Sometimes the best recipes come to us through friends who’ve traveled far and wide, bringing back not just memories but the flavors that made those memories worth keeping. That’s how coq au vin entered my life—through my friends Peggy and Frank, who have spent quite a bit of time in France and fell in love with this rustic, soul-warming dish.

When Peggy first mentioned coq au vin to me some time ago, I’ll be honest: I hadn’t tried it. It’s not really something you see on restaurant menus around where I live, and I hadn’t thought much about pairing red wine with chicken. I had grown up with that old rule firmly planted in my mind—white meat and fish get white wine, red meat gets red wine, and you simply don’t question it. Not being an educated chef, I hadn’t thought to venture beyond those familiar guidelines.

But when I finally tried coq au vin for the first time, I absolutely loved it. The way the chicken becomes fall-apart tender in that rich, wine-dark sauce, how the bacon adds its smoky depth, how everything mingles together into something that feels both elegant and comforting at once—it made perfect sense why this is one of Peggy’s favorite dishes.

Bringing Coq au Vin Home to New England

As I started making coq au vin myself, I began thinking about what makes a dish truly feel like home. The technique is French, yes, but the spirit of the dish—taking a farmhouse chicken and whatever you have in the cellar and turning it into something extraordinary—that spirit is universal. It’s the same philosophy that guided New England cooks for generations.

That’s when I realized: French farmhouse cooking and New England farmhouse cooking aren’t so different at all. Both traditions are built on resourcefulness, on making the most of what’s available, on slow cooking that transforms simple ingredients into something much greater than the sum of their parts.

So I wanted to tailor this dish to New England, to bring it into our kitchens in a way that feels authentic to where we live. I added hard cider alongside the red wine—that beautiful marriage of the two feels so right for New England, where apple orchards have dotted the landscape for centuries. And instead of just the traditional pearl onions and mushrooms, I folded in root vegetables: carrots, parsnips, even turnip. These are the vegetables that would have filled every New England root cellar, the ones our grandmothers would have reached for on a cold day.

Understanding the Magic of Braising

What makes coq au vin so special is the technique itself: braising. If you’ve never braised before, think of it as a gentle, patient way of cooking that happens mostly in the oven with very little attention needed from you. You start by browning the chicken to build flavor, then nestle it into liquid—in this case, red wine, hard cider, and chicken stock—along with aromatics and vegetables. The pot goes into a low oven, covered, and time does the rest of the work.

Over the course of several hours, something beautiful happens. The chicken becomes so tender it practically falls off the bone. The liquid reduces and concentrates, picking up flavor from everything in the pot. The vegetables soften and sweeten. And you’re left with a sauce that’s glossy and rich, full of depth and complexity that you simply cannot achieve with quick cooking.

The beauty of this particular dish is its flexibility. You can start it after lunch on a day off and let it braise away for three to four hours while you read a book, work on a project, or simply enjoy having your kitchen smell absolutely incredible. It’s the kind of cooking that fits into your life rather than demanding you rearrange your day around it.

About That Wine and Chicken Pairing

I want to circle back to that old rule I mentioned—white wine with chicken, red wine with beef. Like many cooking “rules,” it’s more of a guideline that made sense in certain contexts but doesn’t tell the whole story. The truth is, the way chicken is prepared matters far more than the protein itself.

Delicate preparations—think poached chicken breast or a light chicken piccata—pair beautifully with white wine because the flavors are subtle and bright. But when you’re braising chicken in a rich, savory sauce with bacon, mushrooms, and root vegetables, you need a wine with enough body and tannin to stand up to those deeper flavors. That’s where red wine shines.

In coq au vin, the red wine isn’t just an accompaniment—it becomes part of the dish itself, lending its fruitiness and complexity to the sauce. And when you add hard cider to the mix, as we do in this New England version, you get this wonderful balance: the wine provides depth and richness, while the cider adds a subtle sweetness and brightness that keeps everything from feeling too heavy.

The Herbs That Make It New England

Traditional coq au vin relies heavily on thyme, and we keep that here because thyme and chicken are such natural friends. But I also added sage—beautiful, earthy sage that feels so thoroughly New England. There’s something about sage that speaks to our climate and our cooking traditions. It’s the herb you find in Thanksgiving stuffing, in brown butter sauce, in the gardens that survive our harsh winters.

Adding sage to coq au vin creates a bridge between French technique and New England soul. It’s a small change, really—just a handful of fresh sage leaves tucked into the pot—but it makes the dish feel like it belongs here, like it’s been simmering in New England kitchens for generations even though we’re just welcoming it home now.

Why Root Vegetables Belong Here

Root vegetables are having a bit of a moment in modern cooking, but they’ve been essential to New England cooking forever. Before refrigeration, these were the vegetables that sustained families through long winters—hardy, storable, and deeply nourishing.

Carrots bring sweetness and color. Parsnips add an earthy, slightly nutty flavor that’s more complex than carrots alone. Turnips (which you can include or leave out depending on your preference) offer a subtle peppery note. Together, they create layers of flavor and texture that make this dish feel substantial and satisfying in a way that’s perfect for a cool evening.

What I love about adding these vegetables to coq au vin is how they absorb all those wonderful flavors from the braising liquid. They become infused with wine and cider, bacon and herbs, until each bite carries the essence of the whole dish.

The Joy of Slow-Cooked Sunday Suppers

There’s something deeply satisfying about a dish that asks so little from you in terms of active time but gives so much back. Yes, you spend some time up front browning the chicken and building your base of flavors—maybe 45 minutes of active work. But then the oven takes over, and you’re free to do whatever makes your day off feel restful and restorative.

This is the kind of cooking that makes a regular Sunday feel special, that fills your home with warmth and the promise of something good waiting for you. When you finally pull that pot from the oven hours later, the chicken will be so tender you can barely lift it without it falling apart. The sauce will have thickened and concentrated into something glossy and rich. And when you serve it over buttered egg noodles or creamy mashed potatoes, with that sauce puddling around everything and crispy bacon scattered on top, you’ll understand why Peggy loves this dish so much.

Making It Your Own

One of the things I’ve learned from making coq au vin is how forgiving it is. Can’t find parsnips? Use more carrots or try celery root. Only have chicken thighs? They’ll work beautifully—actually, they might be even better than a mix of pieces since they stay so juicy. Prefer fresh thyme over sage, or want to use both? The dish will welcome whatever you bring to it.

This flexibility is part of what makes it a true farmhouse dish. It’s not fussy or demanding. It works with what you have, with what looks good at your market, with what your family enjoys. And each time you make it, it might be slightly different—a little more of this, a little less of that—but it will always be good.

I’m so grateful to Peggy and Frank for introducing me to coq au vin, for expanding my understanding of what chicken could be when given time and care and good company in the pot. And I’m grateful for the realization that we can honor traditional recipes while also making them our own, bringing them into our kitchens and our lives in ways that feel authentic to where we are.

This New England version of coq au vin carries with it the wisdom of French farmhouse cooks and the resourcefulness of New England kitchens. It’s a dish that rewards patience, that transforms humble ingredients into something special, and that reminds us cooking is about so much more than following rules—it’s about understanding flavors, trusting techniques, and making food that feeds both body and soul.

So the next time you have a day off and a few hours to let something wonderful happen in your oven, I hope you’ll give this a try. Make a nice cup of tea with local New England honey, settle in with a good book or a friend, and let your kitchen fill with the kind of warmth that only slow-cooked food can bring.