Chicken with Fennel and White Wine. Photo by Ray Stuchbury Some people are early adapters. When the new thing comes out, they just have to have it no matter the price.
As a lifelong cook I would describe myself as old school. In my career as a chef, I stubbornly clung to pen and paper and my indestructible flip phone until it became just too difficult to keep up with the pace of communication required in today’s business culture. Thankfully, this was not true when it came to getting fresh produce for my family! When the good people at Bumbleroot Organic Farm set up shop in Windham, my wife and I were among the first in line, checkbook in hand, to sign up for a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) share, eagerly anticipating the fruits of their labors.
If you’d like to contribute to Home Plates, send a recipe and a story telling us how you came to cook it, who you cook it for and why it’s found a place in your life to [email protected] . Also, please tell us a little bit about your life as a home cook, include a photo of the dish, and yourself, possibly together, and let us know the source of the recipe.
The challenge that comes with a weekly bag of random beautiful vegetables, though, is making sure that you keep up with it. A long weekend camping trip or finally catching up on those restaurants you’ve heard so much about , and you’ll find yourself with a veggie drawer bulging at the seams. Last summer I was faced with this “problem” (poor me) and the culprits were fennel, celery and onions.
The braised chicken dish I came up with, chef’s mystery box style – aka what can you make with what’s here? – was my attempt to combine two classic dishes; Coq au vin and Sicilian shaved fennel salad with orange supremes. My daughter will eat chicken no matter how I prepare it. My wife isn’t much of a carnivore, but if sauce and enough flavorful vegetables are involved, she’s OK.
They had both made it clear, however, that the shaved fennel and celery salad wasn’t to be tried again no matter how nice the oranges looked! Fortunately, my chicken dish was a hit, and it has joined the family repertoire. It can be served with most any starch and vegetable combos, but pairs especially well with a green salad, and grilled or toasted hearty bread to gather up the almost caramelized vegetables. Mise en place for Chicken with White Wine and Fennel.
Photo by Ray Stuchbury CHICKEN WITH FENNEL AND WHITE WINE If you prefer, you can substitute orange juice for the white wine. 1 bulb fennel 1 medium to large onion 4-5 stalks celery 1 tablespoon olive oil 4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs, trimmed Salt and pepper 3-4 large cloves garlic, lightly crushed 1 cup dry white wine 2 to 3 wide strips orange zest (use a vegetable peeler) Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Halve, core and slice the fennel bulb.
Halve and slice the onion, so that the slices are the same size as the fennel. Slice the celery to match the fennel and onion. Set the vegetables aside.
Heat the olive oil in a 10-inch oven-proof skillet over medium heat. Season both sides of the thighs with salt and pepper and place them in the warmed oil, skin side down. Let them brown, untouched, at least 5 minutes.
You want to get good color and render some fat; adjust the heat if needed. Carefully turn the thighs to brown the other side, keeping the skin intact. Move the thighs to a plate and remove all but 2 tablespoons of fat from the skillet, reserving the extra fat, in case you need it.
Add the garlic and the sliced vegetables to the skillet. Season with a pinch of salt and pepper. Sauté until reduced in volume by half, 7 to 8 minutes.
Add the wine and bring to a boil, scraping up all the brown bits, or fond, stuck to the bottom of the pan. Reduce the heat to medium-low, nestle the orange strips and thighs – skin side up – into the pan and place the skillet in the preheated oven, uncovered, on a middle shelf for 12 to 15 minutes , depending on your oven, until the pan contents have soaked up the juices and the thighs register 165 degrees on a thermometer. Ray Stuchbury working a station for a Portland Country Club holiday party, circa 2000.
Photo by Jane Torres/courtesy of Ray Stuchbury MEET THE COOK, Ray Stuchbury I’ve been a Mainer since 1984 and spent the years between then and 2021 as a cook/chef in Portland’s emerging, then erupting restaurant landscape. By 1990 at the age of 25, I had managed a few kitchens (The Oyster Club and The Great Lost Bear), and with a partner was chef/owner of Luna D’oro on the end of Middle Street. I spent the bulk of my career, however, at the Portland Country Club, where I was executive chef for 21 years.
I retired at 56 in 2021. My home cooking style can be quite varied (especially for company!) but is mostly based in classic Americana. Does anyone really consider spaghetti and meatballs, tacos, quesadillas, fried rice or stir fries “ethnic” cuisine anymore? My strengths as a home cook are very similar to your grandmother’s: Shop carefully, waste nothing; make your own stocks ; make the leftovers as good as the original meal.
She and all of her neighbors were the original farm-to-table, nose-to-tail connoisseurs. A pot roast in my house becomes beef carnitas, hash and beef barley soup if it makes it past hot pot roast sandwiches! “Chef Ray at home today with his biggest fan, daughter Annie.” Photo by Cindy Stuchbury, “2nd biggest fan” These days I’m happily cooking for my wife and daughter, who’ve been patiently waiting through decades of nights, weekends and holidays for their personal chef to return home full time.
I cook every day and have for as long as I can remember. My favorite cooking utensil is the French knife I received from my mother for my 20th birthday. I was home visiting my parents who were less than thrilled with my recent decision to drop out of University of Southern Maine to pursue a culinary career.
“Maybe a few months of washing dishes will remind you of why you need an education,” my father suggested. My mother saw me admiring her new Wusthof and said “take it. I didn’t expect you and have nothing else for your birthday.
” Before I left for LaGuardia that night, she handed me a penny and told me it was the real gift, as knives, per German folklore, shouldn’t be given as a present as they might cut the relationship. Relationship saved, I boarded a plane to Portland that night with an 8-inch knife and a 4-pound, foil-wrapped tenderloin in my carry-on. Nobody batted an eye.
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