We stayed up later than usual, watching Truffaut's first masterpiece, The 400 Blows, and sipping Black Box Merlot (which is a stable everyday red, and most economical.) I had been intermittently tip-toeing into the kitchen to investigate a noise, which is probably why I still don't know why the number of blows was 400.Initially, I suspected the faint sounds I heard were nothing more than something settling in the sink - the only remains from the delicious Coq au Vin I made earlier. Well, it wasn't. The noise maker was not a soiled copper pot or a soaking bowl. It was the tiny brownish-grey cousin of a previous house guest.
Regular readers may well remember the notorious and late Mr. Jingles. He is not to be confused with this mouse, however, who has absolutely no drive or ambition and is the shame of the Jingles family name. He shall remain nameless until it can be solidly concluded that there is in fact a familial connection.
I know why he came, though, and it wasn't just to frighten me into the safe haven of the divan, too scared to let my feet dangle. It wasn't just to remind me that no matter how high and mighty I think I am, what with my fancy French cafe au lait bowls, that I still live in Brooklyn. And so do a few mice.
But really, the main reason for this lesser cousin's visit was that I jinxed myself. I announced, "I am making a Coq au Vin that is going to change the world. This Coq au Vin will be so scrumptious even the mice will come out of the woodwork when they smell it." Ha ha. Ha. Ha. Well, I brought it on myself.
I suppose I can't blame him. The aroma that wafted out of the kitchen was too much of a temptation for any man, let alone a little mouse.
This is the way you do it. Coq au Vin sans mouse:
Gather a nice bird such as a capon, rooster, or organic chicken. (I used chicken), several handfuls of fresh thyme, parsley, and bay leaves, a pound of wild mushrooms (or whatever you find and like), 12 to 16 ounces of organic bacon, unsalted butter, sea salt, chicken stock, flour, a bottle of cheap red wine, and Brandy.
Rinse and pat dry the bird, then cut it into pieces, taking care not to mangle it like I did the first time I butchered a bird. Cut into pieces, separating the legs, thighs, wings, and breasts. Set gizzards aside. Save the spine and any bones, fat, or meat for later, when you make a soup.
In a large pot, brown the meat in about 2 tablespoons of butter with skin on, until all sides are a light golden hue. Remove and place in bowl. Rub with sea salt and black pepper.
Add the bacon to the pot and cook until done, then put the chicken pieces back in the pot.
Add the ¼ cup of Brandy. Make sure your sleeves are out of the way and your hair is tied back, and light a match just over the liquid. A flame will shoot up, and eventually die down. Watch in amazement.
Add the bacon and gizzards, bouquet garni (the herbs, tied together), red wine, and cover with chicken stock so that all the meat is submerged. (average 2 cups). Bring to boil, lower the heat to med low and cover. Let simmer for about an hour for a chicken, or up to 2 hrs for a larger bird.
In a small bowl, mix together a few tablespoons of butter and about a 1/4 cup of flour. Add this paste to the pot to thicken the sauce, leave off the lid, and let it cook down a bit. You may need to add a bit more flour, little by little, if it isn't thick enough for you. I put about 1/2 cup of spelt flour when all was said and done.
Saute the mushrooms in butter, and when the dish is ready to be served, ladle them on top of each serving.
Check for a mouse.
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