A Chicken In Every Pot

chicken… in a pot

“A chicken in every pot” was the dream announced by some French king in some period of French history. A quick search of the internet would have revealed exactly who and when, but then we’d be getting lost in the details when it is the sentiment that is of course most important.

And what is that sentiment? It’s that there was a time when people were poor, largely peasants, and that the best thing in the world that could have happened to such poor peasantry was the regular arrival of some poulet in their hungry pot.

It’s a noble dream… perhaps the most noble dream even. If we compare it with today’s visionaries who promise driverless cars, automated assistants and life on Mars, they would all mean nothing to me if it weren’t for there first being a chicken in my pot (while incidentally the first thing we must ask of this life on Mars is if there will be chickens? And pots?).

And beyond driverless cars and the like, it’s a vision that has actually come true. You can pop into your fancy butchers now and buy a good and civilised hen for a fair price, or you could swing by Sainsbury’s Local and get a whole corn-fed little clucker for near a fiver, and for those who don’t fancy the whole beast, there’s a chicken shop on every corner in this neck of South East London, and they’re open til late to boot.

So the realisation of the old French king’s dream is irrefutable, but at what cost? we should ask. Or should we? The only way I can begin to chew on such a question is with some back of a fag-pack calculations; if we are requiring a bird in the pot each week and there are 70 million people in the UK and one such potted bod feeds 3.5 people, then we must breed twenty millions chickens every seven days.

Twenty million, it sounds big. Though it is also meaningless. It seems the same as two million, i.e. it’s simply a lot, but then it’s 10 times that so I suppose it is really a lot. Yet really a lot still doesn’t cut it, I need to visualise. The average chicken is 30cm of breadth, the longest length of the UK is 1400km, so that means for 20 million chickens we would need a line of them that stretches from Land ends to John O’Groates (FYI that’s the tip of Scotland, not just some Scottish guy) and back. Twice!

Now before you think I’m VB6-ing you all over again, know that I am an evangelist for this great dream, even if the costs I am only just beginning to work out as we go here. For beyond all foods I am fan of fowl. And I am a fan of others as fans of fowl. I love the smell of barbecued jerk filling the streets of Peckham and like some chicken chewing voyeur (the worst kind of voyeur no doubt) I love to watch its smell and smoke hook the nostrils of unwitting passers-by who flock in and leave with boxes, almost ignorant of having broken stride.

I know the joy it brings. I’ve watched a roast bird bring my dinner table to life and I’ve seen school kids here eat fried chicken with more appetite and relish than any adult confront the most sophisticated fare. I still remember my own burgeoning addiction to KFC hot wings as a teenager; a boy who didn’t think much toward a line of chickens stretching from Lands End to John O’Groates, but contented himself with nicking spare change from round the house and hiding in local alley-ways to dive into his spicy bounty. Like a secret smoker (but arguably some amount less cool to his peers), I inhaled it deeply and sneaked back home to wash, afraid that mum might smell the remains on me.

There is this hedonistic side of us that I can encourage. It says that as humans, descendants of peasants from France or not, we aspire to being pleased. We are desperate to be pleased even, and like the ol’ French boy knew to ask; is there much more pleasing than a chicken in a pot (or today most often in a box)? So then I wonder can that pleasure render the cost irrelevant? Twenty million chickens we said, yet have we ever seen one in a field? We could ask where they are, but we don’t, because we don’t like to think about it.

I brought this all up with a friend over lunch today (who incidentally was eating fried chicken). He asked is it not like referencing the bible? Is it not that “a chicken in every pot” is a symbol that we interpret, that we could have the dream yet forgo the actual chicken (all twenty million of them)? To the peasantry this bird was representative of the day’s luxury and success, today this symbol could as easily be doing your shopping at Waitrose, owning his & hers matching slippers or publishing a critically acclaimed food newsletter with 206 subscribers.

I disagreed and maintained there is a simpler understanding to be had. There is no metaphor in the King’s words, the phrase is entirely literal and refers to and could only ever refer to a chicken because - simply - people love chicken.

And more precisely, and most acutely observed by the world’s last true visionary, they love a chicken in a pot.

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Coq Au Vin

Plated in manner most fowl…

There’s a lot of baggage that comes with any recipe of this cultural weight. Many are those who will tell you which wine it must be made with, that it must be a cockerel not a chicken, and that it has to be button onions and no other form of allium will do.

However I believe this to be against the spirit of the bird in the pot. A pot is an inviting vessel that beckons you to come at it with what you have and make do. This kind of dish is then the peak of pot cooking; it’s all chopping as you go and layering flavour on flavour, and if you do not derive joy from it, then you may as well hand in the towel now.

There are only a few key points to acknowledge before we begin.

An older bird is tastier as it lends a gamey flavour - however this food writer acknowledges that acquiring an old bird or cockerel is not often a possibility (try asking the Sainsburys cashier for example) so substituting with guinea fowl is the next best step. Excluding both options, your regular kind will work just fine.

Proper browning of the bird is essential to the dish’s flavour, do not rush this step. Do not rush any steps in fact.

The dish will taste much better the next day (and then more the day after, and so on - until a point… ) so make it as far in advance as time permits, even a few hours will help.

The sauce should be a little viscous and there are a few ways to achieve this. You can add some good stock that will naturally have gelatin in it (the kind of stock that will set into a jelly when put in the fridge), if not available then adding a tablespoon of flour will do the job. In either case you will need to reduce the sauce after cooking until it is the right consistency. This is all covered in the steps below.

Ingredients (for four people)

• 1 small bird, jointed (~1.5kg) - ask your butcher to do this if possible, or have a go yourself - it’s not too hard, youtube can show you how.

• ~200g whole button mushrooms, or if slightly larger mushrooms, cut them in half

• 30 button onions (I recommend buying frozen and pre-peeled) or 2 sliced onions or 10 shallots peeled and left whole

• 3 whole garlic cloves

• Half a bottle of red wine, something of good character and robust - but don’t break the bank (I used a Beaujolais from Lidl)

• ~300ml good home-made stock (you can make this yourself with the carcass of the bird in advance if you are so inclined, or buy some from the butcher, or at most desperate use some kind of bouillon)

• A tablespoon of flour (if your stock is not of good enough quality)

• 100g best quality unsmoked bacon chopped into lardons

• Boquet garni made of two sprigs of time, a few parsley stems, 5 sage leaves and a couple of bay leaves (what is a boquet garni?)

Salt the chicken pieces (24h before if possible and leave in fridge), rubbing in 3/4 teaspoon salt per 500g of meat.

When ready to cook, take the them out of the fridge so they can come to room temperature.

In a pot that will snugly fit the jointed bird, add the bacon and turn the heat to medium. Cook until the fat has rendered and the pieces are nicely coloured, but not crispy.

Remove the bacon and add the chicken pieces skin side down. Allow them to cook on medium heat for a good 5-7 minutes, undisturbed so that they come out golden (you can also chuck in a nob of butter at this point, it’s satisfying to watch the blonde on blonde). Turn them over and let cook for another 5 minutes (this side will take slightly less time). While this is browning, you can prepare your onions or shallots.

Remove the chicken, leaving the fat behind and add the onions. Turn the heat up to medium high and don’t stir very often, you want them to brown, and when they are good and browned, remove them and add in your button mushrooms. These will absorb all the fat, and the pan will smoke a bit but try not to be too alarmed, the fat will be released again later. Again fight the temptation to stir, let the mushrooms brown for a few minutes on each side.

Now add the onions back, and if using flour add it now and let it cook together all for a minute. Now pour in the wine (if using flour, do this slowly and mix well to make sure you don’t get lumps). Allow to simmer on medium heat for 5 minutes until the alcohol is evaporated, then turn down the heat to the merest simmer and slip back in the bacon and all the bits of bird except the breast bits (these cook quicker so we will add later). Add stock until it is all submerged (or at least almost so). Chuck in the three garlic cloves and gently place the bouquet garni and crack in some grindings of pepper.

Cover with a lid and let simmer extremely gently for 30 minutes. Remove the lid and put in the breast, cover again and allow to cook for another 20 minutes. At this point check the tenderness of the thighs and legs which should yield easily to a sharp knife.

If done, take off the heat and drain the sauce off into a separate pan. It will undoubtedly be very wet and will need considering cooking down. On high heat boil the water out until it has reduced to a more saucy consistency (it can still be runny, just not watery). This may required reducing to a third of the original volume.

(When I cooked this, I fell early to a fatal mistake and did not sufficiently brown my onions and mushrooms. To remedy this, at this point in the process I then put the mushrooms and onions in the gravy and placed it a shallow tray in the oven and allowed to cook for another hour at 160C so it all caramelised beautifully - the sauce also thickened a little more too. If your chicken was not browned either, a far more grave error, you could put it under a hot grill for a minute or two, however my advice here is to get this step right in the first place.)

Reunite the gravy and all the cooked ingredients, but discard the boquet garni. Allow to sit for at least a few hours, and better yet put it in the fridge overnight.

To reheat, heat an oven to 140C. Take off as much fat as possible from the top of your resting coq au vin and then bring just the liquid up to a boil on the hob. Once boiling, take off heat, add all the bits back in and cover with a lid and put in the oven. It’s ready when the meat is piping hot, which should take 10-20 minutes.

Serve with simple boiled potatoes, green salad and crusty bread or as I have here with a celeriac remoulade of sorts.

Beautiful dregs of a chicken in a pot