A wintry French classic anyone can master, and it tastes even better made in advance and reheated – perfect for busy cooks, writes DOMINI KEMP
EVERYONE KNOWS THAT chefs can be a tricky bunch, and in the book I’ve been reading about Antonin Carême (see above) there’s a fantastic line that sums up how some chefs feel about the people they serve: “Cooking is an art in which the artist is undervalued and where dedication and long hours sit uncomfortably with service and civility to the ignorant.” Yikes. That’s one heck of a derisory statement against the recipient of such largesse.
How passionately a chef may feel about the accuracy of that statement is up to each individual cook. But I’m sure that we can all think of a few examples of chefs where this isn’t just a fleeting thought, but a precursor to declaration of a neverending war against the punter. Put it this way: I can think of a few chefs who could wear that T-shirt with pride.
Anyway, Carême had a very interesting life cooking for emperors, kings, queens and high society. At one stage in his career, in 1816, he agreed to cook for 10,000 veterans, back in 1816, on the Champs-Élysées. Now, just picture this: A tent was erected either side of the corridor, under the trees along the Place de la Concorde, all the way to the Arc de Triomphe (which was still incomplete). Some 10,000 bottles of wine were plonked down for each guest just to kick off proceedings, but another 18,000 were consumed along with six oxen, 75 veal calves, 250 lambs, 2,000 chickens, 8,000 turkeys, 500 hams and over 2,000 carp, pike and partridges.
When I think of the logistical difficulties associated with an event like that, I start to quiver. What a nightmare. Long before refrigerated vans (or automobiles of any sort), and all the other modern-day catering equipment we use at large functions, I can’t imagine how they managed to churn all that food out. And all Carême said in his diary was that although it was a great day in the history of food in Paris, “never had work been so hellish for chefs”. I can only imagine.
In honour of his book, this week I have made a very simple coq au vin, or rather, chicken braised in red wine. It was decidedly uncheffy and resulted in a very tasty stew that sat on the stove, rather than in the oven. Somehow I doubt he would have been impressed with my slovenly technique. I didn’t marinate the chicken in the red wine for 24 hours, use brandy to flame the chicken or use a wine such as a Mâcon or Chambertin to braise with, and I definitely didn’t garnish the dish with the combs and kidneys of a cock.
Chicken braised in red wine
Serves four very comfortably, with leftovers, and will feed six if they are not savages. If you don’t have stock, or a stock cube, use less water, a bit more wine and more salt.
50g butter
1 chicken cut into eight pieces – ask your butcher to do this
Salt and pepper
1 large white onion, peeled and diced
100g smoked bacon, diced
16 button mushrooms, cut in half
2 cloves garlic
1 tbsp flour
1 giant squeeze tomato puree
250ml red wine
500ml stock, chicken or vegetable
1 tbsp sugar
Use a hefty saucepan with a lid on it. Melt half the butter and fry the chicken in batches. Season really well, and when the pieces are well browned, drain them on kitchen paper. Then chuck in the rest of the butter and fry the onions until they are just starting to caramelise.
Add the bacon, get some colour on it and then add the mushrooms and garlic. Cook until it’s tasty and brown, and check the seasoning. Add the flour and cook out for at least a minute. It will absorb a lot of the fat and may tease you into thinking it’s all going to burn. Turn down the heat if you need to, but make sure you cook out the flour or it’ll haunt the final dish.
Add the tomato purée, the onion/mushroom/bacon mixture and then the wine, stock and sugar. Bring it all up to the boil and taste it before you add the chicken. If you think you need to skim off any fat, do so, by taking it off the heat and skimming with a metal spoon. But it should be fine.
When you are happy that the sauce tastes good, carefully put the chicken back in, bed it down, put the lid on and simmer gently for about 50 minutes. Maybe take the lid partially off halfway through. If it’s bubbling away furiously, then all the water will evaporate and it could burn. It needs to end up a good consistency, so play around with your lid and monitor the thickness of the sauce. You can always add a glass of water if it has got too thick or is starting to burn. And if it’s watery and insipid, then turn up the heat and reduce the water content to concentrate the flavour. If you have time, let it sit on the stove, off the heat, for about 30 minutes or so and then re-heat it before serving. It always tastes better after it has had a little breather.
Onion and garlic purée
This is a really nice accompaniment to this dish, along with some boiled spuds, and is based on a Raymond Blanc recipe.
12 cloves garlic, peeled
4 large onions, peeled and chopped
100ml olive oil
Good few sprigs thyme
Salt and pepper
100ml cream
Poach the garlic cloves in about a litre of water in a small saucepan for 15 minutes. Drain and set aside.
Meanwhile, sweat the onions with half the olive oil and the thyme for 20 minutes, ideally in a non-stick saucepan. You want them to soften, but not get any colour on them. Allow them to cool slightly and then purée along with the garlic in a food processor. Add the remaining 50ml of olive oil and season well, but carefully. Add the cream and check the seasoning. You should have a porridge-esque consistency that tastes a whole lot better than porridge. Heat up in a saucepan before serving. You can make this the day before and re-heat.
DOMINI RECOMMENDS: ‘Cooking for Kings: The life of Antonin Carême, the First Celebrity Chef’, by Ian Kelly, is a biography with recipes. A cracking good read, if you like a bit of foodie history.
