This morning saw a happy convergence of food activities.
The garlic we picked yesterday is still sitting on the front stoop. I have no idea whether to wash it or find some other way to remove the dirt. I am just that stupid about garlic. I asked my wife and was surprised to learn she didn't know either.
But I was determined to taste some of the garlic and it just so happened I was preparing to grill four chickens. I had removed the innards and divided the birds into pieces with my poultry shears, removing the backs. I had the good sense to put the backs in a pot to cook for chicken stock. I don't normally save the innards. It suddenly occurred to me, Why not eat them?
My breakfast therefore consisted of sauteeing the hearts and gizzards first, seasoned just with salt and pepper. I then added the livers and when they were lightly browned added a clove of my fresh garlic, finely chopped, and put a lid on the pan just until the garlic had cooked through. Finally I ramped up the heat, poured in a splash of Bordeaux (2004 St. Emilion) and let it rip until the wine was a sauce.
Into a bowl, with a shot of the Bordeaux. While the chicken grilled, I dug into the innards. Very fine. I suppose there are better forms of liver (calves liver, for instance) but for an improntu meal, the chicken livers did the job. The garlic--fresh and strong--was just the right touch. The only thing missing: a baguette to mop up the sauce.