(A sidestep is a non-Epicurean Historian post that highlights a delicious meal I made and/or ate. In other words, it’s a post of some 21st-century dish that I made/ate in the 21st century. It’s quite present-tense for my historical likings, but yummy in my tummy. By the way, could I make a 21st-century recipe in the 18th century? Felix, get working on that time-traveling-Delorean!)

I love Thanksgiving. Here are my reasons:

1. Family
2. Food
3. Wine
4. Food
5. Catching up on reading (supposedly, though it never happens)
6. Food

And this year did not disappoint in any of these areas. Nothing compares to cooking all day and eating the rest of it. First off, brunch.

Triple Ginger and Pecan Scones

Bacon, Spinach, and Gruyère Frittata

Fresh Fruit

Prosecco

It was just enough to fill us up for the ensuing cooking-xtravaganza. 6 hours later…

Curried Carrot Soup with Toasted Almonds

Prosecco (we really love sparkling!)

 Turkey Roulade with Cranberry and Shitake Stuffing

Cider Gravy

Roasted Yukon Golds and Sweet Potatoes with Sage

Creamed Leek and Kale Gratin

Cranberry and Apple Chutney

Poppy’s Rolls (my wonderful grandfather’s rolls- Alabama certified!)

Georges DuBoeuf 2011 Beaujolais

Ahh,  gastronomic bliss. A little political/historical conversation, interlaced with a little more wine, allowed for some time to elapse before…

Bourbon Pumpkin Cheesecake

Cappuccino with Cinnamon

I’m so thankful for my wonderful mother, father, sister, partner, Ted-cat, friends, professors, stipend-giving university, and the internet for providing me with a very inexpensive culinary education.

Happiness. Epicurean Happiness.

My first Epicurean Historian foray naturally represents one of my historical interests: the antebellum US South. It was also inspired by our dinner guests, Kelly and Tim: born and bred Virginians, super foodies, and wonderful friends (who always bring dessert).  So… drumroll please…

CHICKEN PUDDING!

Um, pudding and chicken? My partner, Felix, asked the same question with the same discomfort and incredulity. This pudding is of the English style, and creates a fluffy, custard-like pillow for the chicken. Here’s the original recipe:

“Chicken Pudding, A Favourite Virginia Dish”

“Beat ten eggs very light, add to them a quart of rich milk, with a quarter of a pound of butter melted, and some pepper and salt; stir in as much flour as will make a thin good batter; take four young chickens, and after cleaning them nicely, cut off the legs, wings, &c. put them all in a sauce pan, with some salt and water, and a bundle of thyme and parsley, boil them till nearly done, then take the chicken from the water and put it in the batter, pour it in a deep dish, and bake it.” (Mary Randolph, The Virginia Housewife (Baltimore: Plaskitt, Fite, 1838), 83-4. Accessed at The Historic American Cookbook Project, http://digital.lib.msu.edu/projects/cookbooks/html/books/book_10.cfm.)

Considered by many to be the first regional (and also southern) cookbook in America, The Virginia House-Wife came to other housewives in 1824 by Mrs. Mary Randolph. A part of the Virginia aristocracy, relative of Thomas Jefferson, and regionally renowned cook, Randolph operated an efficient and orderly home, not to mention a stellar antebellum kitchen. Her emphatic motto, “The prosperity and happiness of a family depend greatly on the order and regularity established in it,” reflects the social and gender norms of the southern gentry (p.xii). And yet The Virginia House-Wife incorporates much more than just elite Virginia recipes; African, American Indian, Spanish, French, English, and many other diverse foods fill her recipe book. I want to begin, however, with this classic southern recipe.

As this was (apparently) one of President James Monroe’s favorite dishes, it must have been delicious for the antebellum era. Yet, we are not living nor eating in the nineteenth century anymore. Pondering on how I could innovate and improve upon this recipe, my (southern) psyche drifted from pudding to bread pudding. I love a good sweet bread pudding; why not a savory one? So here’s what I came up with:

Roasted Chicken, Caramelized Onion, and Gruyère Bread Pudding with Crispy Pancetta

* ½ loaf Country French Bread

* olive oil (I always use extra virgin)

* 2 tsp. thyme, minced, separated

* 2 bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts

* ¼ lb. pancetta (sliced ¼” thick), diced

* 2 onions, thinly sliced

* ½ tbsp. garlic, minced

* 5 eggs

* 1 cup heavy cream

* 1 ¼ cup whole milk

* 1 cup Gruyère, grated

* 1 celery stalk, chopped

* Red pepper flakes

* ¼ cup Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated

* Salad greens (I’m using spinach)

* Lemon, sliced into wedges

Cut bottom crust and short ends off bread and discard. Cut remaining bread with crust into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups loosely packed). Place cubes in a large bowl. Drizzle with 1 tbsp. olive oil, 1 tsp. thyme, salt and pepper; toss to coat. Spread cubes out on large rimmed baking sheet. Toast until golden in a 375º oven (about 20 minutes) to dry them out. Set aside.

Rub chicken breasts with olive oil; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place on baking sheet, and roast in a 350º oven for 45 minutes. Remove from oven and cool. Take skin off and shred the chicken. Set aside.

While chicken roasts, add diced pancetta to a large, cold sauté pan. (Beginning with a cold pan with ensure that you render the fat from the pancetta, which adds a wonderful flavor to the onions!) Turn up heat to medium-high, and sauté until crisp. Transfer pancetta to a plate lined with paper towels. Reserve pancetta drippings.

For a visual, here’s pancetta sliced, diced, and crisped!

Heat drippings to medium-high heat. (Depending on the amount of fat rendered from the bacon, you may want to remove some of the drippings or add some olive oil. You want about 1 tsp. of fat for each onion used, so about ½ tbsp. of fat would be perfect here.) Add sliced onions, and stir to coat. Spread onions evenly over pan, reduce heat to medium/medium low (you don’t want these babies to burn!), and cook 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Sprinkle some salt and a little sugar (no more than ¼ tsp.), and continue to cook for 30 minutes to an hour, or until the onions are a rich, brown color. (If onions begin to stick and seem quite dried out, add a little water or stock.) Throw in the garlic and 1 tsp. thyme in the pan, and cook about 1 minute. (Careful! Garlic burns quickly, more quickly than you think. Be careful, it might have already burned as you read this!) Add a splash of balsamic vinegar to deglaze the pan, scraping up those yummy brown bits on the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. (The pan should be hot enough here that the vinegar sizzles when it hits the pan, and evaporates quickly, leaving you with lovely vinegar-glazed onions.) Turn off heat, and allow onions to cool a bit. (You don’t want to curdle your eggs.)

Onions before and after:

In a large bowl, beat the eggs. Whisk in the cream and milk. Fold in the bread cubes so they can absorb the liquid. Fold in caramelized onions, half of pancetta, shredded chicken, gruyère, celery, pinch of red pepper flakes, and mix well. Season with salt and pepper. Let the mixture sit in the bowl for an hour, stirring it every 10-15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400º. Spray a 9×13 (or smaller, whatever you have) baking pan with cooking spray and turn the bread mixture into the pan. Sprinkle with parm and remaining pancetta. Bake at 400º for about 50 minutes, until the top is golden brown and puffy…like this:

When the pudding has approximately 5 minutes to go, start assembling your salad. Toss the greens of your choice with a drizzle of olive oil, splash of lemon juice, and sprinkle of salt and pepper. Don’t like my non-existent measurements? That’s because with a simple salad it’s all about tasting and adjusting according to your taste. Just remember: it’s always better to add a little at a time rather than saturate the greens. You’re the chef; season it to your taste and everyone will love it.

Serve the warm bread pudding alongside the salad, a wedge of lemon, and a nice, hefty glass of Côtes du Rhône. Hey, you deserve it. Á votre santé!

Deliciousness. Wonderful for brunch, lunch, or dinner.

A hearty thank you to Mrs. Mary Randolph, the lovely Commonwealth of Virginia, my sous chefs (Felix, Kelly, and Tim), and Teddy,

whose laziness always inspires me to take a chill pill.

There are two things in life that are simultaneously of the present and the past: food and history. Let’s think about this… a meal is prepared in the moment of its cooking and eaten very soon after, yet each dish is a process much longer in the making. It requires hours of finding, editing, and compiling recipes, recipes that have their own histories spanning much further back than you might assume. Similarly history is both of the now and then — it is researched and written in a particular moment that greatly affects the perspective of that “past” we often view as static and unchanging. It requires a knowledge of not only what came before — the historical facts and the historiography (the history of the history) — but also of what is happening in the present and how it skews (both positively and negatively) our understanding. This blending of the past and present in both food and history is what intrigues me as a cook and a graduate student. Thus the characterization of myself as hungry and historical. Thus the Epicurean Historian.

To maintain my sanity, I take time out of my grad school schedule (a.k.a. reading, reading, reading, and writing) to relax, cook, and drink with friends and family. It’s time I combine these two pursuits. Each week I’ll mine the archives (both physical and electronic) to find an old recipe, one that intrigues my dual senses as historian and cook. Then I’ll prepare a modern dish from that recipe; inspired by what I find, I’ll apply contemporary techniques, technology, and products to culinary classics. Maybe you can tell me which recipe (traditional or modern) piques your interest, speaks to your history, or makes you glad you live in the twenty-first century.

For food and history to provide us with something meaningful, they require immediate consumption through eating and reading. And yet they also necessitate contemplation and consideration. Through this, our labors (both culinary and historical) can facilitate us on our quest for the good life. So let’s celebrate what brings us joy, for “we must exercise ourselves in the things which bring happiness, since, if that be present, we have everything, and, if that be absent, all our actions are directed towards attaining it” (Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus, found at www.epicurus.net).