Archived Article By Tom Fitzmorris Originally published December 21, 2007 Pheasant Oh by gosh by golly It's time for mistletoe and holly Tasty pheasants, Christmas presents Countrysides covered with snow. . . That's a song made popular by Frank Sinatra, and every time I hear it, I think, "Yes! Tasty pheasants! One day, I'll have tasty pheasants on my Christmas table!" Long before I had any ambitions to becoming a gourmet, I knew that pheasant was something special. Something only rich people ate. You'd hear references to "pheasant under glass," usually from the mouths of comedians who poked fun at the upper classes (at whom, of course, fun should always be poked), or from newspaper writers who wanted to suggest a level of sophistication beyond their ken. Pheasant under glass (or any other way) was largely dismissed decades ago as pretentious foolishness. But there's more to it than that. It's a uniquely flavorful bird whose white meat (and most of it is white) has a magnificent rich flavor. But pheasant has a problem. It's difficult to roast without drying it out. Unlike most of the other game birds, pheasants have very little fat under their skins, and they need marinades and barding and sauces to bring out their flavor. Any pheasant you find in a restaurant (and it does show up now and then; Andrea's always has it during the holiday season) will be a farm-raised, young bird. That's a good start. Wild pheasant will likely be older and have well-toned muscles and little fat. That's a bad condition for anything you're going to eat. And most cooks now are in possession of the technique that will prevent the bird from drying out: brining. Soaking the bird in salt water overnight has the same wonderful effect on this white meat as it does for turkey breast. It unfurls proteins and lets natural moisture emerge.) Once that's done, you're almost home free. But if you want to make the most of pheasant's reputation as a gourmet bird, there are classic French preparations out there. The most famous (and probably the version most served under glass in the Fifties) is pheasant Souvaroff, from the hand of no less a master than Escoffier himself. The way it was prepared at the old Le Chateau in Gretna (probably the greatest classic French restaurant in New Orleans history, in the early 1980s), it was stuffed with a mousse of foie gras and served with a cream sauce with truffles and morel mushrooms. I've not since had the like of that. (No doubt the foie gras eliniated any problem with dry breast meat.) The mushrooms in a cream sauce is a good idea, though. I have a recipe for that below. It cries out for a good rice pilaf on the side. And the glass bell that neither you nor I have to put over it when we being it to the table, so the cloud of aroma can be released into the dining room. © 2007 Tom Fitzmorris. All rights reserved. news@nomenu.com