A Dish a Day: The Rum Kitchen’s Jerk Fried Chicken Thighs

Ramblings from a voracious eater on the dish that made her day

The jerk chicken garnished with onion rings

Though a lapsed vegetarian’s weakness may be bacon, mine would be steak or fried chicken. And as this is a celebratory dinner (heralding one promotion, and the end of the week), we ought to eat in celebratory manner. Hence two rum sours, one classic daiquiri and a portion of fried chicken. 

Outside the Rum Kitchen are the clean lines of Carnaby Street’s Kingly Court. Inside is a holiday of Caribbean colour, tactile waitresses, reggae and rum. Diners are here for one reason only: to party. If they aren’t partying now, they will certainly be partying later. All this place needs is to do away with the tables, install a beach and a pool the colour of the ocean, and the beach shack it so aspires to be is complete. There is no standing on ceremony here, it’s fingers in as the food arrives. The chicken is crunchy with a heavy-handed deep nut-brown batter but delicately spiced - too delicately perhaps (I’d like more allspice and ginger in mine). Stacked on top are onion rings (light and crisp), pineapple slaw (where is the pineapple?), and ‘rum jerk bbq ketchup’ (satisfying, fruitily tart and scotch bonnet hot). It’s not the best jerk chicken I’ve had; I’m not sure whether my St Kitts sister-in-law would approve, but when you’re nursing that daiquiri and you know the lie of the evening land ahead, it will be the best £7.50 you have ever spent. 

The Classic Daiquiri

Rum Kitchen, 1st Floor, Kingly Court, Carnaby, Soho, W1B 5PW

The delights of lime and lovage

The first time I met lovage I was unprepared.

I’d just arrived at my hosts – a lovely house in Warwickshire.
The door opened in welcome.

WHAM

It was like the smell of ten French cheeses left in the sun hitting the lacto-free nose of a practicing vegan.

Astounding. What can you possibly say that’s not rude? What on earth was it?

“Why, lovage of course,” came the breezy reply.

A herb? I thought a whole cauldron of this leaf must be on the stove. How was it that something that looked like this:and tasted like celery was such an olfactory offender?

But no, it was an innocent and simple dish. Fresh from the garden, the lovage was muddled with the vigour of sour-sweet limes and mellowed with cream - forming the base of a sauce for beautifully cooked chicken.

Chicken with lime and lovage.

Told that this dish was made from a competition-winner’s recipe torn from the Observer years ago, it seemed to me that it was like a sweet Madeleine dipped in tea for the hosts - a nostalgic reminder of childhood dinners.

Surprisingly, I think I even had seconds.

This dish has now been savoured many times, served with a pile of fluffy long-grain rice and lashings of sauce. I can tell you that this springtime chicken - when the lovage is prime - is not something you can have mixed feelings about.

I love it. Ardently.

Which is why I’ve decided to post this recipe – with thanks to Professor J. Shattock, whose lovage was lovingly plucked for this brave dish.

My photo honestly doesn't do it justice.

Chicken with lime and lovage
Serves 4

I’ve tinkered with the original recipe which called for chicken breasts but in the light of my previous post I propose using six chicken pieces. The only thing affected here will be the time taken to brown the chicken.

1 chicken cut into 6 pieces (thighs, breasts, drumsticks)
Flour to coat the chicken pieces
2 limes, zested and juiced
¾ pint chicken stock
¼ pint single cream
Handful of button mushrooms, sliced
1 onion, diced
Big bunch of lovage (or celery leaves if not available)
Parsley to serve
Salt and pepper
Oil

Coat the chicken pieces in flour.
Heat a frying pan on medium-high heat and brown the chicken pieces. Do not overcrowd the pan with chicken else the chicken won’t brown.
Place the chicken in a large casserole dish pour the lime juice and zest over the juicy chicken pieces and watch telly whilst marinating for half an hour and preheat the oven – Gas 6, 200°C.
Roast for 30 minutes.
While roasting fry the onions in the same frying pan on a medium-low heat and when softened add the mushrooms. Chop the lovage.
When the mushrooms are cooked, add the chicken stock. Bring to the boil, add the lovage and simmer for five minutes.
Add the cream, simmer for a further two minutes.
Before serving, add chopped parsley and pour over the chicken.

Serve with steaming white rice and lash on the sauce.

1 chicken, 3 meals and a whole lot of joy

I have an almost moral objection to buying a packet of chicken breasts at the supermarket. There are two reasons for this.

The first is highly embarrassing. I have inherited a flavour preference for meat on the bone – I like to pick at jointy bits, chew at the leg and savagely eat what Americans call dark meat. Think of fillet steak which may boast a velvet smooth texture but just doesn’t pack a flavour punch as much as an oozy rump or rib-eye. Breast versus a nibble on the rib of a roasted chicken? No contest.

The second, and the most important is simply to do with cost and waste. I flatly refuse to buy two chicken breasts for £4 when a whole chicken, which already has two breasts thrown in, costs the same. And what joyous meat you can get from a whole bird - being clever about using your chicken means that you’d never have to buy individual pieces again. I sometimes wonder what happens to the rest of the chicken - does the carcass get used to make a warm homely stock? I doubt it. And stock costs an extra £2.50, by the way, if you were to buy it.

So I propose that you can make three meals for two people with one 1.5kg chicken. I’m not the biggest fan of the freezer, it's a place to store peas and vodka, but in this case - as a way to avoid eating chicken every day whilst still using the whole bird - I salute it. It’s just about being resourceful and knowing how to joint (for first timers I recommend Shaun Hill's jointing demonstration in The Cook’s Book - lots of pictures).

Once I have my chicken I start by taking off the breasts off the bone and slicing them into thin strips for a stir fry. I tend to freeze the strips immediately so I can use them for a supper the next week, taking them out to defrost in the morning on the day I want to cook them before I go to work.

Then, I take off the legs and thighs. These will be used for something like a Nigel Slater-type Chicken Supper (recipe below).

Finally you are left with a carcass – which is just begging to be used for stock and can be the base of a whole meal. I generally use the golden liquid for things like Chinese meatball soup called Lion’s Heads (will post that recipe up soon), or an onion gravy for sausages.

I urge everyone to reward themselves with what a whole bird yields, not just for roast chickens but for your everyday meals.


Chicken with Ginger Wine
(My version of A really good simple chicken supper from Real Food)
Rich, buttery and warming. Absolutely deelish.

2 chicken thighs and 2 chicken legs
Big big knob of butter
Three glugs of olive oil
A small glass of ginger wine (or dry white wine if you don’t have ginger wine)
4 large garlic cloves chopped in half
Handful of chopped parsley
Lemon juice
Salt and pepper

Rub the chicken pieces with salt and pepper whilst warming the butter and olive oil in a lidded cast iron casserole dish over a medium heat. When the butter is foaming, lay the chicken pieces skin side down. Brown well for about 10 – 15 minutes– the skin should look gorgeously crispy and golden-brown before turning over. Let the chicken cook gently in the butter (about 35 minutes) until the chicken is just cooked.

Remove the chicken, and tip out most of the oil from the dish. Return the dish to a high heat, and add the ginger wine. Bring to the boil whilst stirring vigorously so that all the chickeny goodness at the bottom of the pan is mixed in the sauce. Return the chicken to the pan, add the garlic and simmer with the lid on for 10 more minutes.

Add chopped parsley, and generous squeeze of lemon and serve with crushed new potatoes mixed with fruity olive oil and a sprinkling of chives and sea salt.