Basque-style poussin with onions, tomatoes and peppers

I’m in Acquitaine, the south-west region of France on the Atlantic coast. It stretches from Perigueux in the north, famous for its truffles and walnuts, through the wine country of Bordeaux, to the towering Pyrénées bordering Spain. Here, goose and duck are glorified. The traditions of farmhouse cooking and preservation methods have elevated charcuterie and confit into art forms, churning out super-luxurious food like Pâté de Foie Gras. Armagnac is big here but what has to get a mention is Liqueur de Noix, which is made from unripe green walnuts. I first tried a version of this liqueur at London’s Espresso Martini Festival. Dan and Jeff know it well. It’s complex, astringent and sweet with a spicy bite. It’s usually enjoyed as a digestif but it’s dry enough to play a part in an aperitif cocktail. One thing I like the sound of is Boudin Galabar, a large black pudding which includes pig’s head meat, skin and tongue. A slightly different mix to what we’re used to and totally yum I suspect.

In practical, one thing done quickly was to cure the duck leg for my Cassoulet de Castelnaudary. Basically, get the leg trimmed then coated with a dry rub of rock salt, a smidge of potassium nitrate (naughty, but pink), sugar, bay leaf, thyme and garlic. This sat for 2 hours, doing its thing, while I worked on the dish of the day—Coquelet Basquaise, a Basque-style small cockerel with onions, tomatoes and peppers. Technically we were given a poussin or small chicken. Shame. I was excited to try cockerel.

Poultry-wise, I’ve never butchered anything smaller than your typical chicken, apart from trimming the quail. Thankfully the poultry break-down from Basic Cuisine came flooding back because I didn’t have the forethought to read through it the night before. Hip hip for muscle memory. This time the thigh wasn’t separated from the drumstick to create 2 pieces. Instead, the thigh bone was removed and the thigh meat carefully scraped from the skin. The thigh meat was rolled onto the knuckle. A small incision was made in the thigh skin so it could be pulled over and around secured over the french-trimmed bone. Then it was trussed to maintain its shape during cooking. How it goes into the pan, given due care and attention during cooking, is how it’s going to come out of the pan.

Plum tomatoes blanched, refreshed, deseeded, diced. Tomato water reserved. Onions finely sliced. Pepper skins charred with a blowtorch, then wrapped in foil to sweat. Chef’s tip: When it comes to peeling, scrunch a part of the foil and scrub the black away. No clean up necessary. Groovy. Chard leaves were separated from the stalk, which was cut into batons. All washed and separately blanch and refreshed. The leaves were cut chiffonade. Some of the Bayonne ham was crisped up in the oven. The rest was julienned. Bayonne is like a salty Parma ham.

The seasoned bird bits were carefully given colour in an exorbitant volume of olive oil then decanted, coated in Espelette pepper, and kept warm. Espelette is a pepper native to France, or more specifically, to Pyrénées-Atlantiques in the northern Basque territory. It ranges from 400 to 4,000 on the Scoville scale. It has a tingly peppery warmth and is slightly smoky and slightly citrusy. Next, onions deglazed the pan. In with garlic and peppers. When soft, in with the wine. Reduced, then the tomatoes were added with the tomato water, Bouquet Garni and the poussin. Cartouche. Lid. Oven. Later, with the meat decanted, and the pan on the hob, the sauce was reduced further to thicken and the ham julienne added. The chard stalks were finished in beurre noisette with the leaves joining later.

I’ve said this before. Sorry. I just can’t get excited about vegetable mush, sweet or otherwise, call it ragout or whatever. Flavour? Sure, when done well. Texture? Well, let’s say I’ll gladly suck this mush into my mouth when I have no teeth left. Until then I want something to bite on.

If you’ve been following along you know that chef always prepares another dish in the demo session. Today it was Salade Landaise. Hold onto your hair piece…

Salade Landaise. Smoked duck breast, crispy duck gizzards and duck foie gras

This wasn’t just a salad. It was an orgy of duck. Smoked duck breast. Wowzer! Crispy confit duck gizzards deglazed in raspberry vinegar. Whoa! Woof! Duck foie gras fried in its own fat and served on toasted country bread. OMG. And don’t underestimate the salad. It was a beautiful accompaniment. The sharp vinaigrette made with sherry vinegar, violet mustard, rapeseed oil, shallot and garlic cut through all the fat. Damn fine. If I had to choose a dish that kills me, this would be it.

I always wondered what the gizzard was. Now I know it’s a muscle at the bottom of a bird's stomach that’s used to grind food. The gizzard essentially chews the food since a bird ain’t got no gnashers. Gizzards are lean meat and as a hard working muscle they need a slow cook. They come into their own when cooked confit.

End result?

What was great about this lesson was that we spent more time talking about and tasting individual ingredients because they were very French, very regional, and not commonly encountered in the UK, unless you eat in traditional French restaurants, maybe.

The stand-pout ingredient was Moutarde Moût de Raisin or violet mustard. It’s a mix of Dijon mustard and purple grape must. A real surprise. Get some.

Basking in glory