No. 1909

Chicken a l'Aquitaine—Braised

Poulet Braise a l'Aquitaine

Draw and singe a fine corn-fed chicken weighing two and a half to three pounds; break the breastbone and fill the inside with a good dressing composed of beef marrow and raw ham combined with a handful of bread-crumbs, one egg-yolk, salt and nutmeg; sew up the stomach skin at the vent and truss with the legs inside; cover with slices of fat pork and then lay it in a narrow saucepan garnished with a bunch of parsley containing two cloves, some ham trimmings and an onion; moisten to half the height of the chicken with broth and allow the liquid to boil for a few moments, then set the saucepan on a slower fire to have it cook from half to three-quarters of an hour, basting it over frequently and letting it acquire a fine color. Strain off the stock, remove its fat and reduce it with espagnole sauce (No. 414) to the consistency of a half-glaze sauce. Infuse a piece of cinnamon in a gill of Madeira wine for fifteen minutes, strain it through a napkin and add it to the sauce. Place in a saucepan some round and well-pared slices of duck's liver, some cocks'-combs and kidneys, truffles and mushrooms; pour two-thirds of the above sauce over these, then untruss the chicken and dress it with the garnishing distributed around and the remainder of the sauce served in a separate sauce-boat.

← No. 1908 Spring Chickens As an Entree, Roasted—Small Chicken No. 1910 Chickens a la Leonia—Boiled →

For the Modern Kitchen

A late-nineteenth-century braise from Ranhofer's The Epicurean, written for a kitchen with a standing stock pot and a butcher who saved oddments. Most of the work is in the garnish and the sauce; the bird itself is straightforward.

The hinge: a narrow panRanhofer specifies a narrow saucepan so the broth reaches halfway up the bird without dilution. In a wide pot you will need far more liquid, the stock will not reduce to a glaze, and the exposed breast will not color. Use a deep pot barely wider than the chicken, or a small oval Dutch oven.
A gillHalf a cup, here of Madeira. Steep the cinnamon in it cold or barely warm for fifteen minutes, then strain; simmering the wine drives off the aroma the infusion is meant to add.
Beef marrowAsk a butcher for marrow bones and scoop the raw marrow, or buy canoe-cut bones and roast them briefly to loosen it. Raw ham means an uncooked cured ham such as prosciutto or speck, not boiled deli ham; chop it fine so the forcemeat binds with the single yolk.
Fat porkSheets of fresh pork back fat, sold as barding fat. Thinly sliced fatback or unsmoked pancetta works; smoked bacon will overwhelm the Madeira. Remove the barding for the last stretch of cooking so the breast browns.
Cocks'-combs and kidneysBoth are effectively unobtainable in retail markets now, and duck liver in this quantity is a specialty order. The garnish holds up perfectly well as truffle (or good mushrooms in truffle butter) with sauteed chicken livers; the sauce is what carries the dish.
EspagnoleNo. 414 is a brown sauce built on a long-cooked brown roux and stock, reduced at length. A well-made reduced brown veal stock, or a demi-glace, stands in without embarrassment. Reduce it with the strained braising liquid until it coats a spoon.
Time and temperatureHalf to three-quarters of an hour is right for a 2.5-3 lb bird stuffed with a forcemeat only if the liquid stays at a bare simmer and you baste often. Check the thigh joint and the center of the dressing rather than the clock; both want 165F, and stuffed poultry usually needs the longer end of the range.
Corn-fed chickenIn 1894 this meant a grain-finished farm bird with real fat under the skin. A good air-chilled roasting chicken at the small end of the size range is the modern equivalent; avoid anything brined or pre-seasoned, which will fight the ham and marrow.
YieldFour servings as written, three if the garnish is skipped. The recipe has the bird untrussed and dressed whole with the garnish around it and the remaining sauce in a sauce-boat.

A Little History

Charles Ranhofer ran the kitchen at Delmonico's in New York for over thirty years, and The Epicurean (1894) is essentially his numbered service manual, cross-referenced so a cook could look up No. 414 without leaving the line. The name points to Aquitaine in southwestern France, and the components fit that shorthand: fattened duck or goose liver, truffles, cured ham, Madeira. Whether any cook in Bordeaux would have recognized the dish is another matter; nineteenth-century restaurant French attached regional names freely to signal a set of luxury ingredients rather than a documented local tradition. The cocks' combs and kidneys in the garnish are the real period marker. They were long established in high-end French garnitures, prized for texture, and they disappeared from menus along with the brigade kitchens that had the labor to trim them.