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Thinking of France and Chickens

I lived in Paris for about seven months in 2005, and I miss that city, and France, especially when I am shopping for food. For most of my time there during that year I lived in the 10th, near the fine old Marché Saint-Quentin. It was built in 1866, and is a lovely covered market with lots of glass and iron. And it is full of great produce and fish and cheese and meat and poultry of all sorts.

A good place to shop: Le marché Saint-Quentin, in Paris' 10th.

A good place to shop: Le marché Saint-Quentin, in Paris’ 10th.

I shopped there three or four times a week, and most weeks bought a chicken, usually from the same woman, because hers seemed the freshest. Indeed, some of them had been killed the night before I cooked them. I bought them with the feet and heads still on, and appreciated their organic wholeness.

Most of the time I roasted them, which I am confident is the best way to cook a chicken, though fried chicken is a close second. Every now and then, though, I liked to poach a bird in cream, lots of cream. Two quarts, to be exact. Two quarts of fresh light cream, cream that tasted better than any milkshake I have ever had, and I imagined it coming from the most perfect dairy cow in France.

I’ve forgotten where I first saw a recipe for this dish, but it is an age-old technique, and many of you have undoubtedly poached chicken breasts before. One recipe I used recently as a foundation comes from Daniel Young’s “The Bistros, Brasseries, and Wine Bars of Paris.” I brined the bird when I made it this week, eight hours in a water/salt/sugar/black peppercorn solution.

Chicken brining in a plastic bag.

Chicken brining in a plastic bag.

Here’s how you do it:

Rinse the chicken inside and out with cool water and pat dry. Let stand at room temperature for 20 minutes, then season liberally inside and out with salt and pepper. While the chicken is waiting, heat two cups of chicken stock (you can use bouillon cubes) and heat the oven to 325 Fahrenheit. 

Carrots, onions, and celery, and a chicken

Carrots, onions, and celery, and a chicken

Peel two carrots and cut them in half; do the same to two onions and two turnips. To these, add the white part of one leek. I also like to use two stalks of celery, cut in half. (You can peel the celery if you want.) Put the chicken in a Dutch oven and then pour in the stock and the cream and add the vegetables to the mix. Heat on the stovetop over moderately high heat until just below boil. Put the lid on the mixture and put it in the oven for about two hours.

It's a bird surrounded by cream and vegetables – what's not to like?

It’s a bird surrounded by cream and vegetables – what’s not to like?

Remove the chicken and vegetables from the Dutch oven and keep warm; pour two to three cups of the cream mixture through a fine sieve into a saucepan and cook over medium heat, whisking the sauce until it thickens, for five minutes or so. 

Arrange the chicken and vegetable on a platter and pour as much of the sauce over them as you wish. I like to get a leg and breast on my plate, and the carrots and onions take on a flavor that will make you want to double the quantity of them next time you make this. (A final note: it is best to use a large chicken here, say, five pounds, but a bird of that size is difficult to find in many places, so if you use a smaller bird, just reduce the amount of cream.)

It really is very simple, and what results is chicken reminiscent of what you get when you make Chicken and Dumplings – moist and rich. And the sauce will have you thinking of milkshakes. I drank a Côtes de Duras blanc with the dish this week.

Common Grounds

A kitchen without tools would not produce much, no matter how willing or talented its inhabitants. While most home cooks do just fine without every single accoutrement found in a restaurant kitchen, anyone wanting to put more than the basics on the table will over the course of a lifetime accumulate a sizable collection of spoons and knives and food processors and pots and pans, not to mention a chinois or two.

The drawers and cabinets in my kitchen are fairly well stocked, and I’ve come to have strong relationships with a good number of the tools I use on a regular basis, including a Japanese mandoline and a Dutch oven that is now perfectly conditioned. But my feelings about most of my kitchen stuff are purely utilitarian; I love them because they work and allow me to do what I do easily and efficiently.

A workhorse: I've had this Tre Spade pepper mill since about 1987, and every time I use it I think fondly of Grant and Kathy Heath, who gave it to me as a Christmas gift. There’s a bit of rust on it, and its lid requires tape to stay closed, but I’ll never replace it.

A workhorse: I've had this Tre Spade pepper mill since about 1987, and every time I use it I think fondly of Grant and Kathy Heath, who gave it to me as a Christmas gift. There’s a bit of rust on it, and its lid requires tape to stay closed, but I’ll never replace it.

There is, however, one thing that I use all the time that means more to me than merely “utility,” and that is my Tre Spade pepper mill. I use it every day, and along with my knives it is integral to my cooking. But what makes it really special are the man and woman who gave it to me and they way they did so.

The best roasted coffee beans in the world have been coming out of this place since November 1977.

The best roasted coffee beans in the world have been coming out of this place since November 1977.

Grant and Kathy Heath are their names, and they roast and sell the best coffee in the world. I mean that. They own a small shop, The Kaffeeklatsch, in Huntsville, Alabama, and I used to work for them. And though I left Huntsville long ago, in 1994, I still order coffee from “The Klatsch” as often as possible. As I said, it is the best in the world – wherever I travel, be it Umbria or Munich or Beirut – I search for the perfect beans, and so far I have found nothing that can compare. I doubt I ever will. Order some and see what I mean.

Kathy and Grant always took time out from their workday to eat lunch; there was a small table in the center of the shop, and that is where they had their meals, usually simple but delicious things they had cooked, like barley soup with kale. They made me do the same, insisted that I take a break to sit down and have my lunch every day. I did.

One day while eating I admired a pepper mill that we used in the shop, and I asked Kathy if I could order one from the supplier; Christmas was coming and I thought it would be a good gift to give myself. She said she would place the order and we went back to work.

About a week later our regular delivery arrived, and as I was unpacking the boxes I looked forward to finding the pepper mill. But it wasn’t there. Kathy came upstairs from the office and told me that it was on backorder and would probably be in stock early in the new year. C’est la vie. I would live to grind another day.

The focal point of The Kaffeeklatsch: The 1929 Jabez Burns roaster, a work of art.

The focal point of The Kaffeeklatsch: The 1929 Jabez Burns roaster, a work of art.

The holiday season was upon us, and we got busier; customers came in for their supply of coffee, and beans by the many pounds flew out the door and were picked up by the UPS man for delivery across the nation. Grant was constantly at his Jabez Burns gas roaster, turning the small batches of green beans into something magical. (Not to go off on a tangent, but that roaster, which was born in 1929, is a beauty. I’ll write more about it, and Grant, later.)

On the evening before we closed for the holidays we were sitting at the table, enjoying beers and talking about dinner plans and which of our relatives were coming for Christmas and what we would be cooking. I had presents for Kathy and Grant, and they gave me a few pounds of coffee. Then Kathy reached behind her, picked up a box wrapped in festive paper, and handed it to me. It was the Tre Spade pepper mill. And, as I wrote, I have used it nearly every day since then. Thanks again, Kathy and Grant.

Pork on ice

Most people I know love bacon, and most people I know have a strong affection for ice cream. Two years ago I was invited to a Thanksgiving dinner in Dubai – about 40 people were going to be attending. I was asked to bring something for dessert, because the turkeys and hams and gumbo were already taken care of. The hosts were from Texas, and I was happy to accept the invitation, because I had already been fortunate enough to taste D.B.’s slow-cooked pork and beef brisket.

I then got to thinking about what I would make; the year before, A.S. and I had put on a Thanksgiving dinner for about 15 friends and colleagues, and it was a great success. It would be good for a change to not have to brine and cook a turkey and make Scooter’s Southwestern Dressing and struggle to find room in the refrigerator for a 20-pound bird.

However, I knew I would miss working with poultry and pork and giblets and set out to come up with something both savory and sweet for my dessert. After a bit of thought I recalled a pine nut semifreddo recipe I had run across in The Silver Spoon; it is a great dish with which to end a meal – not too sweet, but sweet enough to satisfy, especially if served with a small chocolate cake. So, thinking of pork, and one of my favorite pork products, bacon, I decided to make Pine Nut and Bacon Semifreddo.

Goodness: Bacon and brown sugar

Goodness: Bacon and brown sugar

I do not want to mislead you into thinking that this dish sprung from my head with no precursor; by now, there is nothing original to do with bacon, and we have enjoyed it in brownies and cocktails and cheese and panna cotta, to name but a few. I also recall, with pleasure, a fine dish I had at a restaurant in Brooklyn that included avocado and bacon ice cream.

That said, my Bacon Semifreddo was a hit that Thanksgiving, so much so that the amount I made fell short of demand, the empty bowl in the middle of the dessert table looking bereft, yet satisfied, as the containers of strawberry and vanilla ice creams around it sat full and forlorn. More than several people asked me if there was more bacon “ice cream” and told me it was the best thing they had tasted that Thanksgiving evening. (I recall fondly, however, a giant pot of gumbo that included homemade andouille that had been brought over from Louisiana … it was as good as the semifreddo, and I am glad it was there.)

Have you ever pulverized bacon? You should.

Have you ever pulverized bacon? You should.

So, here’s how I make the semifreddo; I use the recipe found in The Silver Spoon (and if you don’t have this book, get it) as a foundation, and add the candied bacon:

Preheat oven to 400F; on a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil or a Silpat, arrange five slices of bacon. Sprinkle 2-3 tablespoons of brown sugar evenly on the slices and cook for 15 minutes or so (until brown), turning the slices midway through the cooking time. Cool bacon on a wire rack. When cool, cut slices and put in food processor with blade inserted; pulse until the bacon is nearly pulverized. Set aside in a bowl.

Next, spread 1 1/4 cups of pine nuts on a baking sheet and roast at 350F for 8 minutes or so, until the nuts are golden; do not overcook. While the pine nuts are roasting, put 1 cup of sugar and 4 tablespoons of water in a heavy pan over medium-high heat. The mixture will bubble and then become a clear syrup. Stir, and wait until the syrup begins to turn a golden brown. Carefully add the roasted pine nuts to the syrup and stir carefully. Coat the nuts evenly, then spread on an oiled cookie sheet. Let cool, then break up the praline and put half in your food processor, reserving the other half. Pulse until very fine. Then, pulse the rest of the praline until crushed, but do not turn it to powder.

Dessert is served.

Dessert is served.

Now, you proceed to the semifreddo in earnest. You need 1 vanilla bean, 4 eggs, separated, 4 tablespoons of sugar, 1 1/4 cups of heavy cream, and a pinch of salt. Slice the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape the seeds into a bowl. Add the egg yolks and sugar and whisk until pale. In another bowl (use glass or other nonreactive bowls for this recipe) whisk the cream until you form peaks. (Always use a clean whisk; grease or fats interfere with the process; if you have only one, wash and dry it for each step.) In a third bowl, whisk the egg whites and pinch of salt until thick – I always do the whites last so as to have stiffer peaks.

Now, fold the cream into the yolk mixture, then fold the whites into that. Finally – and if all of this seems laborious, it isn’t – fold in your delicious bacon and the crushed praline. Pour the mixture into an airtight container and freeze until firm. You can make this the day before.

I like to serve the semifreddo with a flourless chocolate cake, but have been known to take the container from the freezer and, using my favorite silver spoon, enjoy as is.

Offal is good

Sweetbreads. When I hear that word I salivate. I love them, and whenever I see them on a menu I order. Two recent meals in which they played a part I remember especially well: at Babbo, and at Le Pigeon, in Portland. (More on those meals, and restaurants, later.)

OFFAL: The Fifth Quarter, by Anissa Helou. Fully revised hardback edition, 192 pages, published by Absolute Press

OFFAL: The Fifth Quarter, by Anissa Helou. Fully revised hardback edition, 192 pages, published by Absolute Press

While I don’t need an excuse to think of sweetbreads, what brought them to my mind today was a book that I recently added to my collection: “Offal: The Fifth Quarter,” by Anissa Helou. (“The Fifth Quarter” refers to the parts of an animal – the head, feet, tail and innards –that do not belong to the four quarters of the carcass.)

Here is one reason I like this book; it is a quote found in its opening section – “An A-Z of Offal”– that introduces the entry on kidneys:

Mr. Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liver slices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all he like grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.”
Ulysses, James Joyce

You see, Anissa Helou not only knows her food, but she also appreciates literature. And food and literature are two of the passions of my life, so any work that combines them interests me.

But back to sweetbreads, and her wonderful book. I was glad to see “An A-Z of Offal,” because I am always encouraging people to venture beyond and try hearts and kidneys and brains … and, yes, yes, yes, sweetbreads.  In “An A-Z” Ms. Helou tells us, among other things, that “calf’s sweetbreads are finer than those from sheep,” an opinion with which, after much testing and tasting, I agree. You will also learn that a love of pig’s feet just might have been the undoing of Louis XIV.

If you buy this book, you will have at the ready a handy and informative lexicon of all things offal, and if you read it and cook from it, you and your guests will be the better for it. Above all, it allows one to understand that eating chittlerings or ears is not a macho, daring act, but one of taste, tradition and respect, and that is a valuable and important message indeed.

Calf's Sweetbreads with Capers (photo by Mike Cooper)

Calf's Sweetbreads with Capers (photo by Mike Cooper)

Full of clear and concise recipes – including Chicken Liver Tartlets, Mexican Pig’s Trotter Salad, and, a favorite of mine, A Head Dinner for Two: (Poached Brain and Eyes with Fleur de Sel, followed by Lamb’s Tongue with Vinaigrette Sauce, ending with Lamb’s Cheek with Blanquette Sauce) – Ms. Helou has stocked “Offal” with wonderful stories from her life and recounts the days and nights she spent in Paris, Barcelona, Marrakesh and other locales getting to know the items and recipes that make up the book. (Mike Cooper’s photography is an effective addition; take a look at his photo of frying pig’s trotters on page 101 and you’ll see what I mean.)

Personal and informative – “I am not one for eating feet stew for breakfast. Raw liver perhaps, but not feet stew.” – this volume belongs in the collection of anyone who embraces head-to-tail cookery. And I urge anyone who now turns up their nose at sheep’s brain and bone marrow to get “Offal: The Fifth Quarter” and explore a new route on their gastronomic journey.

The next course: An update

Dessert course: A waiter prepares 'Hidromiel y Fractal Fluido' at Arzak.

Last week I told you I was going to spend at least three months in Europe this summer doing stages at two restaurants. I named Restaurant Amador in Mannheim, Germany, as my first stop, but at the time was unable to officially name the second one. I wrote that it was in San Sebastián, a wonderful city in the north of Spain that is producing some of the finest food to be had anywhere.

I can now let you know the name of my second stop, and I am excited, and thrilled, and just a little bit in awe, because the two chefs at Arzak, Juan Mari Arzak and his daughter Elena, are, to put it simply, geniuses.

Juan Mari Arzak, one of the fathers of New Basque Cuisine, is also one of the most influential and respected chefs in the world, and began cooking at Arzak, where his mother still worked, in 1966. Since then, culinary history has been unfolding there on a nightly basis. Elena Arzak joined the staff at Arzak after attending school in Switzerland and working at, among other restaurants, elBulli and Restaurant Pierre Gagnaire. The pair’s passion for learning, and teaching, has inspired many, and their respect for food and the land from which it comes is immense.

I am a lucky man.

The next course: culinary education

It’s time to cook, time to take a big step in the journey that began in my childhood, when I first watched my grandmother cook in her Savannah kitchen. Standing next to Ida, in front of the oven, I began to understand the grace and power of cooking, the magic that happens when one transforms a table into a place of wonder through food.

As many of you know, those lessons are an integral part of my life. At my table, old friends and new guests alike always ask: “Why aren’t you cooking in a restaurant? I would gladly pay for this food.”

Well … that is why I’m reaching out to you. I have gone as far as I can on my own, so this summer I am going to Europe, where I will do stages at two restaurants, each holding three Michelin stars. (In case you don’t know, stages are unpaid internships during which you do anything a chef tells you to do.) I will learn from some visionary cooks and chefs, first at Restaurant Amador, in Mannheim, Germany, and then at a restaurant in San Sebastián, Spain, the name of which I will soon be able to announce.

This is where you can help me: I am looking for supporters – or, to be more exact, investors – to help finance my journey. My goal is to raise $5,000 through 50 individuals investing $100 each. The money will be used to pay for my lodging while doing the stages and for travel expenses to Europe.

My profound gratitude will be the short-term, instant return on your investment. But also, as soon as it is feasible, your support will become shares that you can use to purchase my food when I open my own restaurant. (But there is a lot to do before that can happen, including earning a position in a kitchen where I can continue my journey. I worked in a kitchen in Brooklyn for about four months in 2006, and I learned a lot, including the important lesson that working with food, and feeding others, is a great, and reverential, responsibility. I also learned that I really love to cook.)

If you can – and any amount will be appreciated – please click on the PayPal donate/invest button below.

I look forward to welcoming you to my table.

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