The French king Henri IV is said to have championed a version of this dish to ensure that every citizen in his kingdom have a hot meal on a Sunday, regardless of social standing or wealth. Its main feature is the broth in which everything is cooked before being carefully removed, leaving a clear, nutritious liquid that warms the throat, revives the stomach and can almost be felt coursing through the bloodstream the moment one tastes it. The effect is comforting, immediately nourishing and gently grounding, and we have often served it to people at the end of a period of fasting.
When served, the dish appears simple: pieces of boiled chicken accompanied by rough-chopped boiled root vegetables, with the broth served alongside. Yet it is surprisingly complicated to create, with timing and preparation of the essence. All the more reason, perhaps, for preparing it in a time of focus and concentration. It hearkens back to a time of cooking on an open hearth, with long slow preparation, a rustic situation where a precious chicken might be killed and cooked for a high day, or another fowl be caught or hunted, and vegetables brought in from the potager (vegetable garden) or a winter store, and where nutrients were conserved a stock or a broth rather than a refrigerator.
Essentially, whole chickens are boiled in enough water to cover them, plus legumes de potage (onion, celery and carrot, pepper corns) until cooked. The accompanying main-dish vegetables can also be added to the pot, or else cooked separately. Each is removed once done. The chickens are allowed to cool until they can be handled and then the flesh torn into generous chunks. Carrots, potatoes, leeks, onions, parsnips, turnips, and/or other vegetables by availability, are added and removed as each is cooked, taking care not to overcook, so that they would become mushy or cloud the stock. So in a sense this is a recipe in reverse: rather than gradually adding ingredients from nothing to a complex whole, here we start with the mixture and gradually remove everything, leaving just the base – the precious broth – which has yet become noble because of all that went into it. The ingredients are sublimated into the broth – and in form still served alongside. Again one can ponder on the symbolism of this, particularly in a retreat situation.
It is important for the broth to be tasty and nutritious, not too thin or watery, not too salty, so adjustments may be necessary before serving. There is an art to getting the right volume of liquid for the quantities of meat and veg. For all its elemental quality, it is a test of patience and awareness for the cook. The cooked solids are served warm on platters, plainly and without fuss and the liquid served with a ladle into cups or bowls. Good bread such as a pain de campagne makes a handsome accompaniment and adds another dimension to tasting the broth. Brought to table and served to people with appetite and intention, it offers a robust yet also refined base that is conducive to companionship and gratitude.
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