Tuesday 17 November
As Chekhov certainly did not say,
when you hang a roast chicken over the mantel in act one, you have to eat
the legs, thighs, and wings in act three.
(Never in act two. It is our
guiding principle not to eat the same thing two nights in a row.)
Accordingly, we got out all the
bits that were left after we ate roast chicken breasts on Saturday, fried up a
panful of mushrooms with fresh thyme, set them aside and reheated the chicken
parts in the mushroom juices and a trickle of white wine, and then returned it
all to the pan with a glugg of heavy cream and some chopped tarragon.
Another good reason why chicken
should be considered parve.
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