My friend Leeann had her thirtieth birthday last week, and I decided to try a variation on a dish I'd made some time back for friends coming over to watch movies. The recipe was listed in my cookbook as "Circassian Chicken," a mix of chicken and a walnut paste from the Russian Caucasus that turned out very fresh-tasting but which still had a little something missing. A variation was given, a richer and thicker concoction called satsivi, which came from further south in Georgia.

 Here's the original recipe. Simmer a 3 lb. chicken in a large pan or pot with 2 quartered onions, 1 sliced carrot, 1 celery stic, and 6 peppercorns, for about an hour until the chicken is tender.l Leave to cool in the stock. Drain the chicken and reserve the stock. Tear up 3 slices of bread and soak in 6 tbsp of chicken stock. Blend in food processor with 2 garlic cloves and 3 1/2 cups chopped walnuts, adding 1 cup of remaining stock. Process until smooth, then transfer to a pan. Over low heat, gradually add more chicken stock to sauce, stirring occasionally until it thickens to pouring consistency. Remove pan from heat and season sauce with salt and pepper. Leave sauce to cool. Skin and bone cooked chicken, then cut into bite-size chunks. Place in bowl and add a little sauce. Stir to coat the chicken, then arrange on a serving dish. Spoon remaining sauce over chicken, and drizzle with walnut oil. Sprinkle with paprika and walnuts and serve.

With the satsivi variation I made a number of shortcuts and substitutions. I had quite a bit of chicken stock (made with Grana Padano rinds, no less) already, so I simply used Amish chicken thighs (they usually have the most intense flavor) instead. The same went for bread crumbs, of which I had a surfeit and used in lieu of soaking bread in chicken stock. The satsivi variation called for two chopped, sauteed onions to add to the sauce before pureeing, then to season later with cinnamon, allspice, cloves and coriander, and the top it before serving with paprika, cayenne, and "a drizzle of pomegranate syrup." All done, but I didn't have cloves or syrup and forgot the paprika and cayenne.

 Making the thing turned out a lot less onerous than I expected. I chopped and sauteed the onions the night before, and managed to work in a batch of cheddar-parmesan scones (now my official fall-back recipe) with it. The whole thing barely took two hours. When cooking at home, I tend to work at a leisurely pace, and so was rather proud of myself that it came in at such a good time. As with the Circassian recipe, my favorite part of making satsivi came with the sauce. Just like harissa, shawarma, or tagine, the name refers to the sauce or method of preparation rather than the actual dish. Once the food processor let the walnuts do their work and grind in the onions and bread crumbs (with help from the chicken stock), cooking the sauce in the pan was almost a joy, especially with the rather boring spectacle of the chicken thighs simmering in the pot nearby. Satsivi turned rather darker than the Circassian sauce, especially after the cinnamon and allspice went in. The smell was a superbly rich aroma that sadly dissipated after it cooled (the same went for the Circassian)--I need to try it warm sometime, though it's meant to be taken cold (and as such was a favorite Jewish dish--I got the recipe from a Jewish cookbook--because it could be made ahead and eaten on Shabbat). Stirring the sauce, watching the edges brown and the middle thicken, then adding more chicken stock and seeing the process begin anew, was by far my favorite part of this one.

I rode them over that day to Gallup Park on my bike in the middle of a gorgeous day--perfect conditions for a picnic. I hung out with Leeann and her family for a while and, at the partial suggestion of others, set down a written description of satsivi so I wouldn't have to keep explaining myself. Everyone seemed interested, but I'm pretty sure I had to throw the vast majority of the thing out at the end of the night--it might have seemed a little too outlandish, especially with vast quantities of fried chicken nearby. The scones proved quite popular, but I felt a little sorry for the satsivi, especially as it had sat outside for a few hours in near-eighty-degree weather and I didn't dare keep it. Next time I go to a dinner party or indoor potluck, I might try it again. For now, though, I'll have the memory of that afternoon. It was great to cook again, and I need to get cracking, especially as autumn nears and my soup skills might come in handy.