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Michael Procopio's avatar

My very first coq au vin was consumed in the Loire Valley not terribly far from where you are now. I was 16 and staying in an old 15th Century farmhouse on the 4th of July where the teenage sons of the owner were pushing two sheltered Beverly Hills girls on rope swings and sweet talking them. The girls thought the boys were saying they wanted to kiss them. I was sitting on a bench nearby and my understanding was that the boys wanted to fuck them. Then we were all called into dinner where we had steaming bowls of coq au vin placed in front of us, each with a tiny American flag firmly planted in the tender, fragrant hen flesh. It was sweet and weird and wonderful and the experience was completely lost on nearly everyone except maybe me. Now I have a strong desire to make this recipe half hoping some hot French farm boy is waiting somewhere with a swing.

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Erin Henderson's avatar

Coq au vin is one of my favourites!

When I was in Beaujolais a few years ago, we had lunch at a very unassuming place, just a country restaurant on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, that was absolutely jammed with everyone from construction workers to grandmas to bankers. And of course, everyone was having the coq au vin. 🐓🍷

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