brogue, a hint of a smile playing around the creases of her work-worn face. `` 'Tis Darby Duck, and there's no finer dish you can have in Ireland or here in my kitchen.''

Quickly convinced, as kids often are by their elders, he dug into the dish with enthusiasm. ``Darby Duck'' had won a lifelong convert.

One fine night about 45 years later, the ex-kid was sitting in a venerable old pub in Kinsale, a picturesque seaport town on the south coast of Ireland's County Cork, pondering what to have for dinner.

The most recommended dish was a roast chicken.

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