Light lunch again: Poulet à la moutarde de Meaux

Yet another one from Sophie's place, I'm afraid. Usual attributes: quick and easy, not particularly photogenic, and this time I'll tell you how a salad should be made.

First of all, get some chicken. Leg + thigh. As many as you think you'll need, plus extra if you have adolescent boys. This is the easy part. Put them, skin side down, into whatever you have that'll hold them and go into your oven, then actually put them into your oven. for about twenty minutes. (Did I mention that you need to turn the oven on? To "HOT"? No, thought not. Do it, otherwise the results will be, inevitably, disappointing.)

The chicken skin is now crisping, and it's time to take a small bowl down from wherever you keep such things and stick into it about a tablespoon (or two) of honey, ditto wholegrain mustard. Mix them. (Quantities may vary. How many adolescent boys do you have?)

At the end of the twenty minutes or so, pull the chicken legs out of the oven and turn them over so that the (hopefully) crispy skin is on top. Use your trusty couteau d'office to slash it a bit, then spread with half the honey/mustard mix from the bowl (see above). Back in the oven again, lower the heat a bit, get a drink.

Check from time to time that the honey mixture isn't burning onto the bottom of the baking dish: add water if necessary. Unless you really like cleaning your baking dishes with a jackhammer.

It should take you about 20 minutes to finish the bottle, which is good because that's when you'll need to operate on the chicken again. Luckily it's not too complicated: pour over the juice of an orange, slather with the rest of the honey/mustard mix (no, I hadn't forgotten it), and put it back into the oven for yet another 20 minutes.

Once again, you will have to watch it to make sure it doesn't burn, add more water (or orange juice) if it looks like getting uppity.

You now have all this time to drink and get the salad ready (for once). Luckily enough, the recipe for the dressing isn't that far off what went onto the chicken, so you should be able to keep it in mind.

Take a tablespoon of honey and another of wholegrain mustard (see?) and put them in a salad bowl. Mix well. Now, go into the darker recesses of the pantry and find the bottle of vinaigre au piment, which is nowt more than cider vinegar into which you've stuck a tablespoon or two of piments d'oiseau (bird peppers? I can't believe that) or any other small, really hot pepper, and left to marinate for a month or so in the dark.

Whatever, whether you've bought it or made it (Sophie bought me a bottle on a trip down to the Languedoc, but I've used it all and thus had to make my own), add a tablespoon to the honey and mustard and mix it some more. (But if you don't have any, just use cider vinegar. Then make some. The peppery kick is worth it.)

Now take a neutral oil like sunflower and start adding it - slowly - whilst whipping hell out of it. You should be able to add quite a bit: honey is a great emulsifier. When it goes thick and starts to turn whiteish, you're right. Just one thing: don't use olive oil. It'd be a waste. You just won't taste it, so why bother?

We call this Magali-dressing, after the friend who first introduced us to it. Mind you, she also puts pine-nuts into it, which is something I'd pass on, personally. But then again, I add chives, so who am I to criticize?

Check on the chicken again, add more water or orange juice.

Now get out the lettuce that you plucked from the garden (or bought at the market, wherever) but please don't let it be a batavia or yer bog-standard laitue. These are lettuce that are floppy and have neither flavour, crispness nor self-respect. A feuille-de-chêne (oak-leaf?) is good, a rougette (no idea) is even better.

Tear the leaves into bite-sized bits (whilst cursing the old ladies at the market with their frikkin' shopping trolleys with knives on the wheels that always take half your ankles off when they run into you, as they always will - who knew cooking was so good for anger-management?) and fling them onto the dressing. Toss - or turn, whatever - just make sure that it's all nicely coated in sauce. Add whatever else you want, but I'd keep it simple. Although a tablespoon or two of sour cream in the dressing and a quarter-cup of sweetcorn kernels make a nice addition from time to time.

You are now clear to eat. The salad is ready, the chicken bits should be cooked through and caramelised on top with a sort of orange caramel sauce around, what more could you want? Ah yes, you did remember to buy some bread? You'll need it, for the sauce.

This is France, after all.