What do you do when work ends early due to inclement weather and you find yourself with an entire afternoon and evening free? Well, first, you get yourself out of the muddy slush-swamp that Midtown has become, and back to the muted serenity of Brooklyn. Then, as the snow rises higher and higher against the window panes, you think of something warm and rustic to make for dinner, something special enough for the occasion of a historic blizzard but rustic enough to make the apartment feel like a log cabin. And something that will take up the whole afternoon.
Obviously, you make coq au vin. At least, it was obvious to us. The brilliance of coq au vin is that it manages to be elegant without the slightest hint of pretension: it puts delicious use to the cheapest parts of the chicken and it doesn't require particularly skillful culinary maneuvering (it will probably taste good no matter what), but it ends up seeming lighter and more delicate than the potato-based peasant food you might make instead. It could be that the pearl onions and the ruby tint of wine give the impression of luxury, or that quartering tiny brown mushrooms and tying together a bouquet of fresh herbs produces images of Shakespearean wood nymphs. I'm not sure. The point is, a pot of chicken and vegetables simmered in a wine-based broth for two or three snowy hours has the power to turn a Snow Day into a European Vacation Day.
Like I said, it's not hard to do. You'll need four chicken thighs, some vegetables, a bottle of the cheapest red wine, and a few bunches of herbs. First, season the chicken thighs with salt and pepper, then brown them in a wide pan. Sauté some chopped carrots and peeled pearl onions (chopping off the ends and boiling them for a minute will help the peels come off) in a large pot, adding minced garlic for a minute or two at the end. Put the chicken thighs in the big pot, pour in a little more than a cup of wine, and about the same amount of chicken or vegetable stock. (Measurements aren't important, use just enough to cover everything.) Throw in a few spirgs of sage, rosemary, and thyme, and add a dried bay leaf. Bring everything up to a boil, then lower the heat and cover the pot. Leave the kitchen to discover what day-time TV is like.
After an hour or so, or between magazines or worthwhile TV shows, heat up the pan used to brown the chicken and sauté some quartered mushrooms in that delicious leftover fat, until they've exuded all their juices, shrunken to an even more endearing size, and started to brown at the edges. Add them to the pot about 20 minutes before you deem the whole thing pretty much done (we let it simmer for about two hours, but if you get desperately hungry before then I'm sure it would be ok to cut off the cooking earlier). Finally, take the chicken and vegetables out of the pot with a slotted spoon and place them in an attractive (Ikea) serving dish. Turn the heat to high and reduce the liquid to a satisfying thickness, adding a tablespoon or so of flour if you want. Pour the sauce over everything in the dish (don't worry, the chicken is underneath there somewhere).
Some recipes say to serve it with egg noodles, but I prefer it (like most things) with large amounts of crusty bread on the side. It also goes nicely with mulled wine, and since the discount rack at Warehouse Wines has produced some disasters lately, you probably won't want to drink the rest of that bottle unadulterated anyway. After a plate of coq au vin and a mug of hot wine, your core temperature will be primed for venturing into the blizzard in search of snowmen.
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