Minnesota Icebox & Hot Tempered Arugula: Coq au Vin
I am flying to Minneapolis tomorrow to speak at the Twin Cities Food and Wine Experience. (Come see me, Saturday at noon. How can you resist a seminar called "Get Saucy!"?) I bet dollars to donuts I'll be the only demo chef wearing a dress. Then again, you know I consider myself a cook, not a chef, so that shouldn't surprise.
I've been happy enduring our 65 degree winter days, and happier still when the thermometer funks down below 40. Who knows how many cold New York days we have left? I love each of them as best I can, celebrating with grilled cheese, chocolate fondue, coq au vin and short ribs.
But the thought of going to the land of 40 below gives me pause. My comforter-coat and Russian fur hat might be snuggly in Brooklyn (lord knows it ain't chic), but will that Minneapolis wind rip right through my good cold weather intentions? And what about my Summit Avenue jog? Can one leave the house when it's 40-below?
I've heard stories of habitrail-like tubes for getting around downtown, for fear of interacting with actual cold fresh air. But this is the land of Garrison Keillor and Lynn Rosetto-Kasper; I am confident in the problem solving-skills of the average Minnesotan, and hopeful as to their hospitality. This weary traveler is convident she'll be shown the way upon arrival. No use fussing the solution if I can't wrap my head around the challenge.
It's like the arugula I'm growing (stay with me on this). This fall, the good folks at AeroGrow just sent me a sample indoor garden growing kit, with seeds for assorted lettuces and herbs. I've never grown lettuce before, and decided to start with a mix of arugula and baby greens. I was to be assisted by lightbulbs, water, nutrient tablets, and a daily dose of NPR; neither sun nor soil would touch my vegetables.
As the lettuces grew, I felt like an cosmopolitan earth-momma but houseguests looked at the garden with contempt and fear. One turned her nose up at dirt-free greens on priciple. Another claimed the leaves had the texture of wet paper. Since they could wilt from a stern glance, it was not possible to both wash and dress them.
The arugula was the most puzzling of my crop. When I pulled a small leaf to get a taste, it pulled back. As I chewed the quarter-sized leaflet, it was sharp and bitter; not peppery like arugula typically is. I kind of gasped when I ate it, and took short breaths quickly to cool my mouth, like you would with an unanticipated pepper sauce. It was an ouch-hot reaction, not a yum-spice reaction. It was as if I'd grated fresh horseradish directly onto my tongue.
So much ferocity from a flaccid green leaf? It surprised me too. Until a friend told me that herbs are known to come into their best flavor under duress. That basil that grows up in the crack in the sidewalk? It will have a better flavor than the plant you tend in your garden. Adversity breeds character.
My arugula lived a kushy life, pampered as a Park Slope puppy. No hot sun, no near-frost nights, no wind, no puddles, no animals running on his head, no lawnmovers eating his parents. Nothing to make life interesting. My pissed off plant internalized the challenges he never felt, and tasted like his untested mettle.
So let me have it, Minneapolis: Show me what I need to grow.
COQ AU VIN
For The Wooden Spoon, by Allison Fishman
Serves 4 to 6
Coq Au Vin is a dish from the French countryside, traditionally made with an old rooster and a generous cupful of his blood (the secret to a delectable sauce). In Manhattan, such items are difficult to come by, so I’ve tweaked this recipe to reflect what we have access to. It’s very good. If you want to go for bloody good, finely chop the chicken liver and add it to the sauce at the end.
3-ounce chunk of bacon, cut into lardons (1/4-inch x 1/4-inch x 1-inch tall)
3 1/2 pound chicken, cut into 8 pieces
Salt and pepper
1/2 tablespoon tomato paste
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme or 5 branches of fresh thyme
1 8 or 10-ounce container white mushrooms, washed, trimmed, and quartered
1 cup frozen pearl onions, defrosted
1/4 cup cognac or brandy
2 cups red wine (burgundy, beaujolais, cote du rhone)
1 cup low-sodium chicken or beef stock (a homemade brown chicken stock is ideal)
1 tablespoon flour
1 tablespoons softened butter, room temperature
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves, roughly chopped
1. Cook bacon in a 10-inch skillet over medium heat until crispy, about 8 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon. Pour out excess bacon fat. Season chicken and pat dry; place chicken, skin side down, in the skillet. Cook chicken over medium-high heat until golden; 8 to 10 minutes for the first side, 4 to 6 minutes for the second side. You may need to do this in batches. Remove chicken and reserve. Pour out excess fat from pan.
2. Reduce heat to medium low and add tomato paste to skillet stir to coat skillet, and cook paste until it begins to brown, about 1 minute. Add thyme, mushrooms, and pearl onions; raise heat to medium and cook until mushrooms let out their liquid and the liquid reduces, about 8 minutes.
3. Remove skillet from the heat, and pour in cognac or brandy. Gently tip the skillet over the flame; allow the vegetables will flambé. It will take about a minute to cook off the alcohol, don’t worry about the flame, but be careful. Reduce an additional minute; remove the vegetables with a slotted spoon, but leave the thyme branches in the skillet (if using). Add 2 cups of red wine and return the chicken to the skillet. Pour in as much stock as needed to cover the chicken by 3/4; you may need as little as a 1/2 cup or as much as two. Bring the liquid to a simmer, and gently cook the chicken until cooked through, about 25 to 30 minutes. Remove the chicken from the skillet and keep warm.
4. Reduce the sauce to 3/4 cup; this will take about 15 minutes. Return the mushrooms and onions to the skillet; remove the thyme branches (if using). Return the sauce to a simmer. Examine the thickness of the sauce. If it is thick enough (think: hot maple syrup) leave it as is. If you’d like it thicker, combine the butter and the flour to form a paste. Whisk this mixture into the sauce, 1/2 teaspoon at a time, until the sauce achieves a thickness you like.
Serve the chicken with the sauce, garnished with parsley leaves.
I've been happy enduring our 65 degree winter days, and happier still when the thermometer funks down below 40. Who knows how many cold New York days we have left? I love each of them as best I can, celebrating with grilled cheese, chocolate fondue, coq au vin and short ribs.
But the thought of going to the land of 40 below gives me pause. My comforter-coat and Russian fur hat might be snuggly in Brooklyn (lord knows it ain't chic), but will that Minneapolis wind rip right through my good cold weather intentions? And what about my Summit Avenue jog? Can one leave the house when it's 40-below?
I've heard stories of habitrail-like tubes for getting around downtown, for fear of interacting with actual cold fresh air. But this is the land of Garrison Keillor and Lynn Rosetto-Kasper; I am confident in the problem solving-skills of the average Minnesotan, and hopeful as to their hospitality. This weary traveler is convident she'll be shown the way upon arrival. No use fussing the solution if I can't wrap my head around the challenge.
It's like the arugula I'm growing (stay with me on this). This fall, the good folks at AeroGrow just sent me a sample indoor garden growing kit, with seeds for assorted lettuces and herbs. I've never grown lettuce before, and decided to start with a mix of arugula and baby greens. I was to be assisted by lightbulbs, water, nutrient tablets, and a daily dose of NPR; neither sun nor soil would touch my vegetables.
As the lettuces grew, I felt like an cosmopolitan earth-momma but houseguests looked at the garden with contempt and fear. One turned her nose up at dirt-free greens on priciple. Another claimed the leaves had the texture of wet paper. Since they could wilt from a stern glance, it was not possible to both wash and dress them.
The arugula was the most puzzling of my crop. When I pulled a small leaf to get a taste, it pulled back. As I chewed the quarter-sized leaflet, it was sharp and bitter; not peppery like arugula typically is. I kind of gasped when I ate it, and took short breaths quickly to cool my mouth, like you would with an unanticipated pepper sauce. It was an ouch-hot reaction, not a yum-spice reaction. It was as if I'd grated fresh horseradish directly onto my tongue.
So much ferocity from a flaccid green leaf? It surprised me too. Until a friend told me that herbs are known to come into their best flavor under duress. That basil that grows up in the crack in the sidewalk? It will have a better flavor than the plant you tend in your garden. Adversity breeds character.
My arugula lived a kushy life, pampered as a Park Slope puppy. No hot sun, no near-frost nights, no wind, no puddles, no animals running on his head, no lawnmovers eating his parents. Nothing to make life interesting. My pissed off plant internalized the challenges he never felt, and tasted like his untested mettle.
So let me have it, Minneapolis: Show me what I need to grow.
COQ AU VIN
For The Wooden Spoon, by Allison Fishman
Serves 4 to 6
Coq Au Vin is a dish from the French countryside, traditionally made with an old rooster and a generous cupful of his blood (the secret to a delectable sauce). In Manhattan, such items are difficult to come by, so I’ve tweaked this recipe to reflect what we have access to. It’s very good. If you want to go for bloody good, finely chop the chicken liver and add it to the sauce at the end.
3-ounce chunk of bacon, cut into lardons (1/4-inch x 1/4-inch x 1-inch tall)
3 1/2 pound chicken, cut into 8 pieces
Salt and pepper
1/2 tablespoon tomato paste
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme or 5 branches of fresh thyme
1 8 or 10-ounce container white mushrooms, washed, trimmed, and quartered
1 cup frozen pearl onions, defrosted
1/4 cup cognac or brandy
2 cups red wine (burgundy, beaujolais, cote du rhone)
1 cup low-sodium chicken or beef stock (a homemade brown chicken stock is ideal)
1 tablespoon flour
1 tablespoons softened butter, room temperature
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves, roughly chopped
1. Cook bacon in a 10-inch skillet over medium heat until crispy, about 8 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon. Pour out excess bacon fat. Season chicken and pat dry; place chicken, skin side down, in the skillet. Cook chicken over medium-high heat until golden; 8 to 10 minutes for the first side, 4 to 6 minutes for the second side. You may need to do this in batches. Remove chicken and reserve. Pour out excess fat from pan.
2. Reduce heat to medium low and add tomato paste to skillet stir to coat skillet, and cook paste until it begins to brown, about 1 minute. Add thyme, mushrooms, and pearl onions; raise heat to medium and cook until mushrooms let out their liquid and the liquid reduces, about 8 minutes.
3. Remove skillet from the heat, and pour in cognac or brandy. Gently tip the skillet over the flame; allow the vegetables will flambé. It will take about a minute to cook off the alcohol, don’t worry about the flame, but be careful. Reduce an additional minute; remove the vegetables with a slotted spoon, but leave the thyme branches in the skillet (if using). Add 2 cups of red wine and return the chicken to the skillet. Pour in as much stock as needed to cover the chicken by 3/4; you may need as little as a 1/2 cup or as much as two. Bring the liquid to a simmer, and gently cook the chicken until cooked through, about 25 to 30 minutes. Remove the chicken from the skillet and keep warm.
4. Reduce the sauce to 3/4 cup; this will take about 15 minutes. Return the mushrooms and onions to the skillet; remove the thyme branches (if using). Return the sauce to a simmer. Examine the thickness of the sauce. If it is thick enough (think: hot maple syrup) leave it as is. If you’d like it thicker, combine the butter and the flour to form a paste. Whisk this mixture into the sauce, 1/2 teaspoon at a time, until the sauce achieves a thickness you like.
Serve the chicken with the sauce, garnished with parsley leaves.
posted by Allison Fishman at 11:44 AM
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