Die, Vampire, Die
Or: How to Deal with Demons
What feels like a century ago, I was inspired to write about fending off certain types of vampire the traditional way—with garlic. The original source of this inspiration was a song from the Broadway musical [title of show], a delightfully self-referential work about the highs and lows of the creative process. A “musical about two guys writing a musical about two guys writing a musical.”
According to composer and lyricist Jeff Bowen in “Die, Vampire, Die!”:
A vampire is any person or thought or feeling/
That stands between you and your creative self-expression
Anyone who writes, or sculpts, or composes or does anything that requires creative self-expression knows these vampires and has their own way of dealing with them. They are extremely difficult to kill. Especially now with everything feeling so gruesome. Usually, they can only be banished for a time, and most of us never know when they might return.
Mine came swarming back a couple of months ago, which caught me unawares, because I simply don’t recall asking them in.
These are poorly brought up vampires who don’t play by the rules. Below, I have provided four examples of vampire, one of whom does not believe in the long-established, agreed upon laws of polite conduct.
I tried to look back at the original post from my old blog, which I killed off with a stake to the heart a few years ago. Fortunately, I archived most of my essays. Unfortunately, the original “Die, Vampire, Die!” has vanished into the mist, which is unfortunate, but I won’t worry about it too much because I’m far less desperate for approval these days and the new recipe’s pretty solid.
I just hope it’ll be effective against monsters.
There are several type of these blood suckers, but the worst by far is what the song calls the Vampire of Despair who, if I’m not mistaken, has had a very busy year for creatives and non-creatives alike.
It’ll wake you up at 4 am to say things like:
Who do you think you’re kidding?
You look like a fool
No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough
Why is it if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform and said these things, I would think he was a mentally ill asshole
But if the vampire inside my head says it
It’s the voice of reason
I won’t belabor the point.
The Vampire of Despair has descended upon most of us, but he’s not going to win. Not this round, at any rate. We can’t let him. I’m just putting it here in print because it’s something about which I need to keep reminding myself.
Sometimes, on an hourly basis.
But the days are gradually getting longer, and I am spending more time in the light, where he cannot follow. My kitchen is filled with garlic, thanks in part to my half-Italian heritage, and my apartment is furnished with lots of wooden things, which I can break into splinters at a moment’s notice with the woodsman’s axe I keep under my pillow.
I should be fine for now, or will be soon. I hope the same for you.
And if forty cloves of garlic isn’t enough to keep these fucking vampires away from me, I’ll make it with fifty the next time.
Couldn’t hurt.
Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic
There’s a variety of recipes referred to as “Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic” (Poulet aux Quarante Gousses d’Ail). Richard Olney insisted on covering the chicken with an inedible bready dome, while James Beard was tedious enough to force his minions to peel all those garlic cloves and add ground nutmeg. One French person on TikTok even had the effrontery to add cognac, butter, and cream, which I think sounds delicious, but heretical. Poulet aux Quarante Gousses d’Ail is a traditional dish from Provence—a place where cream does not flow like wine. Or vice versa. If I were a more pugnacious man, I would slap his face with a dishwashing glove, and have his seconds call upon my seconds.
I don’t really care how you make Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic, as long as you make it somehow. Unless you’re a vegetarian, in which case, I can only apologize. The recipe below is merely a guideline. Instead of leeks, fennel or celery would be entirely suitable. Instead of thyme, tarragon or a very judicious amount of rosemary would not feel out of place. If similar ingredients are just sitting around in your icebox doing nothing, they are more than likely fair game.
Just keep it simple. Warding off vampires can be exhausting, so I think you should save your strength.
Serves: 3 to 4 hungry Van Helsings
Ingredients:
• 6-8 chicken thighs bone in, skin on
• 3 tbsp olive oil
• 40 cloves of garlic, unpeeled but the papery outer layer removed
• ½ cup white vermouth or white wine (a little more if needed/desired)
• The white of 1 leek, halved, chopped fine, and well washed.
• 1 tbsp vinegar (I used cider vinegar, which may upset the Norman French)
• 1 cup of chicken stock
• 1 bay leaf
• A sprig or three of dried thyme (or other favored herb)
• Plenty of salt and pepper
• A generous knob of butter, which is optional
• Chopped parsley, if you’re so motivated
Serve with: any number of things. My favorite accompaniment is a day-old baguette, sliced, rubbed with a little olive oil, and toasted until just golden, I leave the skin on the garlic cloves because it’s not only less of a hassle, but watching the sweet, soft, chicken-scented garlic ooze out of its skin and onto a piece of toast is extremely satisfying.
A loaf of crusty bread or potatoes (mashed or roasted) would also be nice.
Preparation:
Generously salt your chicken. Ideally, you would do this the day before making this dish, but life does not always work out as we wish it to.
Heat your oven to 350℉ (about 180℃).
In a large Dutch oven or a heavy-bottomed pan of non-specific national origin, add about 3 tablespoons of olive oil (please don’t use the good stuff, because that’s best saved for finishing salads and moisturizing your Greek lover) and heat over a medium-high heat until hot enough to take on your chicken thighs.
You may either cook the thighs with the skin on or off. I choose to take off the skin, because it can get unpleasantly rubbery when it’s been essentially steamed for 90 minutes. Place them skin-side down, whether they’ve been flayed or not, until pleasantly browned but not burned. We’re just going for a bit of color. Transfer the thighs to a dish and temporarily set aside. At this point, I add my chicken skin to fry up until crispy and golden, then blot on paper towels and let cool. I snack on them while cooking.
Pour off the fat in your pan into a heatproof vessel and return the pan to the heat. DO NOT DISCARD, because you’ll be adding most of it back into the pan.
Deglaze the pan with the vermouth (or white wine), scraping up any brown bits of the bottom, then add 2 or 3 tablespoons of the olive oil/rendered chicken fat back into the pan.
Toss in the chopped leek and cook until just softened (about a minute).
Add the vinegar, chicken stock, dried thyme, and bay leaf. Give it all a good stir and bring the liquid to a gentle simmer.
Now add the garlic cloves, spreading them fairly evenly around the pan.
Return the chicken to the pan, placing all of the thighs skin-side up (even if there’s no skin), nestled between the garlic cloves.
Cover your pan, place on the middle rack of your oven, and let cook for about 90 minutes. If your pan does not have a lid, cover it with aluminum foil and seal it well around the edges to prevent moisture from escaping.
You may want to use your down time to do something useful, like whittling wooden stakes or learning mahjong.
Remove the very hot pan from the oven. Open/peel back the lid, keeping your face far enough away from the escaping steam to prevent scalding, but close enough to get a good whiff, because it’s a pleasure.
Remove the chicken, arranging it simply, but attractively on a serving platter. Grind as much pepper as you like over the lot. Also remove the garlic cloves and place in a small serving bowl.
Examine the leek-befuddled liquid. Is it too thin for your liking? Let it reduce over medium heat on the stove, first remembering that the pan’s handle is going to be painfully hot. You may also add a blob of butter, turn off the heat, and stir until the pan sauce is pleasantly glossy.
Pour over the platter of chicken, garnish with parsley however you wish, gather your loved ones, and privately wonder if slow-cooking garlic to the point of sweetness renders it useless against vampires.
Place a freshly-whittled wooden stake at each place setting and enjoy.
Do not forget that bowl of garlic you left back in the kitchen.
Oops! I think you forgot the 40 cloves of garlic in the instructions..I assume they go in just after the leeks? You may want to correct that.. can’t wait to make this!
Greetings from Dublin Ireland, where the days are a bit darker but the people and outlook brighter. (How could it not be, I suppose?) Wooden stake under the pillow? Hmm, hadn’t considered but perhaps I must? Thanks for the timely recipe. A keeper, as always.