Poultry

This is my son Jamie’s recipe. It’s the best! For a little variation, try adding walnuts and canned mandarin oranges or grapes for a Hawaiian taste.

If you have leftover poached chicken, the moist meat makes a wonderful warm salad, with raisins and pine nuts and a lively, sweet dressing (similar to the Cooked Carrot Salad with Pine Nuts and Golden Raisins, page 45). Three cups of dressed chicken would serve 3 or 4.

The turkey is a North American native that was taken to Europe, food historians tell us, by the early Spanish explorers. In Italy, it became a culinary favorite of the aristocracy quite quickly: I’ve been delighted to learn that sixty-six turkeys were served at a feast for Catherine de’ Medici in 1549. In my family, however, turkey was not a big deal until we came to North America, 400 years later. Like most of our neighbors in the 1950s, we mainly cooked and ate turkey as the centerpiece of Thanksgiving and other holiday feasts. But over the years, it has become a significant part of our everyday eating. As you’ve seen, turkey wings flavor our basic broth, and turkey breast cutlets are a family favorite. A whole roast turkey is still something special on our table. And after years of Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts and birthday dinners, I have perfected the two-stage, wet-then-dry turkey-roasting procedure that I present here. It’s unusual but it works. In fact, I roast all kinds of meats and poultry this way (as I explain below) to produce marvelously moist and flavorful meat with a crispy, caramelized exterior—and a rich pan sauce at the same time. For the autumn and winter holidays, I serve the turkey with seasonal trimmings—Quince, Cranberry, and Apple Sauce (page 367), Cotognata—Quince Chutney (page 368), and Gnoccho Grande for a stuffing. And I glaze the bird with balsamic-vinegar reduction for a deep mahogany sheen. Roast turkey is so good, though, and so economical, I hope you’ll cook it often, not just for Thanksgiving. For everyday dinners, follow the basic procedure for cooking a chicken or a small turkey (see below). You don’t have to give it the holiday touches every time: the bird will be beautiful without the glaze and delicious with just its natural pan sauce.

I know that “boiled” anything is not a popular concept these days (one reason I call this “poached”), but don’t disdain or neglect this elemental dish. It is still one of the easiest and most satisfying one-pot meals we can give our families. It’s also faster to make than ever: the big birds I buy—plump, meaty, and best when organically raised—are thoroughly cooked, tender, and moist after barely 45 minutes in the broth. When you really want to make it festive, substitute a capon for the chicken. And with markets that offer an unprecedented array of produce and herbs in all seasons, we can surround the chicken with a greater variety of vegetables than our great-great-grandmothers ever had at one time. In this recipe, I’ve loaded the pot with seven hearty and aromatic vegetables (almost 5 pounds’ worth), but you can certainly choose others or vary the amounts. Just cut enough vegetables overall to give everyone a bountiful serving, drizzling the meat and vegetables with some extra-virgin olive oil and a few grains of sea salt to make it complete. But I also hope you’ll top each portion, as I do, with a dollop of salsa verde, a traditional condiment for boiled foods. The bright, acidic flavor and fresh, uncooked texture of the finely chopped salsa are a perfect counterpoint to the poached meat and vegetables—it makes a meal of boiled chicken exciting as well as comforting.

Duck has in most cases been something you eat in a restaurant. I love duck, and I love serving it at home to family and guests. I hope that this two-step method of cooking cut-up duck pieces in a big skillet or casserole will make you comfortable with cooking duck at home. First you fry the duck by itself for about an hour, slowly; the skillet takes all the fat out of the bird and melts it into a frying medium which leaves the skin golden and crispy and the meat moist, flavorful, and, amazingly, not at all greasy. In the second stage, you build a small sauce and infuse the duck with its savor. I prefer cooking just the duck legs here, as I do for the guazzetto on page 154, as they require minimal trimming and the meat stays moist through the long cooking. If your supermarket doesn’t have duck legs, ask if they can order them; call a few specialty butchers or even a local restaurant provisioner if necessary. Duck legs are worth looking for, because they’re not only convenient and delicious but often less expensive than whole duck. If a whole duck is all you can get, though, it will work fine in this recipe. See below for a simple cutting-up procedure.

In my family, favorite dishes are always being altered according to what is available and what is best—especially when I’m cooking. Here’s a perfect example: chicken and potatoes, fried together in a big skillet so they’re crisp and moist at the same time, is my mother’s specialty. Growing up, my brother and I demanded it every week; our kids, Tanya and Joe and Eric, Paul and Estelle, clamored for it too. And now the next generation of little ones are asking their great-grandmother to make chicken and potatoes for them. When I am at the stove—and though I follow my mother’s basic procedures—I can’t resist playing around. Some days I add sausage to Grandma’s recipe, or capers or olives; I might douse the chicken with a splash of vinegar; sometimes I cut up a whole chicken, other times I’ll split little poussins or Cornish hens. If I’m in a hurry, I quickly cook small pieces of chicken breast with the potatoes. (You can see what experiments have worked well if you look through my previous books.) This recipe gives you Erminia’s classic formula—chicken, small potatoes, a bit of onion, and fresh rosemary—with two of my latest twists: pickled cherry peppers and bacon strips, in bite-sized rolls. Cherry peppers are plump golf-ball–sized antipasto peppers in vinegar that you’ll find in jars on the pickle shelves of the supermarket. They come in sweet and hot varieties—and the latter are explosive, if you take just a bite. But when they’re seeded, sliced, and added sparingly to the chicken, they imbue the dish with a mellow heat that I love. If you and your family are hot heads, cut up two or more peppers; otherwise slice only one, or use the sweet cherry peppers and see how you like that. My latest spin on our chicken-and-potato tradition is one everybody loves, especially the kids: we roll bacon slices into little bundles, pin each one closed with a toothpick, and caramelize them along with the chicken. The bacon fat slowly renders and lends the meat a layer of flavor that’s picked up by the potatoes and onions too. By the end of cooking, the rolls have turned into crisp morsels that are a treat to eat with the juicy chicken and tender potatoes. (But be sure to remove all the toothpicks!)

Most of the time when you buy a whole chicken, the packet of neck, gizzards, and chicken liver tucked in the cavity will leave you wondering what to do with them. Well, these are some of the best-tasting parts. So, packet by packet, collect and freeze the necks and gizzards for a good chicken soup, and the livers for this quick and delicious dish. Quickly sautéed chicken livers and slowly caramelized onions are such natural complements in taste and texture that they’re always a welcome supper dish in our house. The kids are a bit finicky about this dish, but I prepare it when Grandma, Giovanni, and I are at home. There’s nothing fancy about my version—though I do embellish the onions with a sweet-and-sour finish of vinegar and golden raisins. Chicken livers need a bit of attention—thorough trimming and rinsing, and fast cooking in a small amount of oil—and they’ll be crispy on the outside and tender on the inside.

Starting with a base of garlic and olive oil, similar to many of my pasta sauces, you build layers of flavor, toasting the garlic, peperoncino, and capers on the pan bottom, then draw the components together with broth and reduce the liquid to perfect saucing consistency. It’s all done in less than 15 minutes. The added challenge here is that you must cook six plump chicken breasts to perfection, in the same pan, in the same short time. The chicken takes up most of the room, so the hot spots will be harder to find. More important, you need to control the heat and timing with care: the chicken has to caramelize lightly at first, then, as the sauce comes up around it, cook to doneness in a couple of minutes of high-heat braising. You’ll be thickening the sauce with bread crumbs in the exciting finale too—so it’s good to have all the ingredients ready to go. Quick, tasty, requiring little effort, this is the kind of cooking I love to do for my family. I guarantee that after you’ve served this amazingly moist chicken and superb sauce to your family they’ll be requesting it often.

I make a platter of these crumb-coated baked morsels for the kids when they come over because I know they will enjoy them and be nourished. But I notice most of the adults take a piece too. The cutlets have the crunchy appeal of fast-food-style fried “nuggets” and “fingers,” but they are better in every way. (You may notice that the coating is the same blend of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and bread crumbs that is so good on broccoli-and-cauliflower and string-bean gratinati, in chapter 4, pages 243 and 245.) Turkey has great flavor and texture, but chicken-breast pieces are also good prepared this way. I usually buy turkey-breast cutlets (organic or naturally raised) and slice them up; packaged turkey tenders (the meaty flap inside the breast) are even more convenient— cut them in half, or pound them flat and use the whole tender. The crispy tenders are great served with a green salad. Instead of the usual ketchup condiment, try some Summer Tomato Sauce (page 256), or the Quince, Cranberry, and Apple Sauce on page 367. They are wonderful served as a main course with Skillet Brussels Sprouts (page 271) or Skillet String Beans with Gorgonzola (page 247).

You may be surprised to find recipes with chicken, veal, and pork cutlets in my vegetable chapter. But the inspiration for this distinctive group of dishes is the vegetables that cover and surround the small portions of meat. When zucchini, eggplant, and (especially) tomatoes are at their best in the summer—and when I’ve an abundance of fresh tomato sauce in the refrigerator and freezer—I cook these beautiful one-pot dinners. I call these “skillet gratinati” because a large skillet or sauté pan is an essential part of the cooking. First you sauté your vegetables (in some instances) in the skillet; then you gently brown the meat cutlets in the skillet; then you layer lovely individual servings in the skillet; and then you develop your sauce in the skillet. Finally, you place the whole skillet in a hot oven, where the meat and vegetables cook until tender, the sauce thickens, and the crowning layer of grated cheese turns into a golden, crisp gratinato. (The whole cooking process takes little more than half an hour.) The first stage, on top of the stove, is the most fun, when you create your main dish and sauce in one pan in minutes. Having all your components ready and staying close to the pan will ensure success with this simple dish. The gratinati here are similar in technique but offer different ideas for ingredients. The most detailed instruction is in the main recipe that follows, with briefer descriptions in the equally delicious variations (page 315 and page 317). Once you understand the process, do experiment, using different meats, vegetables, herbs, and sauces—make the skillet-gratinate technique your own.

I suggest you use duck legs to make this guazzetto, because they are juicier. But if you can’t buy duck legs separately, you can cook the whole duck. Another way to skin this cat is to remove the duck’s breasts, make the guazzetto with the rest of the duck, and sear the breasts to be served as a second course or a treat for another meal.

Capon soup in Italy is the soup of the holidays. Rich and full of flavor, it is a soup base for tortellini, straciatella, and passatelli. Here it is difficult to get capon as readily as it is in Italy, but if you can find one, by all means make a big pot of capon soup following the recipe below. It was my mother who started using turkey, especially the wings, in her basic poultry and vegetable broth. She and Giovanni enjoy the meaty pieces—a couple of wings is plenty for them for dinner. Everyone loves the broth, which is sweet, flavorful, and not too strong. And Lorenzo is always ready to have a bowl of broth with noodles after school—proof of its goodness. Not least important to Grandma is that turkey wings are readily available, inexpensive, and, at our big neighborhood market, often on sale. So turkey wings and turkey broth have become staple items in our freezer. I use the broth as I would chicken or vegetable stock, in sauces, roasts, risotti, and lots of skillet dishes. I’ve found it extremely versatile and tasty—but not so much so that it overwhelms other flavors. Here then is our All-Purpose Turkey Broth—my mother’s original with my adjustments. You can use it in many recipes throughout this book, especially in the long-cooking pasta sauces and main course roasts and braises, as well as for all kinds of satisfying soups. Adjust the broth to suit you: either clear and light or with more body, with the vegetables mashed in. This is a large recipe, giving you plenty to freeze and have on hand whenever you need it.

Manfredi’s version of chicken cacciatora was chock-full of delicious Sicilian eggplant. Indeed, the vegetable chunks shared the spotlight with the meat and made it more bountiful and satisfying. Undoubtedly, I realized, this dish must reflect the resourcefulness of cooks in Sicily in generations past. With many mouths to feed, and a limited supply of chickens (or money to buy them), they could extend the dish with the sweet tomatoes and meaty eggplants that grow so prolifically in every small garden patch. I hope you’ll be creative with this recipe too: if your chicken is smaller than the one called for here, or if you want to serve more people, fry up more eggplant and cook up more tomatoes for sauce. From one small chicken, you’ll have prepared a feast, all in one pot. Serve this with panelle (page 281) or polenta (page 109), or dress a bowl of pasta with the sauce and eggplant. Rest assured, no one will leave your table hungry.

Here is a delicious pasta recipe, another example of the Roman affinity for offal. Whether tripe (trippa) or paiata (pasta sauce made with the stomach of a suckling lamb); or oxtails braised with tomatoes, celery and carrots (coda alla vaccinara), a true Roman meal is bound to include one of them. So what’s a little chicken liver with pasta, as in this dish? The Romans love it and have been enjoying it for centuries, so why shouldn’t you?

Chicken braised in tomato sauce is always good, but it’s especially flavorful when chunks of fresh young artichokes are added to the cooking pot. You can serve this with polenta, mashed potatoes, rice, or anything that will sop up the sauce. Some slices of grilled country bread are my favorite, particularly on a summer day. The dish tastes even better if it is cooked in advance and then allowed to cool and rest in the pot. Reheat just before serving. If you have some left over, try pulling the remaining chicken off the bone and returning it to the sauce, and bringing it to the boil; after letting it all cook for a few minutes, you have a great dressing for pasta. I like rigatoni or shells with this.