Forks in Our Road: Happy Bendiversary!

Friday, March 31, 2023

Happy Bendiversary!

[Ed note: so I started this post on February 11, never expecting that I would shatter my left foot on the 15th in a freak accident and here it is already the first of April before I'm feeling up to working at the computer again.]

Time is flying right by! It struck me a couple weeks back that we were quickly coming up on the first anniversary of our moving to Bend on February 10, 2022 from our prior home in McMinnville, closing a year that zoomed by at warp speed. I thought we should celebrate if for no other reason than we don't do enough celebrating in our busy lives. And time is flying right by!

Here's to a Year in Bend!

I asked Ann if she would have a date with me on the 10th to celebrate moving. Her immediate acceptance was never in question! I planned a stay-home date without telling Ann, because we have a brand new kitchen in our house to celebrate. I thought that celebrating by making a nice dinner at home and having a date at our new kitchen counter would be both fitting and appropriate.

At first, I let Ann believe that we were going to a restaurant, but there was no way that I could pull off a meal in the kitchen and still maintain the ruse of going out. A day or two before, I told her what my plan was and enlisted her help in making the island counter look nice. To that end, I bought a bunch of spider mums and Siberian iris and arranged them. Ann set our places at the counter.

All Set for the Two of Us

Ann Taking the Shot Above

In thinking about what to make for our celebration, I recalled that recently Ann has been pinging me about making coq au vin, a dish that she has never had before (incredible, if I may say so). This got me planning a French-inspired menu for our celebration. French food is something that I am well versed in and certainly classic French technique underpinned nearly everything that we did at the restaurant.

Even if we desired to dine out, there is no French restaurant at all in this part of Central Oregon. And besides, I don't get the urge to get in the kitchen and cook much any more, so I wanted to strike while the proverbial iron was hot and make a delightful rendition of coq au vin for Ann.

I planned a simple menu of tartines, coq au vin, and cheese (which we never got around to eating, so filling was dinner). Tartines are a classic component of the apéro, the French happy hour and are typically small open-faced sandwiches. And the difference between a tartine and a canapé is in the eye of the beholder. To me, a canapé is much more of a one-biter and a tartine is slightly larger. YMMV.

Tartines of Mousse Truffée, Cornichons, Dill, and Lemon Zest

For tartines, I thought they should be slightly decadent and worthy of a celebration, so I stopped by our high-end grocery store for a locally baked baguette and a block of mousse truffée, truffled foie gras mousse. Rounding out the toppings are split cornichons, sprigs of dill, lemon zest, and a sprinkle of my very best salt. The result: simple, elegant, and terribly easy to make.

To accompany them, I opened a bottle of Champagne, a great non-vintage blend with both red and white notes. The nutty raspberry notes from the red fruit (Pinot noir and Pinot meunier) work well with the foie gras while the lemony acidity from the Chardonnay really help cut through the fat.

Champagne: The Celebratory Drink of Choice

For our plat principal, our main course, I made an upscale coq au vin. Coq au vin and its many variations are a classic of French country cooking, traditionally a tough old rooster (coq) braised to tenderness in wine (vin). The wine varies depending on the region of France, to wit: coq au champagne from the Champagne, coq au riesling from Alsace, coq au vin jaune from the Jura, coq au chambertin from Bourgogne, etc.

While I have fond memories of sitting in a tiny, homey, low-ceilinged café in Fleurie chatting away waiting for our Bresse hen to braise to tenderness in a bath of Beaujolais, because of its humble origins, coq au vin is not a dish found in too many higher end French restaurants. By extension, I never made it at my restaurant: it would not have sold, being too homey and not chi chi enough for fine dining. Pity that.

Traditionally, a whole chicken is cut up, browned, and braised with white mushrooms, pork belly lardons, onions, carrots, red wine, and often a good slug of Cognac. Once the chicken is tender, the braising liquid is thickened with beurre manié, a flour and butter mixture.

While I have cooked it just so, these days, my fine dining chef instincts kick in, especially for a celebration and I deviate slightly from the canonical recipe. I think the food gods will allow this liberty because I have paid my dues in over 40 years of making the dish.

I start deviating with the chicken. It was traditionally made from an old and tough yard bird, but that has morphed into using younger Bresse hens, at least in more upscale places. In any case, the bird is cut into pieces and cooked and served on the bone.

In America at least (I cannot speak for France), the chicken quality is poor and the white breast meat is almost uniformly terrible. I would rather eat nothing than breast meat and so I only use thighs for their succulent and tender meat. And in this particular case, I deboned the thighs and halved them, wanting to do a nice presentation and to avoid having to deal with bones at the table.

Most high-end versions use whole tiny onions; I prefer whole small shallots. Because of the slight garlic undertone of the shallots, I forego any garlic. Instead of plain pork belly, I have a great fondness for using American smoked bacon if for no other reason that it plays so well against red Burgundy and Beaujolais. I really do not care for white mushrooms, the mushroom used in the classic preparation, the mushroom that the French call champignons de Paris. And so, I use rehydrated dried porcini to amp the earthiness of the dish.