Last week my meat woman was pushing poussin, holding up the little birds to everyone who passed, extolling their many virtues, delicate flavor, ease of preparation, and other good things. I bought it, so I bought one. Taking my $7, my meat woman boasted that the poussin had been slaughtered at just five and a half weeks and then complained that her girlfriend had been giving her thunder. Spring chickens, all of them, she said. That’s what poussin is, after all, and as for her girlfriend, I didn’t ask.
I did not eat meat for many years, but that’s changed. I fall asleep at night telling myself that if the animal has had a happy life for whatever time is deemed gastronomically acceptable, then it’s okay for me to eat it. But five and a half weeks sounds awfully young. Was this okay? It reminded me of a lunch I’d had with a friend some months back. He derided me for cooking lamb—on the basis of its age—while munching on a decidedly industrial chicken sandwich. It didn’t seem right. I knew there was a comeback, but wasn’t sure what. Between this poussin and that scolding, it was time for an investigation.
Call me criminal. Lamb is slaughtered at less than one year. This is also true of the pork on your plate, and the hamburger, however high its grade. For that chicken, by contrast, it is less than four months. For duck it is the same. A month and change is awfully young, but now we’re arguing over weeks. Five weeks is inhumane, but ten or twelve is not? What if those twelve weeks were miserable, and the five weeks grand? I’m not certain, but you shouldn’t be, either. And in any event, the action of this post is in the past, the poussin was already plucked and cleaned, sitting on my kitchen counter. The best that could be done was to make a nice dinner of her. One is perfect for two people, and as my meat woman says, poussin has a delicate flavor, is easy to cook, and so very tender. So please, don’t give me any thunder.
Roast poussin with celery + apple
Adapted from The New York Times
1 poussin, about 1¼ pounds | kosher salt and freshly ground pepper | couple thin slices pancetta, chopped | olive oil | small palmful onion or shallot, minced | the same of celery | the same of bread crumbs | some water or chicken stock | ¼ of a tart apple, minced | celery stalks, perhaps 4
Preheat oven to 400. Season poussin liberally with salt and pepper. Cook pancetta in a small skillet over medium heat for a few minutes, until crispy. Drain on paper towels. Discard most of the grease in the pan.
Add a small bit of olive oil. Toss in the onion and celery, season with salt, pepper, and sweat for a few minutes. When these are translucent, add a good glug of olive oil and the breadcrumbs, tossing frequently until they become golden and toasty. If the mixture looks dry, add more olive oil, water or chicken stock, until it looks like stuffing. Then stir in the apple, and remove from heat. While the mixture cools, line a small ovenproof pan with celery, cutting so the stalks just fit.
Stuff what you can into the bird. Tie the legs, place on the celery stalks, and rub with a bit of olive oil. Roast for 1¼ hours. Baste from time to time if you feel like it, and pour water or broth into the bottom of the pan if things start to singe. (I did neither of these.)
Remove the bird to a plate to rest, smoosh the celery stalks into the juices at the bottom of the pan, and then remove them. Add a splash of the white wine or water from your glass, and let this simmer on the stove for a minute. You will only need one spoonful of this jus per person. Serve ½ poussin per person with a bit of its stuffing, a big salad, and some bread. Silently thank Florence Fabricant, and your meat woman.