Braised chicken with grapes, wine and vinegar
Pizzutella is a white or black grape variety. The name comes from the form: cylindrical and ending in a point, and the dialect for a point is pizzutella. It’s a variety grown widely in Italy, with some regional variations being less pointy and more bendy, hence the alternative names uva corna (horn grape) or minnevacca (cow’s nipple). In Spain, they are called dedo de dama, which corresponds with the Californian name lady fingers, while in Algeria they are known as nab el djemel (camel tooth), and in France cornichon blanc.
As well as having great names, thin skin and firm and sweet pulp, pizzutella were Carla Tomasi’s favourite grape; she would buy bunches at the market near her high school, then eat them between lessons. This endorsement overrules any criticism by those who dismiss them as easy eating, which they are – especially the seedless sub-varieties. Seeds, though, lend more flavour, and I like the crunch. Pizzutella have also been on offer all week at our local supermarket, which is why I used them for today’s recipe.
It is another variation on pollo alla cacciatora, or hunter’s or poacher’s-style chicken, which is similar to coniglio (rabbit) alla cacciatora. These names were likely given by urban trattorias to evoke a rustic scene, while the hunter, or whoever cooked his catch, simply called the dish “coniglio”. Names aside, it is one of my preferred dishes; the pieces browned, seasoning added, everything covered with wine, then simmered until done. The grapes are added towards the end of the cooking, so they soften and wrinkle, but stay more or less themselves in the thick, slightly sweetened juices.
In the grape chapter of her magnificent fruit book, Jane Grigson says that grapes for cooking need to be peeled and pipped (unless their debris is going to be strained out of the sauce). I disagree, especially when the grapes are paired with meat: oxtail, duck and, most of all sausages, where the skins stop the flesh collapsing into pulp and add tannins to the sauce. Only if the skins were incredibly thick or leathery would I ask someone else in the house to pull them off. I’m not bothered about seeds, either, but I know others are, so scoop out the pips, which means the grapes need to be halved. If you have pizzutella, though, or something similar, they can go in whole.
If all goes well, there will be a good amount of thickened juices, so a few boiled potatoes are nice, alternatively mashed potato, rice, or bread.
Another disagreement I have with my favourite food writer is her disparaging view of wobbly jelly in traffic light colours. I do, however, like the sound of her grown-up grape jelly with Grand Marnier and cream: for that, I would happily peel my pizzutella.
Braised chicken with grapes, wine and vinegar
Serves 4
1.8 kg chicken (or 4 thighs)
Salt
5 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 red onion, peeled and sliced
A pinch of red chilli flakes
1 sprig of fresh rosemary
400ml white wine
300g white or red grapes
Red-wine vinegar, to taste
Cut the chicken into 10-12 pieces and season with salt. In a deep saute pan with a lid large enough to fit the meat in a snug, single layer, warm three tablespoons of olive oil over a medium heat. Add the meat skin-side down and cook until the skin forms a golden crust, then turn them over and do the same on the other side. This will take about 15 minutes. Lift the chicken on to a plate.
Back in the pan, which should have nice, crusty juices, soften the onion over a low heat (adding two tablespoons olive oil, if needed), then return the chicken to the pan with the chilli flakes, rosemary, white wine and some salt. Cover the pan and turn the heat down to low.
Keep checking the meat, turning from time to time. After 40 minutes, add the grapes and cover for five more minutes, then uncover and continue cooking until the chicken is tender, the grapes soft and the juices reduced to a thickish gravy. In the last minutes of cooking, taste to see if it needs sharpening with the red-wine vinegar, and any more salt.