Chicken Chasseur - photo videojug

But, as I did so, I got to wondering, where are those hunters, presumably stalking through the depths of the forest in search of wild game, supposed to get bell peppers and tomatoes from in the first place?  Aren’t those classic garden crops, surely even in bounteous Italy they’re not growing wild in the forest?  Now the French version, with mushrooms and shallots, and of course white wine, I can more or less believe – the hunters could find mushrooms and plenty of wild garlic, if not actual shallots, and of course being French they’d have their white wine with them. But wait, a chicken? Aren’t they supposed to be hunting, not stealing from the nearby villagers? Y’know, this whole thing sounds pretty suspicious to me…

Is it food for unsuccessful hunters – a consolation prize when they come home with just mushroom and shallots, and a chicken has to be pressed into service in lieu of game?  Or, since the recipe usually starts with roasting the chicken rather than stewing it in the sauce,  is it possible the hunters take a cooked bird with them, and add the mushroom and shallot sauce over some romantic campfire on the way to the hunting grounds?  Do they just steal the chicken from some unsuspecting peasants once they are away from their own land, in which case the Greek “Kleftiko”  or Robber’s Chicken would be a better name?

If course I have consulted that 21st century oracle, the internet, on this matter. I find about a million sites telling me that Chasseur style means Hunter’s style, with mushrooms, shallots, and white wine, but no word about where they found the chickens.  At HubUK I am told, in quite an authoritative tone, that

it should be fairly obvious that the name of this dish is derived from the fact that Chasseur wine is used; which is a white wine

that’s an appealing notion and makes perfect sense to me – but unfortunately I can’t find anything to back the claim up – the Chasseur wines I can track down come from South Africa or Sonoma Valley, so I am not convinced. Perhaps if I searched the French internet, all would be clear, but that task is unfortunately beyond me, so I continue in English.
I find, at Absolute Astronomy, that the Chasseur was a Baltimore Clipper which surprised everyone by sailing East and harrassing the British merchant fleet on her maiden voyage in 1814.  I like this story, but unless I start the rumor myself, there is no connection with the chicken dish that I can see.

I am told at WhatsCookingAmerica that

Chasseur, or “Hunter Style” was meant for badly shot game or tough old birds. The birds were always cut up to remove lead shot or torn parts, and often cooked all day on the back of the range if they were old or tough. Originally the veggies used were ones hunters would find while they hunted.

Now this, about the tough old birds, is starting to make sense. The same site tells me

It is thought that Chasseur sauce was invented by Duke Philippe De Mornay (1549-1623), Governor of Saumur, and Lord of the Plessis Marly in the 1600s. He was a great protestant writer and called the protestant pope.

Yay for the Duke – he must have been quite a guy, as he is also is supposed to have invented not only the eponymous Mornay Sauce, but also Sauce Béchamel, Sauce Lyonnaise, and Sauce Porto – where would French cuisine be without him? Of course, the site doesn’t cite any sources, I’m just supposed to accept this as fact, that’s the Internet for you. But was the noble Duke a hunter, or a chicken thief, that’s what I really need to know?

Interestingly, at dictionary.com, I find the following encyclopedia entry for chasseur

(French: “hunter”), member of various branches of the French army. Originally (1743) chasseurs, or chasseurs a pied (“on foot”), were light-infantry regiments. By the outbreak of World War I there were 31 battalions of chasseurs of which 12 were known as chasseurs alpins-units specially trained for mountain warfare. After World War I, chasseurs were formed as independent battalions for administrative purposes but were grouped into demibrigades of three battalions for war. Just prior to World War II a few battalions were integrated into armoured divisions as motorized infantry called chasseurs portes

Now this one, I could definitely believe. I’ve read “The Charterhouse of Parma” (hilarious), and I can totally imagine those French light-infantry sitting around in deserted farmhouses cooking up foraged chicken along with whatever vegetables are left in the potager, and the best white wine they could scavenge up. Why bother to hunt when the peasantry have obligingly done all the work for you?

So in the spirit of the Internet, where we can all read what we want to read and disregard the rest, that’s the definition I choose to believe. In the immortal words of Monty Python:

That is the theory that I have and which is mine, and what it is too

and I’m going to stick with it – unless you can convince me otherwise.
.

Related Posts:

• The best stuff in the world?
• Just a trifle

The best stuff in the world

Cooking mushrooms with a little onion, a little bacon, just the right amount of butter, and plenty of black pepper takes me right back to holidays at my Uncle’s farmhouse in Cornwall. When the Summer weather was just right, warm and damp as it often is in that part of the world, we would get up very early and go out to certain favored fields and hedges to pick the wild mushrooms, still soaking wet with the dew.  As a child, it seemed like a kind of magic how they would just appear overnight, where the day before there had apparently been nothing.

Wet with the dew

These days I get my mushrooms at the farmers market or the grocery store – I don’t know enough about California’s wild mushrooms to dare eating them, not even the ones sprouting today on my lawn. But mushrooms on toast is still one of my absolute favorite foods.

Related Posts:

• Why’s it called Chicken Chasseur, anyway?
• Just a trifle

Layered trifle via Ode to Mrs. Beeton (click image for link)

You might wonder why I need trifle, since we already have Mince Pies and Christmas Pudding to get through. Well, the truth is, they are both so rich that it is rare for anybody to want to face them after a huge traditional roast dinner. Somehow, trifle, although clearly a cholesterol bomb and a cardiologist’s nightmare, seems like a lighter option.

Now, a trifle can be as simple or as complicated as you choose to make it.  I had a quick check on ehow, and was offered a recipe with twelve steps, including making both the cake and a rich egg custard from scratch.  Or here is Mrs. Beeton’s version, from her “Book of Household Management” (1868) (via)

TO MAKE A TRIFLE

INGREDIENTS – For the whip, 1 pint of cream, 3 oz. of pounded sugar, the whites of 2 eggs, a small glass of sherry or raisin wine. For the trifle, 1 pint of custard, made with 8 eggs to a pint of milk; 6 small sponge-cakes, or 6 slices of sponge-cake; 12 macaroons, 2 dozen ratafias, 2 oz. of sweet almonds, the grated rind of 1 lemon, a layer of raspberry or strawberry jam, 1/2 pint of sherry or sweet wine, 6 tablespoonfuls of brandy.

Mode – The whip to lay over the top of the trifle should be made the day before it is required for table, as the flavour is better, and it is much more solid than when prepared the same day. Put into a large bowl the pounded sugar, the whites of the eggs, which should be beaten to a stiff froth, a glass of sherry or sweet wine, and the cream. Whisk these ingredients well in a cool place, and take off the froth with a skimmer as fast as it rises, and put it on a sieve to drain; continue the whisking till there is sufficient of the whip, which must be put away in a cool place to drain. The next day, place the sponge-cakes, macaroons, and ratafias at the bottom of a trifle-dish; pour over them 1/2 pint of sherry or sweet wine, mixed with 6 tablespoonfuls of brandy, and, should this proportion of wine not be found quite sufficient, add a little more, as the cakes should be well soaked. Over the cakes put the grated lemon-rind, the sweet almonds, blanched and cut into strips, and a layer of raspberry or strawberry jam. Make a good custard by recipe No. 1423, using 8 instead of 5 eggs to the pint of milk, and let this cool a little; then pour it over the cakes, &c. The whip being made the day previously, and the trifle prepared, there remains nothing to do now but heap the whip lightly over the top: this should stand as high as possible, and it may be garnished with strips of bright currant jelly, crystallized sweetmeats, or flowers; the small coloured comfits are sometimes used for the purpose of garnishing a trifle, but they are now considered rather old-fashioned. (See coloured plate, V1.)

Average cost, with cream at 1s. per pint, 5s. 6d.

Sufficient for 1 trifle.

Seasonable at any time.

Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management via Wikipedia

In contrast, here’s a family recipe for a basic Sherry Trifle, easy to make, thoroughly enjoyable, but perhaps not suitable for children or anybody thinking of driving or operating machinery:

For the Trifle:

• 6 trifle sponges (or a bought sponge cake)
• 1 pt Birds custard (or vanilla pudding)
• 3 tbsp raspberry or strawberry jam (optional)
• 6 tbsp medium or sweet sherry (or as much as you like)
• 1 pt double cream
• 1 tbsp icing sugar

How to Make The Trifle

1. Make the custard according to the instructions on the packet.
2. Split the trifle sponges, spread with the jam and then sandwich together. Cut each sponge in to two pieces and scatter over the base of a large glass dish.
3. Pour a couple of glasses of sherry over the sponges, soaking them thoroughly
4. Cover with the warm custard, cover and chill until the custard is set
5. Whip the cream and icing sugar together until they form soft peaks. Spoon the mixture on top of the custard.
6. Chill in the refrigerator until ready to serve.

The idea with this one is that with enough sherry and double cream, nobody is really going to miss the real fruit or any of the more subtle variations of trifle. While an elaborate trifle is made in a glass trifle bowl, so that the different layers can be seen, for this one, you needn’t really bother with that.  As soon as it is served, this trifle tends to degenerate into a gloopy, creamy, alcoholic soup. Yum! After a couple of bowls of this, cleaning up becomes a breeze (unless you’ve fallen asleep).

Now it might seem that the Sherry Trifle is a lazy twentieth century adaptation of the real thing, and perhaps it is.  But Bird’s custard powder was invented in 1837 (via), so it’s quite a venerable tradition in its own right. And long before Mrs. Beeton, there were British desserts such as Fools and Syllabubs, concoctions of fruit and/or nuts,  wine or spirits, and whipped cream, with or without egg-whites and cake or biscuits.  The gloopy sherry trifle seems  closer to that tradition than the so-called Fruit Trifle of my childhood – consisting of rigidly separate layers, first sponge and red jello containing canned fruit, then thick yellow custard, topped with whipped cream.

Trifle from The Guardian

So what trifle am I going to make? For Christmas, either the Sherry Trifle or this one, from a recipe by Glynn Christian in my ancient (1985)  “Sainsbury’s Cookery Classics”:

Boodle’s Orange Fool:

• thin strips of sponge cake
• grated rind and juice of 2 lemons
• grated rind and juice of 4 oranges
• 3 oz caster sugar
• 1 pt (600 ml) double cream, whipped softly

1. Line a deep serving dish with the thin strips of sponge.
2. Mix together the grated rind and juice of the lemons and oranges with the caster sugar, and stir until dissolved.
3. Thoroughly incorporate into the mixture half of the whipped cream, and pour into the sponge  lining.
4. Chill for several hours
5. Serve with the remaining whipped cream piped on top

I think technically, it’s a fool rather than a trifle, as it has no custard. Sometimes I do add a custard layer, separating the juice-soaked sponge from the first, citrus flavored, cream layer. But actually, I like the simplicity of the no-cook version. The custard layer makes it more of a trifle but less trifling to prepare, after all! If you haven’t started on the sherry yet, you’ll notice that Boodle must have been a tee-totaller. I usually mix a little orange flavored liquor (Triple-Sec or Cointreau) with the juices, to give it a little zing. Sometimes I use Amaretti di Sarono instead of sponge cake, and flavor it with a little Grand Marnier. It all depends on how I feel, and what I have to hand. And that, to me, is the whole point of trifle.

If you are thinking of trying your hand at trifle, note that a British pint is 20 fluid oz. If you can find double or heavy whipping cream that is merely pasteurized, rather than ultra-pasteurized, the flavor will be much better, too. There must be a million trifle variations to try – how about gingerbread for the base, flavored with brandy? One of my favorites used to be a Marks and Spencer’s chocolate trifle, it had a lovely sour natural yogurt flavor contrasting with chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, and cream…

I’d better stop now, as I could have made four trifles in the time it’s taken me to write this far from trifling post – but if you have any favorite trifles to share, I’d love to hear about them.

Related Posts:

• Back to the Beach Hut
• Beach Retreats – British Summer Style
• Why’s it called Chicken Chasseur, anyway?
• Wake-up, San Francisco, Johnny Grey’s in town
• Crowning Glory