A roast bird, basted with a tart juice of green grapes and garnished with fresh grape clusters: the meeting of savory and tart beloved in Renaissance French kitchens, simple and honest like a country meal.

Why this dish? Montaigne was said to enjoy poultry and fruits from his orchard, and ate "with appetite and without great ceremony." This poultry enlivened with verjuice from his own vines is exactly the kind of straightforward, unpretentious dish that might have turned on the spit at the Château de Montaigne on an ordinary day.

Here, reader, is what I like to find on my table without much preparation: a fat hen roasted on the spit, basted with this verjuice drawn from my own vines before the grapes ripen. I have never liked meats too disguised with spices; a little acidity, a few grapes, and the flesh speaks enough. I eat with good appetite and quickly, I confess, faster than my health would wish — but what, each follows his nature, and mine is gourmand without ceremony.

How it was made : In the 16th century, poultry was roasted on a spit before the fire, basted constantly to prevent drying. Verjuice, ubiquitous, played the role that lemon holds today: it provided fresh acidity without the sweetness of ripe fruit. Cooks readily paired meat and grapes, as attested by period collections around Taillevent and court cuisine.

The contemporary twist : Serve the chicken on a wooden board with its confit grapes, a drizzle of reduced verjuice, and a few fried sage leaves for crunch — a "tour chicken" to share.

Sources : Montaigne, Essais (especially book III, on his tastes at table) · Le Viandier (Taillevent tradition)

Michel de Montaigne · Charactorium