Le Pigeon

Foreword
By Tom Colicchio
 
There is a moment in time in the career of a chef that is unlike any that has come before or will come again. You’re not yet known. Perhaps you’re a sous-chef, bouncing around from restaurant to restaurant. Then you take a risk and open a small kitchen and suddenly you’re cooking whatever you want, coming up with four new dishes a day inspired by anything and everything—a wild mushroom you found backpacking over the weekend, a news item about Bavaria from that morning—it’s a wildly creative time. From early morning until very, very early the next morning, you’re working . . . and you’re having the time of your life. It’s a small window of time during which this all happens, after you plunk down the rent on your little space and before Food & Wine magazine discovers you and everything changes.
 
Soon there will be more expectations from the press and from the food industry. You suddenly realize that you’re now responsible for the livelihoods of a lot of people who are counting on you to keep this thing going. And all these considerations begin to encroach on your ability to create, to make decisions based solely on what you want to do with food. You must begin to not only allow these decisions to influence the food you make, but also to take up time that was previously devoted to creativity. Now there is a lot more to your work as a chef than simply getting into a kitchen, banging around a lot of pots and pans, and being creative. There’s no going back, and you need to find new ways forevermore to remain relevant.
 
I think this process happens for people in any creative field, by the way. It’s ironic that the very thing that will sustain your ability to create—a modicum of recognition—often leads to growth that then, in turn, inhibits your ability to create. Business factors aside, you start becoming self-conscious, more deliberate. It’s important to recognize this shift so you can figure out a way to preserve the playfulness and fearlessness of that time when all you had to do was bring yourself—all of yourself—into the kitchen and play.
 
Gabriel Rucker is living in this moment and loving it. Le Pigeon has provided a showcase for Rucker’s daily inspirations for the last five years, and through this book, we get a front-row seat to the evolution of a chef—and a restaurant—on the cusp of very big changes. The wild creativity that happens during this period in a chef’s career is often fast, furious, and unpredictable. That Gabriel has managed to put these first few years of recipes down on paper is a feat by itself and a spectacular benefit to Le Pigeon and Little Bird’s legions of loyal fans. It’s great when you can actually recognize that you’re living this moment while you’re in it. Gabriel does, and that’s what he’s celebrating in this cookbook. It’s clear that he has found a way to keep his food irreverent and fun. 
 
But there’s a sub-story here, too. One that starts with a scrappy fifteen-year-old who showed up in my kitchen some years ago, insisting that he wanted to work with me for the summer. He seemed bright, and so I gave Andy Fortgang a chance. He was bright. He was also hardworking, trustworthy, and not at all shy about taking initiative. Andy worked in my restaurant kitchen over summers and vacations throughout high school and post college, after he realized that he’d found his calling in the front of the house. When Andy told me that he had an opportunity to be part of something new in Portland, I was sad for me and excited for him.
 
I wasn’t surprised to learn that Gabriel hired Andy over the phone and put him to work at Le Pigeon the very first day they met. I suppose Andy just has that effect on chefs. And it’s to Gabriel’s credit that he recognized in Andy the other half of the equation that equals a successful restaurant (or two . . . and some day, maybe more). Andy has created the structure that allows Gabriel to focus on the food. And along with that structure, he brought along his talented wife, Lauren, who became the pastry chef at Le Pigeon and Little Bird.
 
Gabriel and Andy have been going through this crazy time of round-the-clock uninhibited inventiveness together: Andy is the Packard to Gabriel’s Hewlitt, the Orville to his Wilbur, the Jerry to his Ben (the Stimpy to his Ren? Fill in your own partnership—you get the point), and they’ve chosen to preserve a luscious, frenetic, passionate snapshot of it. You’re holding it in your hands.
 
--------------------------------------------------------

Simple Roasted Pigeon
 
Gabriel likes cooking pigeons.
 
So much so that he tattooed pigeons on his body. So much so that he opened a restaurant called Le Pigeon. We joke that our pigeons come from under the Burnside Bridge, but we actually get them from Palmetto Farms in South Carolina via Nicky USA (www.nickyusa.com). They come to us with their heads and feet still on, with all the goodies still inside, hence our use of hearts and livers. Pigeons have just the right amount of gaminess (similar to duck, but slightly lighter), yet they still allow for over-the-top accompaniments. You can even stuff the bird with figs, spinach, or foie gras. If you have yet to try pigeon, now is your chance. Enjoy this simple dish on its own, or serve it with the bacon-roasted cipollini onions from the Sturgeon au Poivre recipe (page 169). Eats best medium rare. {Serves 4}
 
4 pigeons, cleaned, with or without the head and feet attached
Kosher salt
A pinch of ground cloves
A pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
4 sprigs thyme
4 cloves garlic, smashed
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
 
1. Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).

2. Season the pigeons inside and out with salt. Sprinkle the skin with a touch of cloves and nutmeg. Stuff the cavity of each bird with a sprig of thyme and a clove of garlic. Truss the birds with butcher’s twine (see illustration opposite).

3. In a heavy pan over medium-high heat, melt the butter until it becomes foamy. Add the trussed birds breast side down and cook until gently browned on the bottom, about 2 minutes. Flip the birds and brown on the second side, 2 minutes more. Sit the birds in the pan breast side up and roast in the oven until they are a nice medium-rare, 8 to 10 minutes.

4. Once the birds come out of the oven, baste with the butter and juices in the pan and let rest for 4 to 5 minutes before serving.


The Pigeon Pour: If pigeon (often known as squab) were wine, it would be red Burgundy, and if Burgundy were a meat it would be pigeon. Pigeon has pronounced flavors; it’s meaty, gamy, sweet, and livery, but all in a subtle way. Red Burgundy is the same; it has fruit, earth, flowers, and mushrooms, but they’re all subtle. The direction you take piegeon in a dish will dictate the Burgundy you drink. 
 
With simple roasted pigeon, you can’t go wrong with a nice village-level wine. One we love is Monthelie from Domaine Roulot. For Burgundy, don’t just look for the big name appellations like Vosne-Romanée, Chambolle, or Volnay. There are also lots of little appellations to consider, such as Ladoix, Monthelie, Auxey-Duresses, Fixin, or Santenay, all of which are a great value.