Confit All Your Chickens in Olive Oil

“Confit,” writes Tyler Kord in his latest book, Dynamite Chicken, “is one of those old-fashioned food preservation things that we still do because it’s delicious.” Long before the advent of refrigeration, cooking meats like duck legs in a pot full of their own rendered fat meant the meat could keep, tucked away in a cool spot, safely for weeks. Of course, now—or “until the zombie apocalypse,” as Kord writes, “we have refrigeration, but that doesn’t mean we can’t also have confit.”

The classic preserved duck legs of Gascony might not recognize Kord’s confit as relatives if they met at a party, but this dish is all the better for it. After sitting overnight rubbed with a few scoops of ras el hanout (a North African spice blend you can mix yourself or purchase pre-made), plus salt and fresh thyme, Kord’s chicken thighs nestle into an oil bath that’s an equal split of flavorful extra virgin olive oil and neutral vegetable oil. You turn your oven to a low, low hum, slide the chicken in, and wait.

And wait. This is six-hour chicken. Or seven, if you’re counting the hour spent after the cooking, waiting for the cooked chicken to cool before you shred it. But I’m telling you: I’d do it again for chicken this melting-rich, fragrant and flavorful.

I should mention that this isn’t the first chicken confit I’ve made in recent months. I’d heard about the trick in a few recent cookbooks and wondered if it was the secret to getting excited about chicken again. Let my experience serve as a warning: higher temps can be a misstep. I’ve followed recipes calling for 2 ½ hours at 350° F., which yielded not the tender, oil-infused revelry conjured here, but instead something more like the ropey shreds that come out of a soup pot after you’ve boiled a bird into broth. Don’t do that.

Do keep following Kord’s lead: After the chicken emerges from the oven, you’ll let it cool in its oily bath, then lift each piece from the cooking fat—which has become something that’s part spiced olive oil, part schmaltz, and part collagen pulled from the bones that have nestled there all afternoon. That rich, chickeny, oily medium can be strained and held in the fridge—you’ll need a little for what’s next, but it’s also great for cooking vegetables, or adding flavor to lacy-edged eggs. (Just note that it’s pretty highly seasoned and well-salted, so you may not want to use it in sweeter preparations.)

The meat pulls apart in juicy hunks, ready for the real fun to begin. Like carnitas, the Mexican recipe for pork confited in lard, these bits of chicken are tossed in a bit of sizzling cooking fat to crisp and brown,. You could, surely, use it in a taco, or in little sandwiches, or in a Frenchy salad. But Kord goes another way, telling us to toss white strands of chewy rice vermicelli with some of the reserved fat, plus several handfuls of fresh herbs (I used mint and basil, though I bet cilantro would be nice, too). To brighten the dish even further, you’ll garnish the noodle salad with molasses-tinged pickled tomatoes that you can make an hour (or up to two weeks) before.

When it’s all piled high—savory-slick noodles and herbs, tangy tomatoes and sizzling chicken—eight thighs serve eight people heartily, which is a rare feat in my house. It might even come in handy, should the zombie apocalypse come.

Chicken Confit With Pickled Tomatoes

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