From the Galley

"Did you know that in the old days the French peasants used to make the famous coq au vin with roosters no longer suitable for breeding?"  It was the man who had been helping chef Nanou from inside, who now stood outside at the front door of the restaurant with a cigarette dangling from the

side of his mouth.  He spoke, Merle could faintly tell, with a slight French accent.  "The whole idea of the dish began as a means to break down that old bird, simmering it for hours in red farm wine.  'Coq,' as you might know, means rooster."  Merle had barely been able to stand through the cooking demo itself, typing on his phone all of the necessaries as they went along, and thinking mostly about his sailboat that was likely right now on its way up the Yahara river without a captain.

"Well, yes, I guess I did know that," Merle said quickly moving away from the entrance.  "We know you are here for the recipe Mr. Merle," the man said, stabbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe.  "You see, Mdme. Nanou has guarded this all her life, since she was a small girl growing up on that small farm in Brittany. But, we believe you already know this."  Merle felt to make sure that he could feel the square of his flat phone in his pocket – that is where he kept his notes – and feeling that it was there, merely smiled. "I'm not sure why you think I am after a recipe other than for the possibility to cook it some day in the galley of my own little

sailboat, Mr....?"  He could see that the man, now that his face was out from under the vestibule of the restaurant entrance, did not particularly look like a waiter in training, so to speak.  He had more of a poker card player to his eyes, flat, somewhat droopy, and far too serious for this quick chat about a cooking demo.  "I will tell you what you want to know Mr. Merle, you will just have to give me your phone...so I can delete your notes. Did you know that the French word for the little brown bits at the bottom of a pan of cooked meat is 'suc?'  That is Latin for sap.  Don't be a sap Mr. Merle."  To run for the boat at this point would probably not be the noblest move Merle could make right, but the thought certainly crossed his mind.  Like in the movies, he would take one leap from the beach onto the boat and it would drift off like a flash into the night and that would be the end of it for this recipe caper.  Oh, what the hell, he thought to himself, maybe the movie scene might just work. He looked behind the French accent man who cooks and guards recipes, widened his eyes and yelled out with a question mark "Chef Nanou, yes, this is your man," and pointed at him.  The man too widened his eyes, and bolted to the end of the block and ducked back behind the sight of the side of the building.  Merle dashed the other way, toward, he hoped, BB Clarke beach just a few blocks down the road.  As he was running for Her Bounty, he checked his phone on the run, holding it up to his eyes as steady as possible while the rest of his body did the running:

Modern Coq Au Vin

1 bottle good red wine
2 cups chicken broth
10 springs fresh parsley
2 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
4 slices bacon
2 1/2 pounds chicken
5 tbsp. butter
1 cup pearl onions
8 ounces mushrooms
2 garlic cloves
2 tbsp. flour
1 tbsp. tomato paste

As he looked at his notes in reminders on his phone, he thought to himself this was once the possession of one of the real French Musketeers D'Artagnan!  As he approached the beach the only thing he saw floating was an

old red buoy strung by a rope latched to a pole.  Down the east side of the beach, Her Bounty, true to her name, was dancing alone along the rip rap, nobody at the helm but a good stiff breeze.