In France, Sunday lunches are sacred. They are a time for family and friends to gather together, put the work week on hold, and come back to the table to the things that inspire. Monday’s Leftovers is a periodical series that recaps those moments, the lunches, and the memories that are left long after the dishes are done.
Sunday morning arrived without the sun; clouds hung low on the mountain ridge bringing with it damp air and cold drizzles. It was not a day to work in the garden, so I decided to attack the neglected house that desperately needed cleaning. After breakfast dishes were cleared away, Christophe got busy preparing lunch: coq au vin.
Considered at one time to be “peasant food”, coq au vin is made from the old farm rooster that has just gotten too old. Unlike supermarket chickens, which are sold at 6-8 weeks after hatching, an old coq is firm and can withstand stewing. In fact, slow cooking in wine is required to render the meat tender and less stringy.
The origin of the recipe for coq au vin is unknown. Some say it’s from the Bourgogne region of France; others say it dates back to Napoleon who was served the dish at an inn when no other food could be found; and the most popular myth dates from when Caesar conquered Gaul. As tribute, the inhabitants presented him with an old rooster, which his chef cooked with wine to make it more palatable.
Regardless of where and when it came from, its roots remain provincial, modest, and rustic.
As I cleared away the cobwebs that decorate the beamed ceiling overhead, Christophe finds a compilation jazz CD: Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, Sarah Vaughan, and Dinah Washington. Their sultry voices start to mix with the odors of braised shallots and wine and I’m suddenly hungry, but it’s only 10 am. I’ll have to wait a few more hours until I can taste what’s in the pot. It’s going to be a long, anticipation filled morning.
After several dust filled hours, I’m finally invited to the lunch table. I’m served a glass of wine and a heaping plate of coq au vin filled with a rich sauce, caramelized shallots, and meaty mushrooms. I look at Christophe and all I can say before I dive into the plate is, “Why haven’t you served this before?”
He just smiles.
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