Perfect coronation chicken

Retro classic or best left in the 50s? This not-so-posh nosh revamp could make a right royal triumph of your wedding supper How the mighty have fallen. From royal favourite to sadly soggy sandwich-filling in a single reign, coronation chicken has experienced a decline in fortunes that would give even Fergie’s accountant cause for concern. But then this 50s favourite has never been quite as posh as it seems. Created by the founder of Le Cordon Bleu cookery school, Rosemary Hume – rather than her better-known business partner, celebrity florist Constance Spry, as is often claimed – poulet reine Elizabeth , as it was originally known, was a deliberate and tactful compromise between the luxurious and the thrifty for a country still under the dreary yoke of postwar rationing. When I used my assembled family as (strangely carnivorous) guinea pigs over the Easter weekend, my father recalled how in his postwar childhood chicken was a Christmas treat and curry nothing but a vaguely bohemian rumour in his part of south London. So he was as surprised as anyone to hear that, according to cultural historian Joe Moran, coronation chicken was “designed as Britain’s first ‘TV dinner’” . Hume knew that anyone who had access to a set would be glued to it all day – hence, to be a success, her dish had to be easy both to prepare in advance and to eat with a fork. So practical was her creation that it proved an instant hit with the fashionable hostesses of the decade: “Not since Escoffier invented peach melba has a dish so fast become so famous,” Prue Leith has observed. It may be more retro than regal these days, but those same qualities make coronation chicken a useful party standby some 60 years on – whether you’re celebrating the royal wedding or International Workers’ Day . The original Rosemary Hume’s original recipe contains a few surprises. For a start, instead of just chucking in any old bit of leftover poultry, I’m instructed to poach a chicken specially with parsley, thyme and bay, plus peppercorns and carrot, and allow it to cool in the liquid before pulling the meat off the bone. The dressing, meanwhile, is more complicated than the modern mess of mayo and curry powder would have one believe. After softening some onion in oil, I stir in curry powder, tomato puree and half a glass each of red wine and water, bringing it all to the boil before seasoning with salt, sugar, pepper and lemon juice and letting the mixture simmer for 10 minutes. Once cooled, I fold it through mayonnaise and add 1 tbsp apricot puree, made from soaked and boiled dried apricots. It’s finished with 2 tbsp whipped cream, and then just enough of this mixture is added to “coat the chicken lightly”. No luridly oozing sandwiches here. It’s paler and pinker than the stuff we’re used to, and unexpectedly delicate in flavour. “I think this would have tasted more exotic in 1953,” my brother suggests, while my sister-in-law thinks the mayonnaise overpowers the spice. I quite like the combination of sweet fruit and tangy lemon juice, but it still lacks oomph to the modern palate. The fancy Telegraph food guru Xanthe Clay has kindly prepared the ground for me on this occasion : in a piece last summer, she came to the conclusion that a “modern and sassy” recipe from reader Simon Scutt was the queen bee’s knees of coronation chicken, though “it takes a bit of effort”, she admits – and the lady’s not kidding. After roasting my chicken with orange, cinnamon and bay leaves, I strip the carcass and use it to make a spicy stock with onion, garlic, white wine, fenugreek, coriander, cumin, curry powder and dried red chilli. While this is reducing, I make a saffron, turmeric, milk, white wine and mango chutney marinade (keeping up?) and stir in fresh coriander, sultanas and chopped dried apricot. After waiting for both to cool, I mix them together and stir them into the chicken, then put it all in the fridge overnight where it sets to a day-glo yellow jelly. Just before serving (phew) I fold through toasted curry powder and ground coriander, creme fraiche and mayonnaise, which dilute the dish to a pleasant sunshine shade – everyone’s very eager to try this one. Some reckon the roasted chicken has a better flavour than the poached stuff, though the latter is undeniably juicier; the sauce has a less enthusiastic reaction – “it’s a bit bland and liquid”, my sister-in-law says, while my brother reckons it’s the buffet equivalent of a chicken korma: “Some people go into restaurants and order it, and they like it – but it’s not exactly exciting.” I’m disappointed that, after all the effort, it’s so underwhelming. Sorry Simon and Xanthe, but no crown for this one. The cheat’s version My previous attempts at coronation chicken have always involved Sunday’s leftovers, so I’m back on familiar ground with Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s recipe for cold cooked chicken. The dressing is simplicity itself: 2 tbsp “good spicy fruit chutney” (I use mango, in keeping with the Anglo-Indian theme), mixed with 1 tbsp “good Madras curry powder” and equal parts Greek yoghurt and mayonnaise and tossed through the meat, which is then left to marinate for a couple of hours and finally garnished with toasted almonds and chopped coriander. The sandy colour looks the part to our modern eyes, and the assertively fruity, spicy flavour wins fans too – everyone loves it, although my mum points out quite rightly that the raw curry powder adds a harsh note to the dressing. The yoghurt stops the mayonnaise from taking over the dish, without imparting the slightly buttery flavour of creme fraiche. A solid, crowd-pleasing recipe for anyone in a hurry – and I love the crunch of the nuts. The healthy take The National Dining Rooms at London’s National Gallery ought to know a thing or two about British cookery, and their recipe intrigues me. Like Hugh’s it uses a mixture of yoghurt and mayonnaise, but adds apricot conserve, fresh ginger and Worcestershire sauce to the curry powder. Other rogue elements include peas, sherry-soaked raisins and fresh parsley and coriander, folded into a rice salad with peppers and spring onions. The peas and raisins remind me forcefully of school curries of the 1980s and I think the jam is too sweet, but I like the tang of the Worcestershire sauce and the lightness of the dressing. For a buffet, it’s more elegant to serve the rice and salad separately too. The maverick Nigella Lawson is not apparently a lady to kowtow to royalty, and her take on the dish – renamed, perhaps wisely, golden jubilee chicken – is characteristically irreverent. (“Believe me,” she insists in her introduction, “no political affiliations are thereby intended”.) I mix cubes of fresh mango with finely chopped spring onion and red chilli, and spritz the whole lot with lime juice before adding chunks of cooked chicken, shredded little-gem lettuce and a handful of chopped coriander. Instead of mayonnaise there are groundnut and sesame oils. It’s fresh and zingy, but this is a dish that curtsies to south-east Asian rather than Anglo-Indian cuisine, and on a practical note I’m not sure how long it would be happy to sit around on the buffet table. Perfect coronation chicken Coronation chicken is a dish begging to be rescued from the retirement home of the chiller cabinet and given the respect it deserves: as Simon Hopkinson tartly observes, “those cowboys who continue to think that bottled curry paste mixed with Hellmann’s is in any way a reasonable substitute here need a good slap with a cold chapatti”. Like the monarchy itself, it’s evolved in the last 60 years. The modern palate demands more spice and a lighter, fresher flavour – and these days, with the kingdom of herb and spices available to us, it’s easy to update Rosemary Hume’s recipe to make a dish fit for a 21st-century queen (and the rest of us too). Serves 6 1 chicken, about 1.5kg 1 cinnamon stick 5 black peppercorns Pinch of saffron 1 tsp salt 4cm piece of fresh ginger Bay leaf 5 tbsp good quality mango chutney (I swear by Geeta’s ) 50g ready-to-eat dried apricots, finely chopped 2 tbsp good curry powder 2 tsp Worcestershire sauce 200ml homemade mayonnaise 200ml Greek yoghurt 50g flaked almonds, toasted Small bunch fresh coriander, chopped Green salad and basmati rice, to serve 1. Put the chicken, breast-side up, in a large pan along with the cinnamon, peppercorns, saffron, salt, the bay leaf and half of the ginger and fill with cold water until only the top of the breast is exposed. Cover with a lid and bring to a simmer, then turn down the heat so only the occasional bubble rises to the surface. Cook gently for about one and a half hours until the juices run clear. Take out of the pan and set aside to cool, then remove the meat in bite-sized pieces while lukewarm. Finely chop the rest of the ginger. 2. Put the mango chutney and apricots into a large bowl. Toast the curry powder in a dry frying pan until fragrant, then add the chopped ginger and stir both into the bowl, followed by the Worcestershire sauce, then the mayonnaise and yoghurt. Season to taste. 3. Once the chicken is cold, fold it through the dressing and refrigerate for at least a couple of hours before folding through most of the coriander and serving topped with the almonds, with a green salad and basmati rice. So – is curried chicken salad a party must-have in your house, or a dish best left in the 1950s? How do you make it or did you last have it in a soggy sandwich? Food & drink Chicken recipes Main course recipes Meat recipes Royal wedding Monarchy Weddings Felicity Cloake guardian.co.uk

Posted by on April 28, 2011. Filed under News, Politics, World News. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.