Cooking with my Dad

Passport & Plate - Beer and onion braised chicken

USA | Friday, March 14, 2014 | 2 photos

Ingredients
2 T butter
4 large chicken thighs
Allspice to taste
! lb. onions, chopped
3t brown sugar, divided
4 bay leaves
2 t Dijon
1 cup dark beer
1/2 cup beef brother
1-2 t red wine vinegar

 

How to prepare this recipe
Melt butter in large skillet over medium-high heat. Season chicken with allspice and salt and pepper. Brown chicken 4 minutes per side. Transfer to plate. Add onions, brown sugar, salt and pepper and saute 10 minutes. Add bay leaves, mustard, beer, beef brother, vinegar. Add chicken back in and bring to a boil. Simmer 10 minutes until chicken is cooked through and sauce thickens, turning it occasionally.

 

The story behind this recipe
“Make the recipe just as it says one time, then you can change it any way you want,” my dad would say. My parents divorced when I was 11, and my dad was suddenly thrust into the foreign role of meal preparer. He tried to feed us Steak Diane, but Spaghetti O’s were far more popular with us. On weeknights, he took us out for dinner to bridge the gap between weekend visits. I liked to make a game of guessing where we were going. We had a small rotation of restaurants, so I had a good shot at being right. We settled into a post-divorce routine, but he began to feel that eating out was impersonal. We didn’t have much time to talk, and the visit ended as soon as the check came. One evening, he picked us up, and when I asked where we were going, the response was “Chez Thomson.” I didn’t speak any French, but it wasn’t long before I realized this meant he was cooking. He’d dig the groceries out of the bag and I’d hop up on the counter by the stove. He’d ask me about school as he sautéed onions. When he needed a bowl from the cabinet behind my legs, I’d swing my feet up. He’d ask me if there were any boys I liked and drop a pad of butter into the pan. I got older, but my seat next to the stove never changed. What did change was my curiosity about what was happening next to where I sat. Why did he wait so long to flip the scallops? Wasn’t he worried they were going to burn? Patience, he’d say. You want to flip them more than anything, but you wait. That’s what gives them that perfect golden crust. It was long after I graduated from college when we found this recipe. On my trips to visit him, food continued to be the focus, and this one was no different. We were looking through recipe books and food magazines waiting for something to speak to us. Something did in an issue of Bon Appetit, and it remains one of our favorite recipes. My dad didn’t plan on cooking bonding us. I know because I asked him. But it happened anyway.