Chicken and Memories

In about 1988 I was visiting a customer in the hills above Bourgoin Jallieu, about half an hour's drive east of Lyon. My appointment was in the afternoon, so I found the place then looked for somewhere to eat. This was in agricultural country, not blessed with choice. The one I did find has stayed in my memory though, and epitomizes what I love about basic French food.

There was no menu. The bovine waitress brought a carafe of water, another of red wine, a basket of sliced baguette, and a serving plate of charcuterie with sharp knife for me to cut a few slices of sausage and grab a couple of cornichons before she collected it for the next table. Next was the main course, a roasted chicken-joint served with gloopy beans that tasted of the chicken stock and garlic. Lots of garlic. Then a plain green salad, just fresh lettuce dressed with vinaigrette. 'Un fromage?' meant that, the choice of a piece of good cheese, eaten with the bread, or a petit suisse. And pudding was a plastic tub of supermarket creme brulee.

It cost FF50. That's 50 francs to the Euro generation, about £5 then. For five courses. They doubtless made their money on simplicity, ease (hence the tub of pudding) and volume. Not gourmet stuff, but it filled me like it filled the blue-overalled farmers at the other tables, and it was really enjoyable, though not being able to drink more than a glass of wine was a pain. The chicken indeed was more than enjoyable, it was perfect of its type: robust flavours, pleasing texture of tender meat and soft beans, the kick of garlic.

Last night I tried to recreate that chicken dish, with some success, roasting a cut-up bird (dusted with plain flour) with lots of onions, a few cloves of garlic, a bay leaf and a little dash of wine. Near the end of the cooking time two tins of flageolet beans rinsed of their canning liquid went in, plus some cheaty chicken stock. Inflation having taken its toll the bird alone was more than £5, so call it £7.50 with the beans and onions. But it fed three, the scraggy middle bit of the chicken and a wing made my lunchtime sandwich, and there is a breast that will go on a pizza tonight, so not exactly profligate. And what price re-living a pleasure of 25 years ago?