Festive feasting in the English countryside.
Above: roasted wild pheasants; savory stuffing; fresh (apple-raisin-orange-zest) cranberry chutney; creative salads; home-made tartes
Below: chestnuts for the stuffing; a chai-obsessed chicken; glorious sunrise on a country road
3 hours (or less) from Paris
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London
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Years ago, living in London and invited by friends to the Cotswolds, I was surprised to discover that in the modern English countryside game birds regularly appear on tables ready to carve, and some say are more abundant than ever. These birds, trussed with rosemary, roasted til golden, skin crackling, have earned their place in the kitchen. The majority of pheasants and partridges survive the season to breed wild. Hedgerows are planted and managed specifically for them, cover crops of kale and quinoa stretch for miles and predators are legally controlled. The result: on a good estate you’ll see thirty or forty pheasants strutting along a single lane at dusk, tails flashing, while coveys of partridges whirl up from the stubble like brown fireworks. Soon the birds are plucked, seasoned simply with sea salt, cracked pepper, butter, rosemary or thyme sprigs and laid breast-up on the rack. Glasses are filled with good red wine or a local cider, and the company - cheeks flushed from laughter and gathering chestnuts - falls upon the feast with the honest hunger that only a day in the cold can give. Welcome to the enchanting rhythm of the countryside. - BPJ
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An English country Thanksgiving
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