THIS week I’d like, if you’ll indulge me, to pay tribute to a great chef and restaurateur, the irreplaceable Keith Floyd who sadly died a couple of weeks ago.

Appearing long before the popularity and ubiquity of the celebrity chef, Keith Floyd was truly a breath of fresh air after years of starchy and awkward presentation. He was The Sex Pistols to Delia Smith’s Vera Lynn.

He made frequent mistakes, sometimes completely ruined dishes, often forgot where the camera was and generally gave off an air of joyful enthusiasm rather than slick presentation skill. He frequently flambéed his own eyebrows, was often hilariously tipsy and silly on-screen and by all accounts made his director’s life a living hell.

Life’s definitely too short to be serious about anything for too long. And that’s what fascinated me, the boundless, almost childlike enthusiasm for cooking – the discipline of classic haute cuisine twinned with a rebellious streak. Being, as I was, at an impressionable age, this started me thinking more and more about becoming a ‘proper’ chef and making a career out of slinging the pots and pans around. Floyd, as much as anyone, put me where I am today. And I’m so glad and utterly grateful. My mum and Dad will readily attest to the richness of his classic cuisine as my Sixth Form years saw me often preparing supper for the family using recipes and inspiration from the dog-eared, sauce-speckled copy of Floyd On France which still occupies my ‘classics’ bookshelf today. Many’s the night they would return home to the smell of shallots softening slowly in butter, the gentle bubble of reducing cream and, once or twice, the distinctive smell of flambéed Cognac.

So, in honour of the great man, I’m going to go back to my updated and simplified version of a dish that may well have been the first ‘proper’ main course I ever had a crack at from Floyd On France.

Poulet Normand is an absolute solid-gold classic of haute cuisine, originating, of course, in Normandy where the abundance of fat hens, tart apples and rich dairy produce was bound to have brought us something like this sooner or later.

It is a perfect dish for this time of year as we use up the last of the apples and start thinking of slightly more substantial dishes as the weather turns cooler.

Thank you and goodbye Keith Floyd, then.

I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude.

Poulet Normand

This dish does involve a little faffing around, being a bit old-school, but it’s definitely worth the fuss. You’ll need a nice heavy-based pan for braising the chicken and a suitable heat-proof serving dish.

1 large free-range chicken, cut into 6 or 8 pieces (on the bone)

1 large onion, finely chopped

2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and cut into 8

100g butter

A little olive oil

200ml double cream

Small glass of Calvados

660ml dry Normandy cider

Salt and pepper

In a large, heavy based pan, heat half of the butter and a good splash of oil and gently brown the chicken pieces on all sides. Remove from the pan and set aside. Fry the apple pieces in the pan until browned nicely on all sides and remove these also, keeping them warm in a low oven. Add more butter and oil if necessary and gently soften the onion until pale golden in colour. Tip in the chicken pieces and raise the heat. Add the Calvados and allow this to flambé, being careful with fingers, eyebrows, toddlers and loose clothing. Pour in the cider, and bring to the boil. Reduce to a gentle simmer, pop on a lid and allow the chicken to braise slowly for 25-35 minutes until soft and tender and cooked through completely. Remove the pieces from the sauce and place into a warmed serving dish along with the warm apple pieces. Turn up the heat on the sauce and reduce by about three-quarters, then finish with as much cream as you like.

Ideally, the chicken should be served with some boiled potatoes or a dollop of mash, maybe some spinach and Savoy cabbage too. And a nice crisp white from the Loire, perhaps? Mr Floyd would expect a glass of something!