I did not have an ordinary suburban Connecticut childhood. In my earliest years, there were the chickens, ducks, and turkeys. The last of those spent time in the house, curling their warm heads up to my shoulder as I did my homework. As they little by little became extinct from our backyard, the next generation moved in. Their names were Spot and Dot, and they were guinea fowl purchased from the live poultry market nearby.
They were not as smart as the chickens, which is saying quite a lot about their lack of intelligence. Their tiny heads were able to contain just enough common sense to keep them from running into the road, until Spot did exactly that. Then there was just Dot.
I mention this because, while I had tasted chicken, duck, and turkey, I was always more than a bit curious as a kid about what Spot and Dot might taste like. I finally found out years ago at a now-shuttered restaurant in Montreal, Bistro Le Répertoire. And it turned out that my appetite for guinea fowl was in inverse proportion to its availability.
I lucked out, though, on a recent visit to the The Ashby Inn & Restaurant in rural Paris. Trust chef Johnathan Leonard to make what can be a bony, complicated eat into a luxury item. At the Ashby Inn, the guinea hen is partially deboned, leaving just the leg and part of the wing intact.
The meat itself is often compared to pheasant; I say it’s like a richer but milder chicken. At the Ashby Inn, it’s crisped in a cast-iron skillet, then bathed in a lush, lip-sticking truffle-Cognac demi-glace. For white-meat devotees, the dish is luxury incarnate. Wilted greens–including chard and purslane–and crispy, salty shattered potatoes complete the dish. Well, really, the shower of flower petals and chives, which contribute more visually than they do in flavor, tie everything together.
Guinea fowl aren’t the best pets. But on the plate, there are few things better. 692 Federal St., Paris
Feature image by Alice Levitt
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