Chicken al la king - 1970s revival
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Chicken al la king—or Chicken à la King to give it its proper pedigree—is a dish of chicken in a creamy mushroom sauce with green bell pepper, onion, and peas, amongst other vegetables that was absolutely everywhere in the 1970s. Like other dishes turned into comfort foods through television that later fell out of fashion, dismissed by food snobs, it actually had its origins as the creations of skilled high-end chefs, though no one can agree on exactly which one. Since it's a dish that uses chicken that has already been cooked, it’s a particularly great use of leftovers.
Ruling the roost
The origins of Chicken à la King is one of the most disputed of all 20th-century dishes. Yet, what these claims from both sides of the Atlantic have in common is that it originated in fancy Belle Époque restaurants, a far cry from the family comfort food it had long been by the 1970s. It’s impossible today to conclusively assess which history is the most likely.
Perhaps the best known origin myth is that it was created by Charles Ranhofer, the French chef who headed up the kitchens at the fashionable Delmonico’s in New York—widely considered "the best restaurant in America" at the time—from 1862 to 1896. He supposedly created it for Foxhall P. Keene, a horse breeder and privileged son of Wall Street broker and horse breeder, James R. Keene. The most fanciful version of the tale is that the sauce came to Foxhall in a dream and that Ranhofer created the particular sauce according to his instructions. If Foxhall ever did say this, I doubt he would have said it to the face of the famously proud chef who listed it on the menu as the more regal-sounding Chicken à la King, supposedly a corruption of Foxhall Keene’s surname.
The etymology of the name is something shared by the British claim that the unnamed chef at Claridge's created the famous dish in 1881 and named it for Foxhall’s daddy, stockbroker and horse-breeder James R. Keene whose horse named Foxhall—one is reassured that the horse was named for his son and not vice versa—had just won the Grand Prix de Paris at Longchamp, the first American horse to win this race. It was an era in which the French celebrated American style. American couturier Charles Frederick Worth and his wife Marie Vernet Worth, long based in Paris and hurtled to fame by the Empress Eugénie favouring his designs, cleverly invented what we now know as the fashion show to promote their maison, dressing aristocratic women in his designs to be seen at the Longchamp racecourse. The French word for a fashion (catwalk) show is still défilé, a less than flattering reference to these women being paraded on the racecourse in the manner of the horses. But, it was all the rage and of course both species were thoroughbreds. The celebration of Keene's horse winning the prestigious race was part of a broader picture of celebrating American achievement—and wealth—in Europe at the time.
While the name of the Claridge’s chef is not recorded (surprisingly, their archive did not keep records of the chefs until much later), we do know the grand London hotel insisted on only placing French chefs at the head of its kitchens since French cooking was the gold standard for fine dining at the time.
Other claims include that it was invented by in the 1890s by the cook William "Bill" King of the Bellevue Hotel in Philadelphia, by chef George Greenwald of the Brighton Beach Hotel in Brooklyn in honour of the hotel’s owner and his wife, or by by Oscar Tschirky at the Waldorf Hotel after a banker named King, though this has been refuted as a later reworking of the original and Tschirky never claimed to have invented it.
"...we can’t automatically rule out the American chefs. Some had trained in Paris or under the tutelage of French chefs in NYC or New Orleans..."
Some historians have tried to attribute it to Fannie Merritt Farmer, claiming she published recipes for the dish in her earliest cookbooks, but this is inaccurate. Her recipes for it only appear in later editions indicating it was already known as something of a desirable dish discussed in newspapers and magazines by the time she included it.
Similarly the two recipes in the 1901 The Settlement Cook Book, compiled by Mrs. Simon Kander and Lizzie Black Kander and published out of Milwaukee seem to be the start of its drift towards suburbia. One recipe includes “rich” ingredients such as asparagus, artichoke hearts and Madeira wine "for special occasions"; but the other is a simplified version that uses a lot of canned ingredients.
The French connection
I personally think the strongest arguments are those that place French chefs at their centre. Ultimately Chicken à la King seems like a pun on vols-au-vent à la reine, a fashionable dish dish in France in the late 19th century to which it bears numerous similarities. Indeed “à la reine” (“in the style of the queen”) is a French cooking term dating back to the 17th century and Margaret of Valois (aka Queen Margot of Navarre), the controversial daughter of Catherine de Medici. Queen Margot loved soup-like dishes thickened with egg yolks, crushed almonds and bread crumbs. This connection was obviously made by the French chefs in American establishments that served it in vols-au-vent.
Incidentally, while Chicken à la King was never caught on in France and Belgium, both countries have continued to serve chicken vols-au-vent dishes uninterrupted for more than 150 years that directly descend from vols-au-vent à la reine. These versions share the same chicken and mushrooms in a creamy sauce, but not the additional vegetables. In Flanders, where is is considered a national dish (despite being named for a French princess who married a Protestant king), it is colloquially known a videeke or koninginnenhapje ("queen's snack"). The Flemish version features distinctive tiny pork meatballs ("balletjes") cooked into the sauce.
Nonetheless, we can’t automatically rule out the American chefs. Some had trained in Paris or under the tutelage of French chefs in NYC or New Orleans and they were certainly well versed in haute gastronomie to secure their jobs in top restaurants of the American 'Gilded Age'. If anything the matrons of Fifth Avenue, be they Mayflower Marys or New Money, insisted on French high cooking even more than the titled ladies of London.
"...one wonders just why Cole Porter didn't work it into song along with 'a turkey dinner' or 'fine Finnan haddie'..."
Chicken à la King, even if invented by French chefs or served in fashionable restaurants in London, remains ultimately an American dish, a dish that represented “the New York style” celebrated in Europe during the late 19th century. Frenchman Ranhofer ruffled more than a few feathers among the devotees to Escoffier’s “rules”. We don’t know whether it was the case the first time he served the dish, but on Delmonico’s menu, Chicken à la King was served with toast for decades. On one hand, this is a bit of a nod to the handful of French high cooking classics that featured toast—foie gras, moules marinières or steak tartare—but also a nod to the no-nonsense dietary preferences of self-made American millionaires, some of whom came from humble beginnings and were proud of it as tycoons who had created their own success. For example, around the time Chicken à la King was being served with toast to the elite at Delmonico’s, one of the most popular affordable dishes for working people in NYC taverns was franks ‘n beans… served with toast.
The high life
The dish was so sought after that by 1917 there were already canned versions of Chicken à la King on the American market. In the USA, it had become a dish popularised among homemakers through print media by the 1930s, largely in home-cooked versions that used canned ingredients.
Today Chicken à la King is most often referred to as "comfort food", largely based on cultural memory thinking back to its most recent popularity in the 1970s. But this was not the case in the decades following its appearance and meteoric rise to prominence in American popular culture. Then, it was aspirational, symbolic of good living. In fact, one wonders just why Cole Porter didn't work it into song along with "a turkey dinner" or "fine Finnan haddie". Perhaps it presented a scansion problem. The ultimate evidence of the breadth of its cultural currency in the USA was the 1928 Henry Lehrman film Chicken à la King starring Nancy Carroll, George Meeker and Ford Sterling, a silent comedy in which a neglected wife and misused Broadway chorus girl team up to teach a rich, stingy husband a lesson. Happily, both women end up living the good life; eating Chicken à la King.
These connotations of the dish being a luxury product were frequently echoed in popular American culture. For example both pre-WWI and post-WWII advertising for canned or bottled versions of Chicken à la King or newspaper articles and recipes frequently referred to its "aristocratic" nature.
Chicken à la King circa 1946 Chicken à la King advert circa 1917 Chicken à la King mid-1930s
Chicken à la King continued to appear on the menus of numerous fine dining restaurants on both sides of the Atlantic until WWII. Its use of cream, butter, chicken (in the UK) and even more decadently egg (yolks) that were tightly controlled by wartime rationing were out of step with the times when these important resources were diverted to children and troops fighting for the Allied cause. It sort of fizzled out.
"But Beard’s commentary happened nearly 15 years later, in 1972. By this time, it was already a globally widespread comfort food."
This was perhaps ironic. From a commercial kitchen perspective, it is actually a very economical dish since it uses chicken that has already been cooked meaning waste reduction by being suited to leftovers—one of the reasons it became so popular as a dish in domestic settings—and the egg whites would be used for desserts on the same menu.
In 1956, influential British chef Constance Spry, five years after rationing ended in the UK, commented on how it was a good way to use leftover chicken, but often ended up being dull due to not using appropriate flavourings in sufficient quantities. On the other side of the Atlantic the eminent American writer and food critic James Beard pretty much echoed her sentiments describing it as "usually prepared in a mediocre fashion but really quite good if done with care and fine ingredients.” But Beard’s commentary happened nearly 15 years later, in 1972. By this time, it was already a globally widespread comfort food.
Ups and downs
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the revival of Chicken à la King, particularly the easy recipes that used less of the rich ingredients and more canned or readymade products came to prominence in the 1970s. It was almost like disparate forces were at work. In what were then called ‘Western countries’, the initial 1969/70 economic contraction following the Vietnam War would be followed by a broader global recession kicking off in 1973, precipitated by the fuel crisis. On one hand, people tightened their belts and TV chefs promised affordable recipes—such as this one suited to leftover chicken. On the other, it also appealed to women, increasingly time-deprived with jobs but still being expected to fulfil the role of homemaker. And, if many of them were still contending with Neanderthal husbands who expected cordon bleu on the table every night, their children proved great allies. Kids loved this dish.
In broader cultural terms, women in charge of households had additional proof of concept: as a child, I remember that one could find Chicken à la King on the menu of practically every country club on the Eastern Seaboard of North America and across the (British) Commonwealth. In the UK, where it had largely previously been a dish confined to fairly upmarket restaurants before WWII, its popularity grew from the 1960s onwards since it mapped perfectly onto the tradition of the British Sunday roast. Leftover roast chicken from the Sunday made it an ideal Monday or Tuesday evening supper.
Its huge popularity amongst children—probably even more so the blander versions—saw it appear on the children’s menus of many mid-range restaurant chains and in school cafeterias. And, in domestic settings, the explosion of simplified recipes in magazines and on TV that eschewed the egg yolks and cream in favour of using canned ingredients such as concentrated cream of mushroom soup, made it a quick and easy recipe for a "homemade" meal for time-pressed homemakers who also had other jobs.
"And, studying his other recipes, I am convinced that his version would have contained garlic."
In the mid-1980s, Chicken à la King slowly disappeared once again. In the USA, fashions evolved for new cuisines (or localised versions thereof) such as Mexican or Asian cooking. In the UK, cheap Mediterranean holidays meant that people looked to Italian, Spanish or Greek cuisine—you could find olive oil in supermarkets and not just pharmacies and specialist Italian delis as had been the case in the 1970s. And, on both sides of the Atlantic, health-conscious consumers avoided dishes that used butter, cream or eggs and other foods with a high level of dietary cholesterol that reputedly increased blood cholesterol.
Global Chicken à la King
I have a vivid memory sitting with my father and siblings scoffing it down at a picnic table after a long morning in the surf with him in South Africa on the KwaZulu-Natal coast, a takeaway dish from the kind of “surfie” roadside place that wasn’t exactly fine dining. Given these joints were often the only food options near fairly remote beaches without tourist throngs, they offered eclectic fare. Chicken à la King was up there on the menu board with burgers, hot dogs and bunny chow; all the top sellers.
As I ate it, complete with canned mushrooms and tomato ketchup cooked in—a common ersatz substitute in places where canned pimentos were hard to find—which gave it a sinister pink colour, I said to my father Denton, “It’s not like yours. It’s not very good.”
Denton smiled back. “But you’ve almost finished it.”
“Yeah, I know. But do you know how many waves we did today? We’re just little kids, y’know!” My siblings nodded in agreement, barely lifting their schnozes out of the disposable takeaway troughs.
Denton smiled. "Okay, so you have to have to read on the beach for an hour before we go back in the water. Hats and zinc sunblock. I want the Boogies (boards) in the car. I’m not chasing after you. Upchucking that ketchup in the surf…nah! The sharks will think it’s blood.”
I have a great nostalgia for this dish, both the questionable facsimiles and the original versions. Here I’m doing my favoured iteration, a conflation of late 19th-century versions (what else would you expect?) but there are plenty of alternative, easier versions out there if you want something that is less effort—and with a lot less flavour.
A question of garlic
In 1893, a few years before he retired from Delmonico's, Charles Ranhofer published The Epicurean, as massive 1000-page tome of his recipes and philosophy of cooking, his almost rival legacy to Escoffier's Le Guide Culinaire, importantly published in English in his adopted home of the USA. I had to wait for 48 hours while it was brought down from storage in Yorkshire to get my grubby paws on it at The British Library in London.
Pointedly, it does not contain a recipe for Chicken à la King. This has led some historians to conclude that he did therefore not invent it. I'm not entirely convinced. Ranhofer was a bit of a flatterer and, like Escoffier, named dishes for famous people. But, of course, this was a double-edged gesture, not only naming a dish in someone's honour, but simultaneously boasting about the famous for whom one had cooked. Given that he named dishes in honour of Sarah Bernhardt, Charles Dickens, Grover Cleveland, Marshal Ney, and Alexandre Dumas, père, amongst other world-famous people, would he really want to boast about a dish invented for a playboy who may have been rich but was a minor celebrity at best? Not to mention that this dish didn't even bear the actual Keene name.
It also occurs to me that with all of the inherent food snobbery upon which the reputation and careers of French chefs like Ranhofer relied, perhaps he wanted to disassociate himself from what was already a runaway popular success, on the menus of the restaurants in hundreds of US hotels and endlessly discussed in the press by the time he wrote his book. I somehow do not buy that the elision of the recipe conclusively proves he did not invent it. After all, his book contains numerous recipes where he cites their noble French lineage dating back centuries but insists that his published version is the best or "the original". Sound familiar? It's a strategy still widely used by celebrity chefs today.
The question of whether he invented the dish is rather irrelevant because we certainly know that he served it at Delmonico's. And, studying his other recipes, I am convinced that his version would have contained garlic. In restrained portions, certainly, but this is one of the ingredients I use that helps lift this dish out of the bland.
I have not come across a single version in a classic American cookbook that uses garlic. But, that is hardly unusual. The burgeoning homogenised palate of 'Middle America' forged during the first part of the 20th century seemed to have a vampire-like dread of garlic. Even today, many American recipes call for garlic powder rather than the real deal. I do think this was about prejudice, garlic being associated with poor immigrants' cuisines and therefore not really the done thing for white (bread) America. And, during my own childhood, I remember hearing some bizarre opinions expressed, blonde Southern belles insisting their kids wouldn't eat garlic, that they didn't like the taste. My father and I would just grin at each other: these kids never seemed to have a problem eating dishes with lashings of garlic when they came over to eat at our house. We simply never mentioned it.
So it really is up to you, but I suspect the blandness of which Constance Spry spoke about with common-or-garden Chicken à la King was because of leaving out those little natural flavour enhancers such as garlic.
Take note:
This version is for 3 to 4 diners, depending on appetite and side dishes My version here is quite generous on the chicken front, mainly because the roast chicken from which I am using the leftovers was a fairly big bird. You could get away with notably less chicken. I prefer to cut the chicken into larger bite size pieces if there is no need to stretch the ingredients but some recipes suggest shredding it. Your choice.
You can also easily scale it up for a larger group or cook it in half the quantities here for two people.
I often make it in larger quantities because it stores well in the fridge for a couple of days. You can freeze it, but if you do, let it fully defrost and reheat it in a pan, not a microwave. The milk, cream and flour tend to separate when frozen, creating a grainy texture. Re-heat on a low-medium heat, stirring constantly, adding a tablespoon of boiling water or double cream as you do. If it has completely split, add a whisked egg yolk and stir in.
Because there is quite a bit of sweetness in the vegetables in this sauce I alway use a very dry sherry, usually a Spanish pale Fino from Jerez. Select your sherry or Madeira on the spectrum from very dry to sweet to suit your palate.
There are a vast range of additional flavours used to lift this dish out of the blandness of which it is often accused. As mentioned above, I'm using garlic but also a conflation of other flavours found in late 19th-century recipes, most notably a tiny amount of cayenne pepper, dry sherry and curly leaf parsley. Other inclusions in early recipes include paprika, thyme and nutmeg. Up to you.
Please note that the images are indicative because although cooked at the same time, I am showing images from serving it on different occasions.
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Shopping list
for the Chicken al la king
3 to 4 cups boneless cooked chicken, diced or shredded
Approx 120g unsalted butter
200g closed cup mushrooms, sliced
1 large brown onion (or white or yellow onion), diced
3 cloves of garlic; chopped (optional)
1 medium green bell pepper, diced
½ cup plain flour; sifted
500ml chicken stock
1½ cups full-fat milk
2 egg yolks whisked
⅓ cup double cream
1 cup garden peas, fresh or frozen
150g tinned/bottled pimentos, drained and chopped (see above)
⅓tspn cayenne pepper
50 to 60ml dry sherry or Madeira wine (optional)
A generous clutch of curly leaf parsley; chopped (for cooking)
Salt and pepper to taste
A little chopped curly leaf parsley or pea shoots (for garnish)
Side dishes
Many of the older menus followed Delmonico's and served it with toast or Melba toast. During the late 19th century, numerous upmarket American restaurants also served the dish in vols-au-vent, a popular option that continued right through to the 1970s.
But, in the 1970s, particularly as a domestic meal, it was more usually served with fluffy white rice, pasta or other egg noodles. And, indeed, I do love it with egg spätzle.
However, one of the best versions I ever had was an excellent Chicken à la King in a down home diner kinda place in Charlotte, NC where it was served with freshly baked biscuits.
Cooking Method
the Chicken a la king
Melt the butter in a large, deep frying pan on a medium heat. When it first bubbles, sauté the onion for a minute or so; until just heated, coated and threatening to soften
Add the mushrooms and green bell pepper. Cook until soft, usually about 5 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic and cayenne pepper (if using) and stir in
When the garlic aroma releases, sprinkle the sifted flour over the vegetables. Stir in well and cook for 1min
Slowly pour in chicken stock and milk in alternating dashes, stirring constantly to prevent the flour forming lumps. Ensure the full quantities of the stock and milk are added. Then simmer until the mixture begins to thicken and bubble, usually about 5 to 6min. Add the parsley and stir in after a couple of minutes
While the mixture is simmering, whisk the egg yolks and cream together in a heatproof mixing bowl. Remove about a half a cup of the hot cooking sauce from the pan and whisk vigorously into the egg and cream mixture to temper it i.e. you don't want the egg yolks to "scramble" when they hit the hot sauce. Pour the mixture back into the frying pan, stirring constantly to produce a thick, smooth sauce. Reduce to a low-medium heat if it is thickening too quickly
Add the peas (if using frozen), stirring as they cook for 1min or so (add them at the same time as the chicken if using fresh). Then add the chicken, followed by the pimento after 1min or so and fold in. Add the sherry and stir in (if using)
Simmer gently for 4 to 5mins to ensure the chicken is fully heated. During this time season with salt and pepper to taste
When piping hot and of a suitably thickened consistency, plate, garnish with chopped parsley, and take to table with your side dish of choice
Alternatives
I have done perfectly tasty lactovegetarian versions of this recipe substituting the chicken with Quorn faux chicken pieces, cooking them in a drop of butter in a separate pan for a couple of minutes before adding them to the sauce. But I have not tried—nor will I—a vegan version because it relies so heavily on egg yolks and dairy.
Oddly, I have done pescatarian versions of this dish with various kinds of fish and seafood. Overall, the versions that work best, that are actually delicious, are with salmon—it's a great use of leftovers if you have cooked a whole salmon or barbecued a lot of salmon fillets—and with king prawns or crab. Depending on whether the fish or seafood is already cooked or not, you can work out when to add it in the cooking process. For example, with cooked salmon, I add it as large pieces right at the end of the cooking so that it does not break up, leaving it in the essentially cooked sauce just long enough to heat through fully without disturbing it too much. If using raw peeled king prawns, I put them in about 3 to 5mins before I expect the dish to be ready, depending on their size.
And, for carnivores, in addition to chicken, turkey or other fowl, if you happen to have any leftovers of young veal or rabbit, these work particularly well. Frankly, the rabbit version is my favourite outing of this dish.
Pairings
If having it with wine—I often do not, especially not when cooking it for kids—I always have it with white wines, even though I am sure it could work with certain light reds or rosés. But, since this is usually an early-in-the-week dish made with leftovers, I don't remember ever having pushed the boat out with fancier wines, instead going for lighter workaday whites.
Furthermore, because this is a dish of subtle, creamy flavours, I tend to opt for wines I don't drink that often such as Pinot Grigio, Friulano , young Chardonnays or Bordeaux Blanc or even unfashionable Soave that won't overpower it, not that I could name any specifically. I also often find that it affords me a reason to buy supermarkets' "own brand" Fairtrade wines from South Africa and South America that I guiltily pass over (with the exception of the excellent South African Fairtrade chenin blancs) when pairing with dishes with more bite.
But, one thing I really do like with this dish is the Portuguese drink—usually taken as an aperitif— of white Port (Porto Branco) on ice with a slice of lemon. It picks up on the sherry flavour in the sauce while still being very refreshing. White Port is quite boozy, so if I am particularly thirsty, I turn it into a kind of spritz by additionally adding sparkling mineral water.
Bluntly, I don't think this dish works very well with beer or cider. Their particular flavours rather flatten the subtle creaminess. I'd rather go booze-free than have it with beer.
My favourite non-alcoholic tipple with this one is chilled still mineral water infused with only a couple of slices of lemon so that the citrus remains subtle and not too present.
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