Cradock - Let’s talk about coq, chicken, fowl, bird, volaille, rooster, chuck, poulet, petit poussin, Chicken Licken, and sort out once and for all why it crossed the road.
Actually, no, there’s a better question: why shouldn’t a chicken cross the road? Does it need a reason? Is it any of our goddamn business? Do chickens not have basic rights? And who are we to invade their privacy by ceaselessly demanding to know about their pedestrian habits? Why did the chicken cross the road? I’ll tell you why. To get away from you and me, that’s why. It was fleeing from the hordes of humans who will not stop demanding to know why it crossed the frigging road.
If we had not started asking the question the chicken may never have even considered crossing the road in the first place.
And whichever human being first asked it is as much of a mystery as “What is the meaning of life?” and “Why is Donald Trump’s hair different from everyone else’s except Boris Johnson’s (and even worse than his)?”
Maybe the chicken just looked across the road and thought, ‘Whoah, dude, the grass is like sooo much greener over there! I’m outta here, dude!”
Maybe it looked behind it and saw a human being bearing down on it holding a big knife and asking stupid questions, and made a run for it before ending up in the farmer’s pot. Whichever side of the road the chicken is on in the end, it probably makes little difference, because if you’re a chicken, there really isn’t much hope for you.
At least the kind of chicken that has any chance of crossing a road is one that lives out of doors and not in grim, serried barns containing yet grimmer little cages in which thousands of the poor creatures spend miserable, cramped lives before what surely must be a welcome end. When it comes down to it, if we eat chicken, we really should only buy ones that once had a chance to cross the road. That once had a pleasant life, fresh air and some degree of freedom.
So there we have it: the chicken crossed the road because it could. Because it was one of the lucky few denied that basic chicken right by a farmer more interested in profits than in a creature’s comfort.
But it’s not much fun being a chicken; even a relatively free one. Sadly, once it got to the other side of the road it was immediately nabbed by a human being and taken home to be cooked. And no one knows more about how to cook a chicken than a hungry human being. It is the staple of staples in the kitchen, and can be prepared and cooked in more ways than probably any other meaty ingredient. Consider how different a chicken roulade is from a chicken nugget, a roast chuck from a bowl of chicken soup, or how different Chinese chicken cashew is from Coq au Vin, that great yet simple French classic.
Which is what we’re cooking this week, but we’re not using a frightened battery-raised fowl today, we’re using a plump bird that was once happy and full of the joys of spring until that fated moment when it spied the other side of the road and thought, “Hmmmm, wonder what’s over there?” (Not having seen you and me hiding behind the hedge with a cleaver, ready to pounce.)
If you still have the stomach for it at this point, here’s how.
Coq au Vin
(Serves 4)
16 baby onions
2 chicken breasts, 2 thighs, 2 drumsticks and 2 wings
OR 1 whole chicken portioned into breasts, thighs, drumsticks and wings
2 Tbs olive oil
200g bacon bits
50ml brandy
2 bay leaves
1 Tbs thyme leaves
3 Tbs cornflour
500ml dry red wine
500ml chicken stock
50ml tomato paste
2 garlic cloves, mashed
1 punnet mushrooms
2 Tbs chopped parsley
Salt and pepper
Bring a pot of cold water to the boil and plunge the baby onions in. Leave to boil for a minute, remove and then slip off the skins. Trim excess fat from the chicken pieces. Cut breasts in half, (not lengthways). If the thighs have a sliver of spine down one side, cut it off. Cut the tips off the wings.
If you’d like to make a quick, cheap chicken stock, put the chicken offcuts in a small, but deep pot with a roughly chopped leek, a chopped stick of celery and chopped onion, cover with cold water and let it boil away furiously. Once it’s half boiled away you’ll have a better stock than an overly salty stock cube.
Sauté the bacon bits in a heavy casserole (I use an ironware tajine) and set aside.
Brown chicken pieces all over.
Add the brandy and flame it if you like.
Add the baby onions to the pot with the bay leaves and thyme and season with salt and pepper. Cover and cook for 10 minutes.
Sprinkle cornflour over, stir to coat, cover and cook for another 4 minutes, stirring once or twice.
Add the red wine and chicken stock, bacon bits, garlic and tomato paste, stir well, cover and bring to a simmer, then leave it for half an hour.
Cook the mushrooms in a separate pot in olive oil, stirring, until they release their juices and brown, then add to the pot.
After five minutes, uncover the pot again and test the sauce to see how runny it is. If too runny, leave it uncovered and simmer until it thickens.
Serve on plates that can hold a generous amount of the sauce, sprinkled with finely chopped parsley. Be grateful to the chicken.
Weekend Argus