The male wears silky, orange-red feathers, has deep-purple wings and a highly exaggerated wattle and comb, while the female has soft, rusty-brown plumage and a white speckled neck. Both are red junglefowl, found across much of southeast Asia, and chickens, as we know them, are descendants of this gorgeous, pugnacious, but sociable couple. According to food scientist Harold McGee, domestication seems to have taken place near Thailand sometime before 7,500BC. Several thousand years later, in about 500BC, chickens arrived in the Mediterranean, where they were largely “unpampered farmyard and courtyard scavengers”, providing eggs and occasional meat. That is until the 19th century and a chicken-breeding craze in Europe and North America, which was followed by mass production in the 20th century.
Every so often I need to pick up Hattie Ellis’ Planet Chicken, as well as her book What to Eat: 10 Chewy Questions about Food, which journeys through nature, science and the dark arts of the food industry, emerging with clear thoughts and ways to feed ourselves. For those of us who continue (for now) to eat chicken, her advice is this: eat less but better; shop at the butcher, not just at the supermarket; make the most of cheap cuts; don’t trust the label, and find out about meat without packaging; learn about animal welfare; visit a farm.
Washingpool Farm is three miles from West Bay in Dorset, just outside the market town of Bridport. The 80-acre farm also has a shop that sells its own vegetables, soft fruit, flowers, meat and eggs, as well as cider, beer, cheese, pies, biscuits, cereals, bread and more, from more than 100 local suppliers. I got everything I needed for this week’s recipe from there.
The size of the baking tin is important. As Nigella Lawson points out in one of her recipes for a chicken thigh traybake: “There needs to be space around the chicken thighs for the magic to happen.” So, if you are cooking for, say, four, a baking tin of 38cm x 28cm is ideal, allowing plenty of room for eight thighs (that is, two per person)that, once arranged in the tin, look a bit like tiles surrounded by tomato grouting.
During baking, not only does the meat become tender, the skin crackly and the tomatoes wrinkled and sweet, but the fatty juices from the chicken meet the tomato juices, creating a red-tinted bath crossed with a lava lamp that comes some way up the thighs (this is another reason they remain so tender and have such good flavour). The juices and collapsed tomatoes are also a sort of gravy, and therefore a reason to make sure there is bread on the table, or to boil a few new potatoes that can be squashed with the back of a fork so they soak things up. Juices can, of course, be spooned away or left in the tin; alternatively, pour them into a pan (skim off the fat, if you want), then reduce to a thicker gravy that everyone can pour over the chicken as they wish.
Chicken thighs with cherry tomatoes, and a green bean, lettuce and parmesan salad
Serves 4
8 skin-on, bone-in chicken thighs
Olive oil
Salt
500g cherry tomatoes, halved
3 small garlic cloves, peeled and gently pressed, but left whole
2 sprigs rosemary
1 head romaine lettuce, washed and broken into bits
300g green beans, trimmed, cut into short lengths and boiled until tender
30g parmesan, grated
2 tsp red-wine vinegar
1 tsp dijon mustard
Rub the chicken thighs with olive oil and salt, then arrange them skin side up in a single layer in a large baking dish. Toss the halved cherry tomatoes and garlic with two tablespoons of olive oil and some salt, then tip them on top of the chicken and push the mix into the gaps between the thighs.
Lay a couple of sprigs of rosemary over the top, then bake, uncovered, at 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4 for 45-50 minutes, until the chicken is well browned on top and cooked through.
Meanwhile, make the salad by tossing the lettuce with the cooked beans, parmesan and a dressing made from four tablespoons of olive oil, the red-wine vinegar and mustard.
