Poultry at Bantry Market, Co. Cork
Take a fat turkey and bone it and season it with pepper and salt and a good deal of mace and let it lie in that seasoning for a day or two, then draw the legs into the body tie it very tight in a cloth and boil it in salt and water then have ready your souse of salt and water with white wine vinegar, mace and pepper all boiled very well together so put your turkey into it.
—from an 18th century Irish cookbook manuscript
Pork products tend to elbow out chicken in popularity contests. I suppose there’s only so much meat you can eat in a day. We do eat chicken, and Irish chicken is usually highly flavorful since many of our chickens are freerange. Many of the preparations are very simple, though: roasted chicken, or perhaps a chicken roasted with stuffing in it. One of the more luxurious preparations is Whiskey Chicken, which is sort of like Dublin Lawyer in its over-the-top decadence: the carved chicken waits, warm in its dish, while the pan juices are flamed with whiskey and finished with cream. Roast chicken never had it so good.
Nearly any stew-like filling can be put in a crust and called a pie, along the lines of Steak and Kidney Pie, but Chicken and Ham is a particular favorite. The filling is mostly made up of moist pieces of chicken in a light, leek-scented, creamy sauce, and the pieces of ham add salt and savor to the dish. You can make a Chicken and Leek Pie by leaving out the ham and doubling the quantity of leeks.
Makes 6 servings
¼ cup (½ stick) butter
¼ cup all-purpose flour
1 large leek, white and green parts, thinly sliced and washed
2 cups chicken stock
1 cup light cream
2 ½ cups diced, cooked chicken
1 cup diced, cooked ham
1 cup peas, canned or frozen
2 tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
Salt and pepper
1 sheet frozen pastry (puff or shortcrust), thawed
1 egg
1 Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F and lightly butter a large, deep-dish 9-inch pie plate.
2 In a large saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the leek slices, tossing to coat. Cover the pan and cook for 10 minutes, until the leek is tender but not browned. Gradually pour in the chicken stock, stirring all the time to prevent lumps. Add the light cream and bring to a gentle simmer. Add the chicken, ham, peas, and parsley. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes, until thickened slightly. Season with salt and pepper, and spoon into the prepared pie dish.
3 Roll the pastry out and cut into a circle about 12 inches in diameter, so there’s plenty of overhang on the pie plate. Lift the pastry on top of the pie and tuck the overhang down the inside rim.
4 Use a sharp paring knife to cut slits in the top of the pie. Beat the egg with 1 tablespoon water and brush this glaze on top of the pastry. Bake for 20 minutes, until pastry is golden and the pie is bubbling.
DINNER-PLATE CHICKEN PIES
You can use the filling from the Chicken and Ham Pie to make an old-fashioned dinner-plate pie. Use the pastry for the Apple Tart on p. 238 and roll it out to line a deep, ovenproof dinner plate with a slanted rim. Put in 1 cup or so of the filling, just enough to fill the bottom of the dinner plate but not to risk overflowing. Roll out a second crust and top the pie. Pinch the edges together firmly, or use a fork to seal. Cut several slits in the top and brush with egg. Bake for 25 minutes at 350 degrees F until the crust is browned. Depending on the size of your plate, you can make as many dinner-plate pies as you have diners, or you can divide one among two or three people if your plates are large. The point of dinner-plate pies was to stretch a serving of meat with more crust than filling. They can be savory or sweet. One of my favorite childhood desserts was a dinner-plate apple pie, with a thin layer of sweetened apples and a lot of tender browned pastry.
Irish butcher shops are full of whole chickens, jointed chickens, breasts on the bone or off; any sort of part that you want is readily available. So I love an all-purpose chicken recipe that lets me take advantage of whatever pieces look plumpest and freshest—or are on sale for the best price. In Ireland, I make this mustard-baked chicken with a coarse, whole-grain mustard blended with whiskey that is readily available there, but it’s easily replicated. Use any mustard that you like, but something with a bit of a kick: Dijon, spicy brown, or any coarse- or whole-grain mustard. The whiskey is not strictly necessary but it adds a warm, almost meaty flavor in the background—it’s the Irish umami, whiskey, our fifth taste (after sweet, salty, sour, bitter) and the savor that we enjoy in all sorts of unlikely foods, whether it’s whipped cream, porridge, or marmalade. Or chicken, as here. I use parsley but this all-purpose recipe will readily accommodate any cut of chicken, any kind of mustard, and any herb (tarragon is especially good). Butter ties it all together, but a drizzle of cream would do the same job.
Makes 4 servings
4 chicken breasts (on the bone)
Salt and pepper
cup coarse-grain mustard
3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
3 tablespoons whiskey
4 tablespoons butter (plus more for greasing)
1 Preheat oven to 375 degrees F and butter a baking dish. Spread the chicken pieces out in the dish, just touching, and sprinkle it with salt and pepper.
2 In a small dish, combine the mustard, whiskey, and parsley. Smear it all over the top of each piece of chicken and dot the chicken with the butter.
3 Cover the dish tightly with foil and bake for about 30 minutes. Remove the foil and continue to cook for another 15 to 20 minutes, until the chicken is browned and tender. (Cooking times may vary depending on what pieces of chicken you use.)
A chicken is roasted with butter until the skin is crisp. Then the pan juices are flambéed with whiskey, and cream is added to the sauce. It’s the richest roast chicken imaginable, a treat for a special occasion. If you’re not used to flaming food with alcohol, don’t be afraid—just be prepared to stay well back. When you add the whiskey to the hot pan, it takes a moment for the cold alcohol to heat up and be ready to flame, but in a few moments, once it’s hot, it will readily catch fire, either with a match held to the side of the pan or by tipping the pan slightly toward the gas flame of the stovetop. The whiskey lights with a whoosh! So don’t be leaning forward over the pan. You’ll see it catch fire, and then it burns out brightly and quickly. It’s a spectacle, it’s very fun, and the purpose is to burn off the harsh taste of the alcohol and leave only the flavor behind. This dish is so rich you don’t need much alongside it. Try a green salad and some bread to sop up the excellent juices. Use a smallish chicken; if it’s too big, the meat can be tough. If you need to serve more people, it’s better to roast two smaller chickens than one big one.
Makes 4 servings
1 2- to 2 ½-pound chicken
¼ cup (½ stick) butter, softened
Salt and pepper
1 lemon
3 tablespoons whiskey
½ cup heavy cream
1 Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Rub the chicken all over with the softened butter and squeeze the two lemon halves over it. Put the squeezed lemons inside the chicken’s cavity and sprinkle the bird liberally with salt and pepper, inside and out.
2 Put the chicken in a cast-iron skillet or roasting pan, and roast until golden brown and crisp, about 1 hour, or until an instant-read thermometer poked in the thickest part of the thigh reads 180 degrees F.
3 Carve the chicken and place it on a warm serving platter. Set aside to stay warm. Spoon off and discard the visible fat from the roasting pan or cast-iron skillet. Set the pan over medium heat and pour the whiskey into the pan. Let it heat for a moment, then either set a match to the edge of the pan, or, if you have a gas stove, tilt the pan away from you toward the gas flame. The warmed whiskey will light and burn out quickly. (If the burning makes you anxious, clap on a tight-fitting lid.)
4 Pour in the cream and heat through, stirring to scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Pour the sauce over the carved chicken and serve at once.
We do have a taste for a little sweetness with our meat in Ireland and that extends even to curried chicken. This version has a little soft fruit in it. I like peaches, but you could use plums, apricots, pineapple pieces, or a few chunks of ripe pear. If you prefer, skip the fruit. But we do like a mild curry: we don’t go in for the blistering hot vindaloo curries that are so loved in the UK. Still, curry is a dish that regularly pops up on supper tables because it’s warm, and comforting, and quick. This recipe starts with raw chicken, but if you pull the meat off a rotisserie chicken and cut it into bite-size pieces, you can skip cooking the chicken and just add the meat to the finished sauce in step 3 to heat through. Serve over rice.
Makes 4 servings
3 tablespoons cooking oil
3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 large onion, thinly sliced
1 2-inch piece ginger, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 tablespoons mild curry paste (or to taste)
1 14-ounce container coconut milk
2 ripe, medium peaches, peeled and cut into chunks
1 In a large skillet over medium heat, place the cooking oil and cook the chicken pieces until lightly browned, 6 to 7 minutes. With a slotted spoon, lift the chicken into a bowl and set aside.
2 Put the onion into the fat remaining in the pan and cook over medium heat for 6 to 7 minutes, until the onion is softened and lightly browned. Add the ginger and garlic and cook for a minute. Stir the curry paste into the pan and cook for 1 to 2 minutes.
3 Blend in the coconut milk, a little at a time. Bring the coconut milk to a boil. Reduce the heat and return the chicken to the pan. Simmer for 5 minutes to cook the chicken through. Add the peaches and continue cooking for 5 minutes or so to thicken the sauce slightly.
Thyme and parsley are so necessary to the Irish kitchen that in many grocery stores, you can buy a package marked “Herbs” that consists of a bunch of parsley and a tangle of thyme. Together, the two are just about all you need to make a fragrant herb stuffing for roast chicken, but I like to supplement with some sage as well. An old saying holds that the fortunes of the household are mirrored by how well the sage in your garden is growing, so I try to take good care of the pot of sage in my windowsill!
We don’t like too much or too thick of a gravy, and this version takes advantage of the pan juices without being too rich or fatty.
Makes 4 servings
1 2 ½- to 3-pound chicken
¼ cup (½ stick) butter, softened
Salt and pepper
1 small yellow onion, diced
2 cups soft breadcrumbs
½ cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, chopped
1 tablespoon chopped fresh sage leaves
1 ¼ cups chicken stock
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Rub the chicken all over with two tablespoons of the softened butter, and salt and pepper it inside and out.
2 In a cast-iron or other ovenproof skillet over medium heat, melt the remaining butter and cook the onion until just softened and barely browned, 5 to 6 minutes. Turn off the heat and stir in the breadcrumbs and herbs. Pour ¼ cup of the chicken stock over all, and stir to make a moist stuffing. Pack it into the chicken’s cavity. Wipe out the skillet with a paper towel and set the chicken in the skillet.
3 Roast for 60 to 70 minutes, until the stuffing in the center registers 165 degrees F on an instant-read thermometer and the thickest part of the thigh registers 180 degrees F. Lift the chicken onto a serving platter and put the skillet over medium heat. Stir the flour into the juices, scraping up the browned bits as you stir. Slowly mix in the remaining cup of chicken stock, and bring to a boil just to thicken. Season with salt and pepper.
4 Carve the chicken and serve each portion with a spoonful of the stuffing and some gravy.
Irish turkeys are generally smaller than American ones. A breed called the Bronze are the preferred turkeys in Ireland, and they’re not overly processed nor overly large. They usually come with head and feet attached so you can see the quality of the bird and be sure you know what you’re getting. Also, you could hang them by the feet. My dad always left the Christmas turkey hanging in the coldest part of our pantry for the week before Christmas, which made it more tender and intensified the flavor. Look for a smaller, organic turkey—12 pounds is about as big as you want for best flavor. Rub it all over with lemony butter, and stuff only the neck cavity, not the body. Then it won’t take as long to cook.
Makes 8 to 10 servings
For the stuffing:
2 tablespoons butter
8 ounces Irish sausage, casing removed
1 large yellow onion, diced
2 celery stalks, sliced thin
4 cups breadcrumbs
½ cup chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons chopped fresh sage
½ cup chicken stock
Salt and pepper
For the turkey:
½ cup unsalted butter, softened
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 (12-pound) whole turkey
Salt and pepper
1 Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. To make the stuffing, melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat and cook the sausage, breaking it up with a spoon. Add the onion and celery and continue to cook until the onion is tender. Stir in the breadcrumbs and herbs and moisten with chicken stock. Taste and season with salt and pepper as needed.
2 In a medium bowl, stir together the softened butter with the lemon zest and juice. (Once you’ve squeezed the lemon halves, toss them into the turkey’s main cavity.) Rub the lemon butter mixture all over the turkey, above and beneath the skin. Season the turkey liberally with salt and pepper, inside the cavity and out.
3 Pack the stuffing into the neck cavity and fold the flap of skin over it. Secure the skin in place with a skewer or toothpick. Set the turkey on a rack in a roasting pan and cover loosely with foil. Pour two cups of water into the roasting pan.
4 Roast 3 to 3 ½ hours, until an instant-read thermometer in the breast reads 165 degrees F and the thickest part of the thigh registers 180 degrees F. For the last hour, remove the foil so the breast can brown. Remove the turkey from the oven and tent it again with foil while it rests for at least 15 and up to 30 minutes before carving.
Vegetable Stall, Howth Sunday Market
Pheasant was once very much a seasonal food. In the late autumn, walking down Moore Street, along the market street of central Dublin, there would be braces of pheasant hanging in the windows of the many butcher shops that lined the street. Now pheasant is raised for food so it’s not the same rare indulgence it once was, but it’s still a treat. It’s typically served with red cabbage, which complements the gamey flavor beautifully.
Makes 4 servings
2 dressed pheasants
½ cup (1 stick) butter, softened
Salt and pepper
6 tart cooking apples, peeled and sliced thinly
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup apple cider
1 Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Rub the pheasants with half the butter and sprinkle salt and pepper inside and outside the pheasants.
2 In a large, ovenproof skillet over medium heat, melt the remaining butter, and cook the apples until softened. Lay the pheasants on top of the apples, spooning some of the apples over and around the pheasants. Drizzle them with the cider, then with cream.
3 Roast the pheasants for 45 to 55 minutes, until an instant-read thermometer inserted in the breast reads 145 degrees F.
4 Lift the pheasants onto a warmed serving dish, and use a slotted spoon to spoon the apples around them. Drizzle the juices over all and serve at once.
