From My Romanian Kitchen: Creamed Chicken

by Jodi ~ October 26, 2009

Creamed chicken and cornmeal porridge (Ciulama de pui si mămăligă)

I’m trying not to take offence.

I realize that the dish my mother’s people are famous for is commonly referred to as “gruel” (a cornmeal gruel, in fact, made simply with meal, water, and a flick of salt), which is not exactly a glamorous calling card. Still, it is rather disheartening to crack open well-known and -respected culinary reference works only to find the food of one’s ethnic heritage relegated to footnotes and passing mentions. For most food geeks, though, it appears that Romanian cuisine is not where it’s at.

In its 1,304 pages of double-columned text printed in small font, Larousse Gastronomique devotes a mere 219 words (yes, I counted) to Romania. After mentioning the influences of regional produce, Ottoman rule, and Bulgarian neighbours, as well as cooking methods similar to those of Austrians, Greeks, and Italians, Larousse does manage to give a nod to distinctive ingredients such as poppy seeds, sheep’s cheese, veal, chicken, and the (in)famous cornmeal gruel before ending the entry abruptly with a directive to “See Balkan states.”

Equally disappointing is the coverage in my Eastern and Central European cookbook. While otherwise a delightful volume, author Silvena Rowe mentions Romania only a few times in headnotes, and mostly just to note generally that Romanians also prepare a version of the featured recipe. Even my search for a specifically Romanian cookbook yielded scant options. It seems there are two volumes out there; neither is terribly current and both seem to suffer from graphic design that I can only think to describe as equivalent to mom jeans (i.e., unstylish). However, each has gotten decent reviews from those who claim to be in the know. I’ve ordered both and hope to uncover food traditions and lore from the homeland once they arrive. (For the curious, one book is by Nicolae Klepper and includes a historical-cultural narrative; the other is by Galia Sperber.)

In the meantime, hooray for the Oxford Companion to Food, which assigns about two-thirds of a page to Romania and an exploration of the country’s regions and specific dishes. Even when explaining influences from neighbouring countries and peoples, OCF frames its discussion in a way that doesn’t make the cuisine seem entirely derivative. What’s more, so many of the dishes familiar to me from a life spent breaking much bread with my maternal Romanian family are mentioned: mamaliga, or the cornmeal gruel (OCF compassionately calls it “porridge”), which we eat when it cools slightly and sets; poppyseed bread prepared jellyroll-style; stewed fruits in heavy syrup; acidulated soups; stuffed cabbage leaves.

The one dish I have not yet found in any book, but which I associate most strongly with my Romanian roots, is creamed chicken. My grandmother used to make it by the gallons for feast days held in the hall of the Romanian Orthodox church she and my grandfather belonged to. I also remember this stew coming out of the ovens in my mother’s and grandmother’s home kitchens in large, lidded roasters — you remember the black ones flecked with white? — and being uncovered so that the steaming contents could be scooped into large, deep serving bowls and brought to the table alongside wide plates of mamaliga still soft and warm enough to jiggle like gelatin molds.

Growing up I learned there were a few tricks to eating creamed chicken and mamaliga: (1) claim a drumstick before they disappear onto someone else’s plate; (2) spoon just enough of the velvety gravy studded with celery, carrots, and mushrooms so that the chicken and cornmeal stay deliciously coated for the duration of the meal; and (3) leave ample room in your belly for one additional ladleful of gravy to be sopped up with a piece of soft, unadorned, and untoasted white bread.

With such an introduction it may come as a bit of a surprise to learn that until recently, I had never made creamed chicken. It’s not that I’ve never thought about it or wished I were eating too when I knew my family back in Windsor were gathered together over such traditional fare. But like perogies, another of my heritage dishes, it’s just not something I’ve ever attempted on my own. In fact, of the Old Country foods, beet borscht is the only one I’m comfortable preparing. Yet as my grandparents, mom, and aunts and uncles age and I see our family food traditions running the risk of being lost to changing lifestyles and tastes, the urge to really learn and to really know Romanian cuisine grows stronger. And during a visit with my mom in September, I made creamed chicken for the first time. (Okay, okay. I watched closely and performed sous-chef duties while she orchestrated this dish from the recipe she knows by heart.)

Dare I say I’ve taken my culinary roots for granted until now? It’s the cuisines of France and Italy to which I’ve always felt drawn, whose ingredients and techniques have felt most comfortable in my hands. Undoubtedly the grass is greener, particularly when one’s own food traditions warrant barely a mention in the culinary canon. But it’s the food I grew up eating with my family, the food I watched them prepare that holds the most delicious memories. And right here, right now, those are those are the flavours I crave.

Creamed Chicken and Mamaliga
A meander through cyberspace indicates that a popular version of this Romanian dish uses sour cream in place of the cream and flour mixture that creates the gravy in my family’s dish. I might give it a whirl to see if I like the sour twang. When I made our version with my mom, we cooked the chicken neck in the stew to impart maximum flavour and also added more skinned chicken thighs to ensure generous servings and leftovers. Finally, note that the mushrooms are sautéed separately to ensure their moisture is cooked out and does not thin the gravy.

• 1 large roasting chicken, cleaned, skinned, and cut into 8 pieces
• 4–6 additional chicken thighs, skinned
• 1 large white or yellow cooking onion, diced
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 2–3 stalks celery, sliced
• 2 large carrots, sliced
• 1 lb cremini mushrooms, quartered
• 2 Tablespoons flour
• 2 cups 35% or 18% cream, or a combination
• 1 Tablespoon sweet paprika (optional)
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• fresh parsley, chopped

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. In a large bowl, mix together onions, garlic, celery, and carrots. Place half the vegetable mixture in an ovenproof casserole. Layer chicken pieces on top and cover with remaining vegetable mixture. Cover casserole and bake for 1 hour.

2. Meanwhile, sauté mushrooms over medium-high heat until they have released all their moisture and have begun to brown slightly. Remove from heat and reserve.

3. After 1 hour of cooking time, remove casserole from oven and check stew. Vegetables should be nearly cooked through and chicken should be starting to brown. (If vegetables are still crisp and chicken is undercooked, cover casserole and return to oven for an additional 15–20 minutes.) Place flour in a mixing bowl and add cream while whisking constantly until a smooth, thick consistency is achieved. Add thickened cream, reserved mushrooms, and paprika (if using) to stew. Cover casserole and return to oven for 1/2 hour.

4. Remove casserole from oven and stir contents. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with chopped fresh parsley before serving with mamaliga (recipes follows).

Serves 6–8

Mamaliga
The consistency of the mamaliga will vary according to the water-cornmeal ratio. Another variable to consider is the grind of meal. I have started using Bob’s Red Mill Coarse Grind Cornmeal, made with the whole grain and resulting in a fairly stiff mamaliga. If the mamaliga is too thick for your liking, thin it gradually over low heat with additional water. When eaten on its own, mamaliga can be sprinkled with any hard grating cheese, such as parmesan or feta.

• 1 cup coarse-grind yellow cornmeal
• 3 cups water
• 1 teaspoon sea salt

1. Place water in a large saucepan and stir in cornmeal and salt. Turn heat to high and stir until mixture thickens and just begins to bubble. Turn heat to lowest setting, cover pan, and let mixture cook for 15 minutes.

2. Remove pot from heat, uncover, and stir thoroughly. Position a large plate over top of pot. Invert pot so mamaliga slides out onto the plate. Scrape any remaining cornmeal from pot. Let mamaliga cool slightly to set and then serve alongside creamed chicken.