Saturday, October 22, 2005

Pollo Misterioso alla Siciliana

I
’ve only recently become aware of a minor literary genre: the culinary mystery. Perhaps you’ve heard of this sort of thing. Apparently, four or five authors have found comfortable niches writing about chefs who happen to solve murders.

I read one of these books two or three months ago, although I’ve forgotten the title, and the author’s name. It was about a woman who ran a catering business, and seemed to encounter cadavers wherever she went. Apparently though, her clientele enjoyed her cooking enough that they didn’t feel inconvenienced having to step over a corpse from time to time as they passed through the buffet line. And she managed to maintain a cheerful balance between kitchen and crime scene throughout the novel.

The reason I mention this, is that I’m engaged in a culinary mystery of my own right now. And while it has nothing to do with mayhem, it does have the kind of intrigue I live for.

Last Thursday, a chef friend handed me a cocktail napkin. Written on the napkin, was the following:

  • (bone-in chicken)
  • wine, honey, cinnamon, & cloves
  • onion & carrots
  • olives, currants or raisins
  • capers, pine nuts
  • 1 C sugar + 1 C vinegar – boil
  • (chilis + mint + parsley)



Mystery Cocktail Napkin

She had been driving along, channel surfing on AM radio, when she found a talk show, apparently about food. I was flattered she thought of me when she learned the topic was Italian food. But by the time she had pulled over to the side of the road and had gotten herself set up for writing, the host was saying, “…let’s review those ingredients one last time.” She was able to tell me that the guest was a woman; that the recipe was for whole, cut-up chicken; and that the guest had said, “Brown the chicken pieces more than you think you should.” Other than that admonition, no measurements, no instructions for preparation, no cooking times, no temperatures.

My first thought, given the honey, cinnamon, cloves, and mint, was that this recipe was Sicilian. On the other hand, the sugar and vinegar—classic ingredients to create agrodolce, sweet and sour—caused me to think of Tuscany and the Renaissance. Tuscans have used sugar and vinegar for a more palatable result when cooking meats of questionable age, since Michelangelo was carving his initials on tree trunks. But in the end, my impulse and experience led me back to Sicily.

I’d love to be able to say, in a sort of casual, vaguely arrogant way, this is the recipe for Pollo alla Siciliana, Sicilian-style chicken. Alas, I lack that kind of confidence. So does Google. I found one hundred fifty-two listings for Insalata di Pollo alla Siciliana, Sicilian-style chicken salad, but only one recipe for Pollo alla Siciliana. And, other than the chicken, the only association between that recipe and my cocktail napkin was the olives.

It goes without saying, Nero Wolfe would have had this mystery solved without even reading the entire list of ingredients. (“Well it’s obvious to me, Archie. The cinnamon alone should have tipped you off right away. My dear friend Gianmarco used to cook this especially for me at his restaurant, Il Gallo Stanco, whenever I was in Sicily.”)

I exchanged a few e-mails on this subject with one of my foodie friends in Boston, although his first response wasn’t very helpful. I think perhaps my first message wasn’t quite clear, because he replied, talking about how he might look pretty sharp in a brown suit with a yellow shirt; even though he doesn’t quite weigh 1/7 th of a ton. But he did allow that, in a Nero Wolfe novel, this dish might be named Pollo Misterioso alla Taromina. I think he might have been on to something there.

So unless or until I hear from someone who knows more about this than I, I’m going to call it Pollo Misterioso alla Siciliana, Sicilian-style Mystery Chicken. I think Nero Wolfe might have enjoyed it.

Note: It should also go without saying that this is my best guess for this one time. The next time I cook this dish, I plan to omit the sugar entirely. For my taste, the honey provides adequate sweetness to balance the acidity of the vinegar. I also found the capers to be superfluous, but I recommend that you use them anyway, then decide for yourself. Otherwise, I believe this recipe worked out well. I took a sample over to my chef friend, and she agreed.

Pollo Misterioso alla Siciliana

Ingredients:

1 2 ½ - 3 Lb. Chicken, cut into eight pieces
Olive oil
1 Medium onion, finely diced
1 Medium carrot, peeled and finely diced
1 Tbs. Honey
¼ tsp. Ground cinnamon
¼ tsp. Ground cloves
1 Cup dry white wine
½ Cup green olives, pitted and halved
1/3 Cup dried currants, or raisins
1 Tbs. Capers, rinsed and drained
¼ Cup pine nuts
1 Cup sugar
1 Cup red wine vinegar
1 tsp. Crushed red pepper flakes
2 Tbs. Fresh mint, finely chopped
2 Tbs. Flat-leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped
Salt & freshly ground pepper

Preparation:

Heat a large pot (a large, enameled French oven, e.g.) over medium-high heat, then add enough oil to cover the bottom.

Season the chicken pieces on both sides with salt and pepper and add them to the pot without crowding them. Do this step in two batches if necessary. Brown the chicken pieces thoroughly on all sides. Lower the heat to medium, then add the carrot and onion. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion has wilted; about five minutes. Add the honey, cinnamon, and cloves and stir with a wooden spoon to incorporate

Raise the heat to high and add the wine. Boil the wine for a minute or two to evaporate the alcohol, scraping the pan bottom with a wooden spoon to loosen any caramelized bits of chicken.

Lower the heat and add the olives, currants (or raisins), capers, and pine nuts. Stir to incorporate, then add the sugar and red wine vinegar. Stir until the sugar dissolves, then add the red pepper flakes, mint, and parsley.

Regulate the heat so the chicken mixture barely bubbles, and simmer gently for one hour.

To Serve:

Gently remove the chicken pieces from the pot—they will very likely be falling from the bone—place them on a platter and spoon the sauce over. Garnish with additional chopped parsley.

Serves four.

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