There is something about this dinner that is absurdly luxe for a easy-peasy one-pot weeknight, and that something is— let’s be frank here— butter.
Also: sweet sticky shallots, a slick of thick Dijon, and a soft crisp blanket– a full snowfall– of dark dried smoky pasilla-chili-spiked rye toast crumbs.
If you are not yet convinced: imagine if French onion soup was fried chicken.
Think: tender, crisp-skinned chicken; melting shallots in a buttery sauce; toast enriching said butter and adding deep smoky crunch to said chicken. Serve on a big bag of peppery rocket and watercress, OR wilted cavolo nero/Tenderstem for winter if you can be bothered. No need for any dressing, as the shallots do everything. A big squeeze of lemon over the leaves. Lots of black pepper. A swipe of golden Dijon on the side. Forty minutes, absolute tops, from coat off to sofa, including ten minutes of not being able to find the pan you want or whatever it is that always makes recipes take longer than chefs say they will. Minimal washing up (one board, one knife, maybe a spoon).
And shortcuts possible.
You just need to buy chicken thighs (easy), and maybe the bag of salad and a baguette for swiping.
Dream dinner.
While this was not the first thing I made in the new house (ragu, always), it is the first thing I have tested in this kitchen; and so far— if this is anything to go by— the vibe is good.
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