A Bresse chicken education
News flash: I've added some new pictures; they begin at the bottom of page 2 in the gallery. Also, thanks to Clotilde of Chocolate & Zucchini for listing me as a "New Blog to Discover" for Blog Day 2005. Her site is gorgeous, thoughtful and inspirational, so certainly check it out if you haven't already.
Long before my arrival in Paris, I had been eagerly anticipating yesterday’s class, when we would participate in “The Identification of Bresse Chickens.” I’d never tasted a Bresse chicken, but I’d heard lots of hype. Of course, living in America means I will probably never have to identify a Bresse chicken again; or even if I did identify one, so what? If they cost 12 euros per kilogram in France, I can only imagine how astronomical they become after crossing the Atlantic. Even this restaurant in Williamsburg, named after the distinctive feet of the Bresse chicken, doesn’t actually serve any. But if they ever need to identify one, they should give me a call.
Our teacher discussed what to look for during purchase: smooth, firm skin, no discernible odor, and the numbers “01” on its leg band, indicating that it hails from the Bresse province. Life starts out pretty well for a Bresse chicken. You get lots of space to roam around and delicious grains and milk to eat. Then they stuff you in a small, dark, wooden box and things go downhill from there.
A low point in the life of a Bresse chicken.
In class that day we made (regular) chicken breasts in citrus vinaigrette and Bresse chicken in tarragon sauce. The Bresse was much firmer than the normal variety and its flesh tasted more complex. I had one bite of pure white breast meat that was pretty sublime; the texture and the depth of flavor were both quite different from an average chicken. I hesitate to call it "gamey", but that's the only word that comes to mind at the moment. The Bresse chicken did not part with its meat as easily as an exhausted sweatshop specimen might. I wanted to pick up the drumstick and gnaw on it, and I am guessing that that probably wouldn’t have gone over too well at the lunch table.
It was an interesting exercise. I don’t think I will decree that from now on my kitchen shall only serve the mighty and proud Bresse chicken, but just knowing how much regulation and pride goes into each animal's upbringing is something to chew on.
Bresse chicken in tarragon sauce with celeriac mousse quenelles.
Normal, lowly chicken in citrus vinaigrette with vegetable tagliatelle and fried celeriac.
Long before my arrival in Paris, I had been eagerly anticipating yesterday’s class, when we would participate in “The Identification of Bresse Chickens.” I’d never tasted a Bresse chicken, but I’d heard lots of hype. Of course, living in America means I will probably never have to identify a Bresse chicken again; or even if I did identify one, so what? If they cost 12 euros per kilogram in France, I can only imagine how astronomical they become after crossing the Atlantic. Even this restaurant in Williamsburg, named after the distinctive feet of the Bresse chicken, doesn’t actually serve any. But if they ever need to identify one, they should give me a call.
Our teacher discussed what to look for during purchase: smooth, firm skin, no discernible odor, and the numbers “01” on its leg band, indicating that it hails from the Bresse province. Life starts out pretty well for a Bresse chicken. You get lots of space to roam around and delicious grains and milk to eat. Then they stuff you in a small, dark, wooden box and things go downhill from there.
In class that day we made (regular) chicken breasts in citrus vinaigrette and Bresse chicken in tarragon sauce. The Bresse was much firmer than the normal variety and its flesh tasted more complex. I had one bite of pure white breast meat that was pretty sublime; the texture and the depth of flavor were both quite different from an average chicken. I hesitate to call it "gamey", but that's the only word that comes to mind at the moment. The Bresse chicken did not part with its meat as easily as an exhausted sweatshop specimen might. I wanted to pick up the drumstick and gnaw on it, and I am guessing that that probably wouldn’t have gone over too well at the lunch table.
It was an interesting exercise. I don’t think I will decree that from now on my kitchen shall only serve the mighty and proud Bresse chicken, but just knowing how much regulation and pride goes into each animal's upbringing is something to chew on.
posted by cindym at 1:06 AM
9 Comments:
I'm having SUCH fun reading your blog. Thanks for the energy in keeping US up to date each day. I know you must be pooped each night!
PS...congrats on the BlogDay mention from Clotilde....that is SUCH a kudo for you!
All the best!
Melissa
Melissa's absolutely right. Your blog is a great read and I'm adding it to my links so I check up on you often.
Congradulations on your mention in Chocolate & Zucchini.
dude - you made that stuff in the pictures there? that is amazing! It's beautiful! It looks fascinating! (I know, a weird word for food but fascinating is the quality I personally look for most, interesting, intriguing, etc.)
Thanks you guys! Yeah, sometimes it's hard to keep up - the days go so fast, but I'm going to do my best.
Hello Cindy,
My question is whether or not Bresse chicken would go well with Teriyaki sauce.
I believe that Bresse chicken would be well suited to accompany a delicious teriyaki sauce, but only if it is of the LaChoy Thick and Rich persuasion. All others are inferior.
I think Im going to have to stop reading your blog RIGHT NOW before I develop an inferiority complex! (Heaven knows my cooking school should!) I am melting over your photos and posts in general, and your LIFE! Awesome. Just awesome!
if you want to taste the full flavour of the chicken then do not use teriyaki sause or any other sause you would not put orange juice into red wine would you or what would be the point of pouring a glass of red wine
mark west sussex england
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