Chicken Fricassee
More than a decade ago, Cooks magazine editor Christopher Kimball lamented the lapse in popularity of Chicken Fricassee.
He was puzzled as to why a dish so simple – basically, browned chicken simmered in a sauce – should be shunned by present-day cooks.
“For many versions of this recipe,” he wrote at the time, “the answer is quite simple. They are either too time consuming or no longer appeal to the modern palate.”
The intervening years have done little to ease this situation. Chicken Fricassee is still relegated to a culinary backwater. This is a pretty sad fate for a dish that traces its origins to ancient Rome and was favored by several U.S. presidents.
The word fricassee is old French, from the feminine past participle of fricasser, to fry, break or crack. It basically refers to any dish that has been browned and then stewed. The Cubans have a Pork Fricassee, and the French Canadians a Beef Fricassee, made of leftover roast.
As with many classic French dishes, this preparation comes to us courtesy of the Romans, who occupied the Gallic provinces in the first century B.C. The ancient gourmet Apicius rejoins us once again, with his recipe for Amulatum aliter, which most modern cooks should have no trouble recognizing:
Disjoint a chicken and bone it. Place the pieces in a stew pan with leeks, dill and salt water or stock. When well done, add pepper and celery seed, thicken with rice (flour); add stock, a dash of raisin wine or must, stir well, serve with the entrees.
This dish, as primitive as it is, forms the basis of the modern fricassee. It’s easy to see how the French, with their extensive access to dairy products, would have added cream to fill out the sauce.
When the French emigrated to modern-day Canada in 1534, they brought many of their favorite recipes with them, including fricassee. As they were engaged in extremely active pursuits such as hunting and logging, they didn’t really have an issue with fat or calories. Rich stews and pies made up a lot of their diet, and one, Poutine, is literally a cardiovascular nightmare.
But, that’s the subject for another column.
As with any dish with such a long history, various permutations exist. William Salmon’s “The Family Dictionary; or Household Companion,” published in England in 1695, offers a recipe enriched with dates, bone marrow, boiled parsnips and shredded endive, garnished with blackberries, loganberries or blackcurrant jam.
Thomas Jefferson opened America to French cuisine when he was appointed minister to France in 1785, taking over from Benjamin Franklin. He brought with him one of his slaves, James Hemmings, who had a rudimentary grasp of French cooking. This would be much enhanced during their tenure, as the Hotel de Langeac became the scene of many lavish dinners, with Jefferson presiding.
By the time of his return to the United States in 1789, Jefferson was ready to revolutionize American cuisine.
Jefferson became president in 1801, and his dinners were the subject of much gossip and celebration. He hired he celebrated French chef Honore Julien, and soon popularized Gallic cuisine throughout Washington. Chicken Fricassee was on its way to becoming entrenched in American cultural tradition.
Of course, not everyone was enthusiastic about this turn of events. Famous patriot Patrick Henry, upon attending one of Jefferson’s dinners, complained he had “abjured his native victuals in favor of French cuisine.”
Abraham Lincoln was another advocate of this dish. Normally, Lincoln would forget to consume breakfast, and had to be forced to eat lunch by his wife. Basically, he was generally content to munch on apples, and his favorite dish was a simple fruit salad accompanied by cheese and crackers.
But he also had a soft spot for Chicken Fricassee, the sauce ladled over powder biscuits.
When Julia Child published her book “Mastering French Cooking” and hosted the legendary PBS show “The French Cook” in the early 1960s, the public was once again enamored of Gallic cuisine. Unfortunately, this didn’t last, and by the early 1980s, the conception that this kind of cooking was “fussy” had once again taken hold, dooming Chicken Fricassee to obscurity.
This recipe has been changed from the original in one or two ways, generally to suit my own taste. For instance, it originally called for the chicken to be sauteed in butter, the skin still intact. As this is going to poach for a while, however, and I have an aversion to sloppy chicken skin, I opted to alter that.
Serve this with some white rice or French bread and a good salad, and you’ll discover a long-neglected gem.
CHICKEN FRICASSEE
1 chicken, 3-4 pounds, skinned and cut up (reserve skin)
2 tablespoons butter
2½ cups chicken stock
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 pound mushrooms, washed and halved
½ cup dry white wine or sherry
3 tablespoons flour
1 cup self-rising flour
1 cup half and half
2 sprigs fresh thyme and rosemary
1½ tablespoons lemon juice
¼ cup fresh chopped parsley leaves
Salt and pepper, to taste
You’ll need two pans for this recipe: a Dutch oven and a cast iron frying pan. Heat the frying pan over a medium heat and add the chicken skin. Sautee until the skin is crisped and the fat is rendered, about 10 minutes.
Place the chicken pieces in a large plastic bag with the self-rising flour and toss until well-covered. Cook the chicken in batches in the pan, making sure they are well browned and slightly crispy on the outside. Remove to the Dutch oven. After all the chicken has been browned, add the chicken stock, wine and herbs and simmer for about half an hour.
Meanwhile, clean out the skillet, leaving about one tablespoon of the oil. Sautee the mushrooms and onions together until tender. Remove the chicken pieces from the Dutch oven and place in a bowl. Add the mushrooms and onions and keep warm.
Rinse out the skillet. Melt the butter, and add the flour, stirring until you form a roux. Pour the stock into the pan, and stir until well thickened. Add half and half, to finish the sauce. Place the chicken on warmed plates, and pour the sauce over the top. Serve with rice or French bread and a salad.
Makes four servings.
Eric Stanway can be reached at Eric.Stanway@yahoo.com or www.Eric Stanway.com.
