A lovely recipe, this, a chicken terrine that is simple to prepare, with a wonderful pure expression of flavour: a perfect chicken slice. I must urge you not to be afraid of terrines. Until recently I avoided making them myself if at all possible, and always handed over a recipe and delegated the grunt work to a kitchen dogsbody. I was happy to taste, of course, to edit the recipe, adjust the seasoning, and most importantly, to swoop in at the crucial moment and claim the credit (fellow former head chefs will recognise this gambit). But what a faff! Minced pork everywhere, deboning small birds, whizzing chicken livers up, pounding spices, messing about with gelatine, lining tins with clingfilm, rolling out rashers of bacon to make them thinner… the list goes on.
I exaggerate, of course, but it cannot be said that making terrines in a busy kitchen is a mission. There were no separate prep kitchens where I’ve worked, unfortunately, and the poor chef on the section would have a real task on their hands getting the messy job out of the way before service started. However! Now that I work on my own, and have the luxury of a prep shift the day before we open, making terrines is a joy. Terrine making is immensely satisfying, and once you have done it a couple of times, you realise that you can improvise within the framework of the recipe - an extra handful of this, a dash more of that, and be left with something subtly different. What is most fun is to have to wait overnight to be able to slice off a delectable morsel; to see how your improvisation has influenced the terrine’s character.
This chicken terrine is an excellent place to start. Credit for the recipe goes to my friend Reuben, who learned it from a book, and now I am writing it down for you. Our terrine is made with chicken thighs - boneless, and ideally half of them with skin on - and once the chicken is marinaded in its seasonings you just need to pack them tight into a loaf tin, wrap it up and cook it in a bain-marie. Once cooked, the chicken is pressed overnight, unwrapped and voila! Chicken slice, for you to serve how you like.
Most simply, this would be very nice with a piece of toast, some cornichons or other pickles, and a dab of mustard, but we can do better than that. The nice thing about this recipe is that the simplicity invites various fancy garnishes which can be varied according to the season. We used to serve this with a lovely anchovy and caper dressing, basically a salad cream: a mayonnaise base into which the lovely salty things are chopped, seasoned with vinegar and a touch of cream, but feel free to use your imagination. Very nice with a leaf of raw wild garlic and some radishes for a spicy crunch, or with a little bunch of fresh watercress. Not that I’ve made it (yet!), but a watercress and parsley sauce would be lovely, the leaves blitzed with some crème fraîche and a little mustard. Or some piccalilli! Or in high summer, a lovely light sauce vierge, or a little salad of creamed cucumbers with tarragon.
All lovely ideas, these, but as I stood in the park on Monday, saluting the flypast, I sensed a sudden swelling of patriotic duty. How best to honour the brave, the few, the fallen? How best to conjure up a bit of that famous Blitz spirit? Coronation Dressing, that’s how. Coronation sauce, of course, was a post-war invention, but feels close enough to the flag-shagging bunting-strewn street party vibe that I feel like this week was the time for it to hit the menu at the café. VE day jokes not withstanding, this dressing is an absolute hoot to make and is genuinely extremely delicious with our lovely terrine. A little celery leaf and some toasted almonds sets it off rather nicely, I think. This also, naturally, makes an incredible sandwich. Tally bally ho!
Coronation chicken began life in 1953 as ‘Poulet Reine Elizabeth’, a dish invented by Rosemary Hume and Constance Spry for the Queen’s coronation, an innovative poached chicken dish sauced with a mildly curried but delicate sauce coloured and flavoured with red wine, tomato puree, onions, mayonnaise, apricot puree and cream. It could be that Hume’s version was an update of the (1935) Jubilee Chicken, a simpler concoction chicken, curry powder and mayonnaise, but either way over time Coronation Chicken has evolved to become one of the nation’s favourite sandwich fillings. It’s certainly the most idiosyncratic; a sort of post-colonial nationalistic eccentricity in sandwich form. Curried mayonnaise is all well and good, but anything with dried apricots, sultanas and, joy of joys, mango chutney in it is sure to be fantastic.
Admittedly perhaps, this sauce is mostly one for British tastes, as when I tried to explain this dish to a lovely Spanish lady yesterday she looked perplexed to say the least, and was not swayed by my enthusiasm. Hats off though to Reuben, who I’m sure would approach this cheeky little dish with a twinkle in his eye and a characteristic wiggle of his moustache. Incidentally, Reuben’s favourite coronation chicken sandwich can be found a short bus ride further into the East End from Leila’s Shop, at Randolfi’s Refreshment Bar on Roman Road, where I urge you all to go.
The recipe follows for paid subscribers.
Chicken Terrine (with coronation dressing)
Serves 6 as a starter, with plenty leftover for sandwiches
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