As much as one likes to cook, one has to admit that on some nights, a bit of convenience and instant gratification doesn’t hurt. And when our mood clamors for an effortless yet satisfying dinner at home, it is a true comfort to know that we can turn to the Chicken Family*, and that the Chicken Family will be there for us.

Chicken Family is the name of a small rôtisserie on rue des Abbesses. More a stand than an actual shop, it is a narrow, corridor-like space with large roasting racks on both sides, and a little platform on which you step to place your order. It is indeed a family-run business (I don’t think their last name is actually Chicken, but I feel quite free to call them whatever I wish to in my mind) and all of its members — the father, the mother, the daughter, and a young man who I like to think is the son-in-law — have a constant air of gaiety (the heat-flushed cheeks certainly help) that is quite communicative, and adds a great deal to one’s chicken-buying pleasure.

Even during the recent heatwave, when it must have been the seventh circle of hell to stand by the open roasters, and when 99% of the population was huffing and puffing and feeling either indignant or quite sorry for themselves, they still managed to smile their merry smiles and exchange the usual pleasantries with the customers.

“All right, all right, we get it, they’re your neighborhood heroes. But what of the chicken?” Ah, the chicken. The skin golden-brown and crispy, the flesh perfectly seasoned and remarkably moist, it is roasted chicken at its best (with the exception of my mother’s naturally) and I could have it every. single. day. Only I don’t, because I fear I might exhaust the magic.

In addition to their chicken, the Chicken Family rotisserie also sells a variety of home-style sides and desserts, allowing you to put together an entire meal in one fell, convenient swoop. We have had their îles flottantes a couple of times and they are quite good, but the satellite item I most often buy is a portion of their splendid green beans, bursting with flavor and tender just so.

I once asked how they were prepared, and was told that they were simply sautéed in olive oil with caramelized onions. This seemed straightforward enough, and when I found some healthy-looking green beans at the market recently, I decided to try and emulate the Chicken Family recipe. My copycat green beans didn’t turn out exactly the same way as the original — I suspect the Chicken Family uses a larger amount of olive oil than I can bring myself to — but they were quite close, and they made for a very pleasing side to the oven-roasted fish we were having that day, a beautiful rascasse from La Poissonnerie Bleue.

And yet the Chicken Family need not worry: I’m glad I know how to make these green beans, but it certainly won’t stop me from buying them, ready-made and oh-so-convenient, at my favorite rotisserie.

* Update: To our infinite sadness, the Chicken Family rôtisserie is now closed.

Continue reading »

[Chick Yellow Coquelle]

Please join me in welcoming this yellow addition to my cocotte collection! Coquelle is a line of Le Creuset cast-iron pots designed by Raymond Loewy in 1958. They come in different colors, shapes, and sizes, but all of them share the same old-fashioned futuristic look, as if they were just about to take off from your stove and fly away to some distant planet where unattended stews do not scorch enamel and milk does not boil over.

I had spotted a re-edition at a Parisian department store earlier this year, and it looked glossy and seductive, but what I really wanted was one from the original production, in good enough a shape that I could use it, but with enough signs of wear to show it had been previously loved.

I first turned to a small store in my neighborhood called Et Puis C’est Tout! that specializes in objects and furniture from the 50’s to the 70’s — Ricard pitchers, plates with disco flower patterns, and bright orange plastic lamps. The owner knew what I was talking about, he didn’t have any in stock, but he explained that he did come across these cocottes from time to time, and that I should check back. And check back I did, every week or so, until I didn’t even need to ask anything anymore. I would pop in, wearing my most hopeful smile, but he would invariably shake his head with sympathy, “Sorry, no luck so far.”

Continue reading »

I am celebrating my 27th birthday today, and the weather is happy with frequent bursts of thankfulness. Twenty-seven has always been my lucky number so I am not all that surprised, but I have to say this has been an excellent vintage: my first year working for myself (I do recommend it to anyone who likes to work in his pajamas and dislikes being told what to do and when), my first cookbook completed, plenty of gratifying and challenging projects, a few fun-filled trips, more splendid meals than I can count, and more chocolate than I care to admit.

My plans for today involve a blissful mix of doing nothing at all, spending time with the people I love who are close by, and thinking about those who aren’t. And as I do just that, I will keep my fingers crossed, and wish for another year just like this one.

[Cashew Butter]

My jar of old-fashioned chunky peanut butter having mysteriously evaporated somewhere between the store where I bought it and the apartment where I thought I’d brought it back, I had to devise a strategy to assuage the feeling of disappointment and vexation, the kind that makes you bang your fist on the kitchen counter as you mutter a few well-selected swear words through clenched teeth, and try hard to remind yourself that this was just peanut butter after all.

And then I thought: just peanut butter? Yes, just peanuts and salt, ground together at high speed until the oil from the peanuts decides to come out and see what all the ruckus is about, and all of a sudden the mixture stops being just peanuts and salt, and becomes something much, much more interesting: something you can spread on your morning toast, something in which to dip apple slices in the afternoon, something that can be turned into a sauce for steamed veggies at dinnertime.

I had never made nut butter before, and I didn’t have any peanuts on hand, but I did have cashews, unroasted and unsalted. That would do. After a short roasting to revive their flavor, I gave the nuts a little turbo ride in the mini food processor that came with my stick blender, one of the most versatile and most often used appliances in my kitchen. I had my doubts at first — the nuts seemed reluctant to go anywhere beyond the fine powder stage — but I insisted until, miracle of miracles, creaminess appeared at the center of the bowl, and quickly spread to the entire content.

It turns out that cashew butter is a fine thing, its flavor more subtle than that of peanut butter, its shade paler, and its texture a bit drier, more paste-like than oily. Not wanting to waste too many cashews in case the experiment failed, I had only made a small batch, and this was gone in no time at all. A few days later, I applied the same method to pecans, shooting for a chunky consistency this time, and was very pleased with the results too, although I got a bit overenthusiastic with the initial salting, and had to add more nuts to compensate.

And in the meantime, a very kind reader who lives in Paris and shares my passion for all things peanut and chunky was generous enough to part with one of the jars she keeps in her stash, so I now have both chunky pecan butter and chunky peanut butter in the fridge. Life is good.

Continue reading »