It’s a tricky business, these so-called “original” recipes. The internet is full of them; everyone wants to stamp their post, their blog, their story with the label “original”. And anyone who falls for it has only themselves to blame.
No wonder the label works so well. After all, who wants a copy – a cheap one, at worst? No, if we’re going to do it, it has to be the original; we cook nothing less.
But sadly – like so much in this world – it isn’t that simple. Very few recipes have a precise definition of what “original” or “authentic” means. Those are the ones once invented by a brilliant cook and set down precisely too. Like the Caesar salad, created in 1924 by the Italian cook Cesare Cardini with his brother Alex. Or the famous Peach Melba by Auguste Escoffier in honour of the Australian soprano Nellie Melba.
And then there are original recipes with no named inventor, yet whose preparation is undisputed in their place of origin. Anyone making carbonara uses guanciale, not cream. Whoever uses bacon instead, or – worse still – ham plus Parmesan, had better hide well in Italy. The original is something else entirely.
And yet the longing for THE original recipe has been with me for decades. Whether it’s ragù alla bolognese, Hungarian goulash (which is actually called pörkölt) or Wiener Schnitzel. If you’re lucky, there’s a highly official definition. Like the original recipe for ragù, lodged with the Camera di Commercio in Bologna. And how to prepare a Wiener Schnitzel properly is set out in entry no. 169 of the register of traditional foods of the Austrian Federal Ministry of Agriculture, Regions and Tourism. The Austrians like things formal.
The search is a little harder, but also infinitely more rewarding, when nothing is defined or lodged in writing. When every family in the region of origin has its own (secret, of course!) house recipe and swears it’s the only right one. As with the ultimate French classic, the coq au vin from Burgundy.
To track down the “original” recipe here, you need the archaeological skills of an Indiana Jones; a Google search won’t do. It throws up over a million “original” recipes, and 99 per cent of them have guaranteed nothing to do with the real thing. They may all be original in the sense of inventive – authentic they are not.
It starts with the name. “Coq” doesn’t mean hen but rooster. Its meat is far more flavourful, but also drier, than that of its sisters. So on principle I disregard every coq au vin recipe that takes a hen as its base. And all those that suggest a quick preparation. The rooster has to be marinated overnight, no argument! And yes: pearl onions and mushrooms belong in it too, caramelised beforehand with a little sugar. Even if it’s a bit of work.
Speaking of work: coq au vin can’t be rushed. The rooster’s rather tough meat becomes meltingly tender only through long marinating and long cooking. And with time the flavours of the various ingredients marry into an incomparable work of art.
The recipe printed here is based on a suggestion by food blogger Susanne van Eldik, which I’ve tweaked a little further. After hours buried in cookbooks, trips to Burgundy and many conversations with chefs, I’m sure it already comes very, very close to the original recipe – if one exists at all.
Braising the rooster can easily take 1–2 hours. So it’s advisable to prepare the coq au vin the day before. Gently reheated, it tastes even better afterwards. And you’re not stressed once the guests arrive.
Coq au Vin de Bourgogne
Serves 4. For the coq au vin: approx. 1.5 kg rooster pieces · 18 small shallots · 2 garlic cloves · 750 ml red wine (ideally a young Burgundy) · 1 bouquet garni · 100 g smoked bacon without rind · 2 tbsp butter · salt, pepper · 60 ml Marc de Bourgogne (or cognac) · 250–500 ml chicken stock · ½ tbsp tomato purée. For the braised onions: 200 g small white onions (Borettana or shallots) · 25 g butter · 1 tbsp sugar. For the braised mushrooms: 30 g butter · 220 g brown mushrooms · 1 tbsp sugar. Also: 2 tbsp flour · 1 tbsp soft butter · 1 bunch parsley.
Method: the day before, peel the onions and garlic. Rinse the rooster pieces, pat dry and place in a large bowl. Add the wine, shallots, garlic and bouquet garni, cover and chill for at least 12 hours. The next day, strain the wine marinade through a sieve, catching the liquid; drain the rooster, onions, garlic and herb bundle. Cut the bacon into strips, briefly sear in a casserole, remove and set aside. Pat the rooster dry, brown it all over in the casserole and season with salt and pepper. Return the bacon, cover and braise meat and bacon for 10 minutes, turning the meat. Pour in the Marc and carefully flambé it, shaking the casserole. Add the reserved wine marinade and enough stock to cover the meat. Stir in the tomato purée, finely diced garlic and bouquet garni, cover and braise over low heat until the meat is meltingly tender. Meanwhile, for the braised onions, melt the butter over low heat, add the drained onions, sprinkle with sugar and caramelise for 10–15 minutes. For the braised mushrooms, clean the mushrooms, leave whole or quarter them and caramelise in butter with 1 tbsp sugar for about 10 minutes. Once the meat is tender, remove it. Bring the liquid to the boil, simmer for 2 minutes, skim off the fat and reduce to half a litre; remove the bouquet garni. Mix the flour and soft butter into a paste, whisk it in, bring to the boil and simmer for 2–3 minutes, stirring constantly. Add the rooster, onions and mushrooms and fold in gently. Sprinkle with parsley before serving. The classic accompaniment is a crusty baguette – nothing more is needed to be happy.
Where Do I Get a Rooster?
The Swiss company Gallina markets “brother roosters” that get to enjoy a good life instead of being killed on day one because they don’t lay eggs. The birds spend plenty of time outdoors, and their diet of beetles, worms and grass shows in the outstanding meat quality. Exactly the thing for a perfect coq au vin. More info and shop: www.gallina.bio
This article appeared in MEN issue 1/24 (May 2024).
