Poulet Vallée d’Auge
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I’m here to speak without putting on an act, and that is exactly why I return to a dish like poulet Vallée d’Auge when I talk about LaBouffe. I rarely look for showmanship; I look for straightforward flavour, for cooking that keeps me company without taking over the evening. In this Norman dish, I find what I love most in a recipe: a clear identity, an obvious regional grounding, and enough gentleness to suit a quiet pace—almost like a good podcast after a day of web development. The cream, cider, apples, and Calvados are not trying to show off; they tell the story of a specific, generous table, and I relate to that. For four people, I use a chicken cut into pieces, two firm Normandy apples, two shallots, two button mushrooms per person if I want a richer dish, 25 cl of dry cider, 20 cl of thick crème fraîche, a small glass of Calvados, a knob of butter, a little oil, salt, and pepper. I peel the apples, cut them into wedges, and gently brown them in a little butter; I set them aside so they keep their shape. In the same casserole, I brown the chicken in the oil and butter, then add the finely chopped shallots and sliced mushrooms. I let everything take on a good colour, because I think a rustic dish benefits from having depth from the outset. I then pour in the Calvados, let it warm for a few seconds, and deglaze with the dry cider. I cover and simmer over low heat until the meat is tender and the juices have reduced slightly. At the end, I add the crème fraîche, return the apples to the casserole, leave it for a few more minutes without letting it boil, then adjust the seasoning. I serve this poulet Vallée d’Auge with steamed potatoes or a little rice, depending on my mood, but I always keep the same idea in mind: I want a meal that is simple to understand, precise in its flavours, and elegant enough to make you want to linger at the table. I like this recipe because it resembles me more than dishes that try too hard: it is understated, warm, thoughtful, and leaves room for real conversation. In Normandy, cooking has a way of blending rusticity and refinement without forcing it; that is exactly the balance I seek in the way I eat, and in the way I am.
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Where: Normandie