Chicken Tagine with Sweet Potatoes and Prunes

"Here in London it is an effort of will to believe in the existence of such a place at all.  But now and again the vision of golden tiles on a round southern roof, or of some warm, stony, herb-scented hillside will rise out of my kitchen pots with the smell of a piece of orange peel scenting a beef stew.  The picture flickers into focus again."  – Elizabeth David, on Provence






The gist of this blog is about the imaginative transportation from one place to another via the process of cooking.  David, above, in her classic the Cookery of the French Provinces, describes the "country to which I am always returning, next week, next year, any day now, as soon as I can get on to a train."  Although I have visited France twice myself, once to Provence, primarily in and around Nice, Mougin, and Aix, I do not have any more specific plans to return than common hope.  And so, as I begin to move through recipes such as Dorie Greenspan's 'chicken tagine,' the cooking becomes, I will quickly admit, partially about the  meal that I hope will result, but partially about the "vision of golden tiles on a round southern roof...some warm, stony, herb-scented hillside."

There's no real way for the artistic person to ever free from the dilemma of art for self versus art for others. Cooking just happens to be, I believe, the greatest medium we have for doing both simultaneously, and for which both gain... if the cooking is good.  I like to try to ensure both.

This meal is particularly 'exotic,' as Greenspan describes. Yet warm, soft and comforting.  I liked the approach to the softening of the white onions as step one: slicing two, and letting them essentially

slowly break down for half an hour on low heat at the bottom of the 'tagine,' or in my case a good sized dutch.  This would then create the steam base for the assembly of the rest of the meal, creating a wonderful bottom-to-top cooking sequence which permeated the chicken pieces and finally up to the top layer where one pound of sweet potatoes perfectly cooked (no stirring, or the 2-inch pieces, too soft by the end, would break to mush).  The onions, chicken, and potatoes then were the solid layers; what was sprinkled or poured in between served as the pique for the imaginative transportation to the

Mediterranean.  Two large pinches of saffron were added, as well a star anise, a touch of cayenne, a

a pinch of cinnamon, bay leaf, a touch of honey, and 12 prunes.  Just as Greenspan predicts, once the entire tagine cooks (45 minutes at a slight bubble), and the chicken pieces are draped by the onion, potatoes and juices, it becomes quite an adventure in discovery to figure out whether you are entering into a bite of sweet (especially prune and honey) or of earthy spice (especially the hay-like saffron and edge on the cinnamon).  What you do know is that by the time all of this ventilates up to the potatoes, they have captured a North African, Southern French region.  The afternoon sun outside shines a little bit brighter; the family eaters raise their chin muscles, nod in the affirmative, and dive back down into the plate.