This column originally was published in 2006. John Kessler is working on a project and will resume writing fresh columns soon.
I was an adult before I realized that the dish my mother served company — cocoa van — was, in fact, the French recipe coq au vin. True, I had never actually tasted the cocoa in this saucy chicken, but I had assumed the word was figurative, like the “dog” following hot or the (presumed) “corn” preceding “beef hash.” We didn’t parse food.
My mother always browned the chicken in her big cast-iron skillet on top of sizzling, fat-pooling slices of bacon. Along the way, she factored in onions, garlic, red cooking wine and a heavy lid, under which the chicken gave up any hope of turning to rubber.
The white meat came out firm but not parching or chalky, and the dark meat had lost its gushy pockets of fat during the long braise. Also wonderful: the thin, oily sauce with its flavors of bacon smoke and sweet onion against a winy background. If each serving contained a wiggly piece of skin or boiled bacon, well, that was part of the charm of cocoa van.
The chicken was the centerpiece of an inviolate, set entertaining menu. On the side came mushroom rice (Minute Rice with chopped mushrooms) and a congealed salad ring made with syrupy canned blueberries and lemon gelatin, then filled with an entire tub of sour cream.
Maybe it was the Jell-O that made me turn. Maybe my burgeoning Francophilia. But the first time I braised chicken in red wine, I decided to make a “real” coq au vin. This effort meant — first and foremost — switching from slices of smoked Oscar Mayer bacon to lardons, or cubes of salt-cured pork.
The French don’t cook with breakfast meats. But making a coq au vin also meant fresh herbs, veal stock and a finished sauce that clings to the meat rather than serves as a wading pool.
The coq au vin I developed was always good — very good — in a restaurant-food kind of way. And, so, I made it less and less over the years.
When I did, the veal stock would be replaced with canned broth, the fresh herbs with dried, the organic chicken with whatever bird Frank Perdue had to sell.
Then, I finally stopped dicing pancetta or salt pork for lardons and took out the package of Oscar Mayer.
Bingo.
When I lift the lid and smell the smoke and fried onions, it’s 1975, and people are coming over for dinner.
I look at those white-streaked slices of limp bacon and I might as well be looking into my mother’s old cast-iron skillet and dreaming of leftover blueberry mold for a week.
Chicken Braised in Red Wine, aka Cocoa Van
So, this isn’t exactly my mother’s ’70s party-dish recipe intact. I use good, cheap drinking wine instead of “cooking wine, ” cut down on the amount of sauce, and create an extra step in re-crisping the chicken skin and bacon under the broiler. Oh, and I add carrots because I see no reason to spend an hour braising meat and not add carrots.
1 whole chicken, cut up
Salt and pepper
1/4 cup all-purpose flour for dredging
4 slices bacon
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, halved and thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 carrots, peeled and cut in thick rounds
1 tablespoon tomato paste
2 cups drinkable red wine
1 sprig fresh thyme or 1/2 teaspoon dried
1 cup canned chicken or beef broth (or water), as needed
If the chicken breasts are large, cut them in half through the bone with a large, sharp knife. Season the chicken and dredge it in flour; shake off excess.
Fry the bacon in a large cast-iron or other heavy skillet until crisp; set aside and do not drain pan. Add the oil to the pan and fry the chicken pieces over a medium-high flame until brown on all sides; set aside.
Add the onion, garlic and carrots to the pan and fry until onions wilt and carrots start to brown. Add the tomato paste and fry until it starts to brown and stick to the pan. Add the wine and the thyme and stir with a wooden spoon, loosening browned bits into the sauce. When the wine has reduced by half, put the chicken and bacon in the pan. Add enough broth or water until the liquid rises halfway up the side of the largest piece of chicken. Cover with a tight-fitting lid and braise over a medium-low flame for 45 minutes, turning chicken once in the sauce.
When ready to serve, arrange the chicken and vegetables in an oven-safe dish or casserole with the bacon slices across the top. Drain the sauce to a large measuring cup and let sit until the fat rises to the top. Remove fat and pour sauce over chicken. Broil 6 inches from the element until the chicken skin and bacon re-crisp, about 5 minutes. If you spoon the sauce over the chicken a couple of times as it broils, you’ll make a nice glaze on the meat. Serve with pasta or rice mixed with mushrooms. Blueberry mold optional. Serves 4-6.
Per serving (based on 4): 440 calories (percent of calories from fat, 40), 36 grams protein, 18 grams carbohydrates, 3 grams fiber, 16 grams fat (4 grams saturated), 95 milligrams cholesterol, 533 milligrams sodium.
