What’s different is the technique, as most French applications break the skin and lay the bird flat, while Chinese applications leave the bird whole, using a technique quaintly called “the glove method” (see my original eGullet post).

Why am I scribbling about an old post I did on a bulletin board? Lead-in: I need something to lead into the blah-blah about the anniversary of the Buttter Event and I’m already late on that one.

Anyway. Martin Yan can take the skeleton out of a duck with a cleaver in under one minute using this method. I don’t do this as often but I do know that I can generally debone a chicken in under five minutes and just over 20 if I have to stop and take photos.

The stuffing can be whatever is required for a particular dish; for this particular demo, I ground some pork loin and flavored the mince with mirepoix and lobster mushrooms that had been rehydrated in white port. Since the back of the bird generally doesn’t have any meat, the purchase and use of additional chicken breast gives a rounder overall shape.

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Notes

Deboning poultry is always a good way to test/demonstrate one’s knife skills, and I think mine are pretty good as I can zip through birds without too much difficulty. The glove method can be used on any bird, though it’s easier with medium-sized ones like chickens and ducks rather than something too small (quail are the worst) or too large.

The resulting bird is a different way to prep a showcase dish, and it’s always good for laughs at carving time, especially when you don’t tell anyone that you’re doing a homage to Mortal Kombat’s Sub-Zero.

And yes, I did burn the freaking roast.

As I mentioned at the start of the Year of the Tiger, unlike last year, my parents weren’t out of town so my mom made New Year’s Eve dinner. Good thing too, as while my Year of the Ox dinner last year was okay, I think everyone just likes it better when it’s my mom cooking.

Though I did offer, I didn’t prep anything this year as my mom decided that she had more than adequate lead time to prepare everything she wanted to make. My sister made a dish (she normally does more than one but she’s been a little busy these days) and I did make at least a manual contribution by doing some choppy-chop and plating as things were finished and came off the stove.

Scallion (green onion) pancakes (蔥油餅). This is a snack that pretty much everyone likes, but we don’t make them too often because it really requires communal participation as the prep is not something that works well at a small scale or when solo. We actually didn’t break out the rolling pins to make some for New Year’s and the only reason I’m bringing them up is because of my parents’ penchant for “experimentation” when they do New Year’s grocery shopping. This year’s exemplar of trying something new came in the form of a commercial pancake because they thought it would be a nice quick snack to fix which wouldn’t interfere too much with dinner prep.

Okay… I think my brother is still shaking his fist in anger over the quality, validity and authenticity of this pancake (my parents too, but I think they’re trying to be polite about it). My mom prepped it really nicely but I don’t think any amount of care in cooking it would have saved this thing. A good 蔥油餅 will have layers, be toothsome and have that grilled onion flavor. This one was squishy inside, didn’t have layers and was studded with a sweet-ish pickled cabbage that generated those “why are we eating this?” expressions.

Anyway, my mother presented twelve (12) dishes, plus fish, plus rice. Great way to bring in the New Year.

The traditional greeting is 新年快樂, but I was spending quality time chewing so it sort-of came out ”mmm…”

The obligatory roster

Rice (d-uh). Steamed white rice, and plenty of it to ensure that we can show plenty (and I got my rice bag weeks in advance this year).

Fish. We don’t touch the fish on New Year’s Eve. Some families do, ours doesn’t. I actually don’t know what kind of fish this is but there’s mention of a gold strip along its back. It is however, tasty as I did get a chance to eat it after the Eve, when it was served with this really great sauce (a hot and sweet/sour one that resembled a gastrique – soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, chili peppers, onions, ginger).

Chicken. This year, the chicken option was my brother’s favorite dish: it’s a spicy chicken (pieces of boneless breast and thigh) sautéed with chili paste (specifically Lan Chi brand chili paste with garlic) and served with blanched baby bok choy. My mom didn’t tone down the chili paste so it was quite savory with that typical kick of heat on the back palate afterwards.

The rest of the menu

• Noodles; fried long noodles with plenty of shrimp, pork, shiitake, cabbage, onions, carrots (I think there was actually more ingredient than noodle)
• Roast duck; one of my father’s favorites, though if we were in Taiwan this would be replaced by goose, which he likes even better (me too)
• Char siu (叉燒); for oinky barbecue goodness
• Taiwanese pork sausages (香腸); these are slightly sweeter and juicier than the typical sausage but when in Taiwan, just buy the sausage from the vendor and resist the urge to “gamble” to win one (the same sausage will just cost twice the price if you do)
• Black mullet roe; a Taiwanese “must-have” for New Year’s and one of my father’s favorite things to eat (the roe is a gift of my second paternal aunt)
• Scallop and shrimp; a plate of oil-poached diver scallops and shrimp finished off with red peppers, onions, Sichuan peppers and other spicing
• Braised pork and eggs; soy-braised pork hock and knuckles and eggs (umami-laced deliciousness)
• Spare ribs and chicken; spiced velvetted ribs and chicken filets (my mom made the filets specifically for a little guy in short-pants who unfortunately had a cold on New Year’s)
• Sautéed mustard greens; this was the only purely-vegetarian option on the table (New Year’s isn’t about vegetables)
• Aubergines; my sister’s dish – Chinese eggplants stuffed with minced pork and served with a hoisin-based dipping sauce
• Soup (daikon and meatballs); you can tell it’s my mom who made the soup because its base is a tasty pork broth whereas my variant is a cheapskate version with kombu stock

Wine

Wine? I wasn’t asked to (my father said he was overloaded with bottles) but unexpectedly wound up suppying the wine in a roundabout sort-of way: it was a 2007 Oak Bay Pinot Noir (gold medal winner at 29th All-Canadian Wine Championships) that I had brought over for my father earlier.

I would have actually brought a Grüner Veltliner or a softer neutral white, but the Pinot paired surprisingly well with the meal as its earthy tones complemented the umami in the meal (note to self: be a bit more avant-garde with pairings).

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What you see in this lead photo is a stock pot containing 69 chicken and 3 capon carcasses (and 17 chicken feet). And while it resembles a scene from a variety of episodes of CSI, it’s actually me making chicken stock.

Good chicken stock is a great thing to have; use it as an ingredient, use it as a highlight, use it as a carrier – it’s got widespread applications. Though Campbell’s and Swanson’s make okay commercial stocks (about $3-4 per 900 mL carton), I prefer to make my own because I don’t salt it and I only use chicken (no aromatics) so that I can have as neutral a flavor and as versatile an ingredient as possible. That’s actually important because I do both Asian and Western dishes and the former is horrible with stocks flavored with herbs while the latter gets rather odd with star anise and ginger aromas.

Stock making is also an excellent exercise in teaching patience and managing stress.

Ingredients

• chicken trim (bones, skin, feet, wings)
• chicken, whole or pieces (optional)
• bouquet garni (optional)
• mirepoix of equal parts carrots, onion, celery and leeks (optional)

Preparation

If using mirepoix and the bouquet garni, line the bottom of the stock pot with the vegetables and the bouquet garni. Add the chicken trim to the pot. Add cold water to the pot until there is approximately 5-6 cm of liquid covering the solids.

Carefully bring the contents to boiling point, making sure to skim whatever foam comes to the surface of the pot. Turn back the heat until the pot stays at a gentle simmer. Continue to skim the surface, and add additional cold water as necessary to maintain the liquid level. Do not disturb the solids. Simmer for 3-7 hours (depending on volume) until stock is finished.

Ladle out as much of the liquid as possible into another pot. Transfer the remaining liquid into another container (tall and clear/semi-opaque if possible). Allow this liquid to settle so that the fine solids have dropped to the bottom. Transfer the top layer of liquid to another container and discard the remaining suspension.

Refrigerate the stock so that the fat will congeal. Remove the fat (it can be saved as this is “schmaltz”). If the underlying liquid is not slightly gelatinous, the stock can be condensed by a second simmering (skimming foam as required). Portion out finished stock, which should be a clear golden liquid.

Notes

The amount of chicken required should be the amount that will go at least half-way up the side of the pot (after the carcasses have been cut down so that they’re in flat-ish pieces). For mirepoix, I used to use 500 g of each vegetable for a 16 L pot.

Having actual chicken is nice since it gives additional depth of flavor and texture to the finished product but you will have to remember to fish it out part-way into the stock-making process if you want to eat it, otherwise it will be overcooked and not particularly palatable. One way to simplify this is to tie the chicken meat in some cheesecloth that can be removed after an hour or so of poaching.

If using only chicken (no vegetables) and there is a lot of it (e.g. my 72 total carcasses), you can do a “remouillage”, which is essentially a repeat of the entire process. The resultant stock will be cloudy and gelatinous; if necessary it can be clarified by syneresis (freeze filtration using either gelatin or agar) followed by re-concentrating by a second simmering.

By the way, my chicken parts gave up 14 L of clear stock and 10 L of “remouillage”.

Uses

The remouillage stock in any application where absolute clarity is not required, such as potage, or in potsticker fillings to give an extra-juicy boost (watch some of the gyoza episodes of the Dotch Cooking Show).

The clear broth can be used for anything, including the following simple soup (baby bok choy, Greenland shrimp, cuttlefish balls, onions, sesame oil, kombu for hidden flavor):

This recipe actually isn’t quick since it takes more than 2 hours to prep and cook. However, it doesn’t take a whole lot of effort (or dexterity/brain power) either since the entire process consists of boiling everything in one pot.

My version of this poached chicken eliminates the typical herbs found in a bouquet garni and replaces with aromatics which are better complements to the vegetables I selected. Why star anise and kombu? The former boosts the perception of a “meaty” taste while kombu is “hidden flavoring” – it’s packed with glutamate and will significantly up the umami quotient within the broth. It’s also undetectable as its presence is masked by the other ingredients.

Ingredients

• one large whole chicken (I prefer using capons in the 3 kg range)
• one small whole Savoy cabbage (approximately 500 g)
• 500 g each parsnips, carrots, button mushrooms (all cleaned but left whole)
• 1 leek, cleaned
• 3 ribs celery (optional)
• 2 yellow onions
• 1 piece kombu
• 1 star anise
• 2 cloves
• 1 bay leaf
• 12 peppercorns

Preparation

Wash chicken. Remove any gizzard/heart/liver and set aside for another use. Place kombu and spices into a piece of cheesecloth and tie shut; place spice packet in the cavity of the chicken. Tie bird with butcher twine so that it sits compactly.

Times quoted are for a 3 kg capon, the vegetables listed and a 16 L stock pot. Adjust as necessary for smaller/larger quantities.

Place chicken in a pot large enough to hold both the chicken and the vegetables and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, skimming off any foam that develops. Once the pot comes to a boil, turn down heat and gently simmer for 45 minutes. Add the whole Savoy cabbage to the pot, bring temperature back up until the pot is back at a gentle simmer. Continue to cook for another 30 minutes. Add remaining vegetables except mushrooms and simmer for 15 minutes. Add mushrooms and simmer for 10 minutes, then cover pot, turn off heat and allow contents to poach in hot liquid for another 30 minutes.

Service

If everything is done correctly you will have one properly poached chicken, cooked but not mushy vegetables and clear broth.

To serve, portion out the chicken and vegetables and ladle a little hot broth over to keep the dish moist. Serve with coarse salt, pepper and sour cornichons. The remaining broth may be served alongside or retained for another use.

Canadian Thanksgiving (you know, the good one) has wound down and is over until next year; same old – too much eating and nearly immobile from the caloric onrush. It’s a combination harvest festival as well as the first autumnal three-day weekend in 60 percent of Canadian provinces. We don’t make a really big deal as our neighbors to the south: with the exception of those Maritimers, most Canucks go to the market, get a turkey, eat it and give thanks for well, having a three-day weekend.

The nice thing about Canadian Thanksgiving is that it’s still relatively free of commercialism and doesn’t have the prerequisite need for a sweet potato casserole topped with marshmallow (WTF? is that anyway). Yes, it’s true that we don’t have Squanto, the Pilgrims aren’t around to make everyone feel guilty, and there’s no spectacle in watching someone try and transport the 35+ pound OleoBall to carve at the table. But we also don’t get marshmallow nor do we get trampled in the inauguration of the annual XMas shopping rush (because you have to do it early or else Robot Santa will get you). I know, my former boss Wayne will tell me that there’s also football, but what’s the point of watching a version of the game that doesn’t count the rouge?

Food-wise, we generally go with the flow, though unlike others we try to stick to a bird that’s in the 15-17 pound range so as to not be stuck eating turkey until the American version of the harvest festival. There was a bit of a change this year as there were fewer eaters to be had around the table, so rather than be in a position to stare at turkey leftovers until XMas, it was time to start considering poultry alternatives. ”Thanksgiving quail” didn’t quite have the right ring to it, though it would have been amusing to serve one (maybe next year). Poulet de Bresse isn’t legal to import into Canada (not that I can afford the per kilo price of 30+ €), pheasant and grouse are too small, and it’s too early for geese. I did have a recommendation for a turducken, but that requires more eaters, not less as a turducken is pretty much a solid mass of meat. Free-range chickens in Taiwan were about the size I was shooting for, and while those aren’t available either (darn you, CFIA!), capons are. Unlike micro-geese, capons are relatively easy to obtain, taste pretty good, and are larger than the average chicken by normal means (longer time for raising) and not by WWE-style hormonal methods like some turkey-sized examples of ”normal” chickens I’ve seen at the Star Market.

To clarify for the puzzled, a capon is a rooster that crows as a soprano (is that the sound of knees slapping shut that I hear?), and is historically a favorite of monks like Friar Tuck. What, more knee slapping sounds?

I got a nice one that weighed in at 3.638 kg / 8 pounds of high-pitched poultry goodness at my favorite boucher at the Atwater Market (La Boucherie Claude et Henri) and got rolling.

Ingredients

For the capon,

• 1 capon
• 225 g / 0.5 pound golden chanterelle mushrooms
• 1 small onion or grey shallots
• butter

For the bread stuffing,

• 2 onions
• 3 ribs celery
• 2 carrots
• 225 g / 0.5 pounds button mushrooms
• 500 g loaf of dense day-old bread
• 1 L / 1 quart homogenized milk
• thyme
• sage
• bay leaf
• butter

Preparation of stuffing

Cut the chanterelle mushrooms into duxelles and mince the onion. Sweat down the onion in melted butter, add the chanterelles and continue cooking until the mushrooms are soft. Add salt and pepper. Set aside and let cool in the refrigerator until chilled.

For the bread stuffing, cut the onions, celery and carrot into small dice, cut the mushrooms into duxelles, and cut the bread into small cubes. Dry the bread in the oven. Soften the mirepoix in butter and oil (I actually used butter and bacon fat). When soft, add the mushrooms and cook until the mushrooms have also softened and released their liquid. Add one bay leaf, and thyme and sage to taste. Add the milk and bring the mixture to a near-boil. Add the dried bread and mix until the bread has absorbed the liquid. Transfer the stuffing to the roasting pan and spread out into an even layer. Fit the roasting rack.

Preparation of the capon

Use a paring knife to remove the wishbone to facilitate carving. Run your hand under the skin over the breast meat so that it is separated from the meat. Truss the bird. Spoon the chanterelle mixture under the breast meat and work the stuffing around so that it overlays the breast meat. Baste the bird (I used a mixture of soy sauce solution, but clarified butter works very nicely too).

Place capon onto roasting rack over the bread stuffing. Roast in a 175ºC / 350ºF oven. Baste and rotate the roasting pan every 30 minutes. The cooking time will depend on the size of the capon and how much bread stuffing is in the pan; this particular capon took 3 hours. Use a thermometer if in doubt.

At the end of the roasting time, remove the capon from the oven, tent with foil and set aside to rest at least 15 minutes before carving.

Service

Gee, what’s there to say? Carve (don’t muck it up), pass around the sides, and eat. Or do the Friar Tuck thing and have at it with two hands.

Wine pairing

An atypical Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc – the 2005 Cloudy Bay Te Koko Sauvignon Blanc. Pinot Noirs are nice if a red alternative is needed.

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Comments

Obviously I made some additional sides to have with this bird though if you’ll notice there are no marshmallows lurking in the background. I served this capon with a purée of Yukon gold potato, parsnips and parsley root with fresh chives (mashed and set with milk, melted butter and nutmeg) and a sauté of snap peas and carrots. There was also cranberry compote available for whomever wanted it, but the one thing I don’t do is make or serve gravy. Why? Gravy and other sauces are carriers of additional flavor and if available, should be there to enhance the savouriness of the plate. Unfortunately,  this is a rarity with most holiday birds.

In many cases, the reason for gravy is that people have managed to roast the bird to the point where the beast is greatly overcooked, obviously dehydrated and well on its way to becoming jerky. The role of gravy in this unfortunate scenario? It’s there to rehydrate the resultant jerky and make it soft enough to be chewed. There was this one memorable occassion where I just kept dribbling gravy onto my portion of turkey only to watch the liquid keep disappearing as it got sucked into the meat fibres.

Rather than suck rocks like that, I’d much prefer to roast the bird properly so that it comes out cooked and juicy. Just how hard could that be, you ask? Apparently quite hard from what I’ve seen but still, it’s “do or do not, there is no try” so no gravy for me as a crutch to mask bad technique.

So, while I ride off on my high horse, you’ll also notice from the photo deck that there was also a tarte aux pommes au Pépin (as in Jacques – the apricot jam gives it away) and a mignardise, which just happened to be pistachio biscotti that Ka-ru bi-nu happened to have lugged back from La Boutique de Joël Robuchon in Roppongi. Nice!

Irrespective of the fact that the American one is late by six weeks, the one thing the two Thanksgivings have in common is having too much food. Case in point: even with a 3.638 kg capon instead of a turkey twice the size, it would have still been too much bird even for the normal amount of eaters. Of course, if this were the US and it was American Thanksgiving, I’d probably be laughed out of the kitchen for roasting a tiny bird. I’ll chalk that up as a case of poultry-related psychophallystisis, but still, it’s too much food.

Anyway, I’ll have managed to recover from my caloric stupor by late November. Good thing too: want to know what I’m going to be doing on American Thanksgiving? Rocket Robin Hood. Yep. It’s coming.