Monday, January 3, 2011

avoiding the obvious penis jokes

88. Coq au vin

Something I've learnt from Larousse Gastronomique over the course of a few recipes: French braises aren't always based on mirepoix. Sounds a bit odd, but every other book I have with French recipes--well, most of the books, anyway--bases pretty much all braises and stews, including coq au vin, on the holy trinity of carrot, celery and onion. Leeks may or may not enter the picture.


There are lots of recipes in Larousse Gastronomique that work like that but a hell of a lot that don't. I understand, I think, why vegetables are usually added. Flavour. If they're actually served, rather than removed with a sieve, they add colour and texture and body to the liquid component of the dish. I don't understand why Larousse Gastronomique omits them. I just accept it.

That's the first point. The second point is on this dish specifically: coq au vin, the dish that, when I first got right, taught me why everyone makes such a big deal about French cooking. The first time I made it with a rooster and okay wine, I understood. Pretty much, without me making coq au vin, there would be blog. Coq au vin was my gateway drug.

The 'coq au vin' entry does mention that coq au vin is supposed to be made with coq (rooster), which I can easily buy in Springvale, but mentions that it's more usually made with chicken. This coq au vin recipe specifies chicken. In the past I've found that coq au vin made the old way is better but, given Larousse Gastronomique will let me do that later (there's more than one recipe for coq au vin), I'll follow the Book's wisdom today.


Aside from the noticeable lack of a mirepoix, the process for making Larousse Gastronomique's coq au vin is very familar. You brown a portioned chicken along with some diced bacon, sliced garlic, peeled pearl onions and small mushrooms. You add brandy and wine and you stew the whole lot. I added a star anise pod to the obligatory bouquet garni. I picked up this from Heston Blumenthal a while ago and have been using it in in bouquet garnis for meaty braises and stews ever since.


When making braises and stews like coq au vin, I like to retain all the bones and other off-cuts. These I brown along with the meat (and actually add them to the liquid, if there's enough to go round--as in, a daube made with a cut like lamb neck or beef shin) I'm actually going to eat. They boost the flavour. You could also make a quick stock with them.

As with many braises in Larousse Gastronomique, the cooking liquid is thickened with beurre manie. Beurre manie is a sort of dough made from equal parts butter and flour. You add it to the liquid about ten to fifteen minutes before the end of cooking time, allowing the flour to cook. It's old-fashioned. A lot of modern authors I've read look down upon it and similar methods of thickening sauces and braising liquids, such as the roux. Personally, I find it part of the charm of coq au vin.

It's a fairly good version of coq au vin. I find it's hard to go wrong with this dish. Even if you use generic cultivated mushrooms, a supermarket chicken and utility wine--I used a $10 bottle of Cab Sauv I was given for my birthday by my uncle and aunt--it turns out okay. After all, coq au vin is classic poor people food. I doubt the people who first made this dish shopped at the fine wine shop in Malvern.


89. Hashed potatoes

Hashed potatoes are 'typical of American cooking.' That's what the recipe says. And I can imagine the author of that recipe--the original French guy, at least--uttering those words in disdain. Still, whatever. Despite my love of many French things, I like hashed potatoes, which are made by boiling potatoes until soft, squishing them into a large pancake shape and frying them until golden brown on both sides.

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