Category Archives: Poultry

Chicken Skin

Crispy chicken skin.Really you shouldn’t end up with an excess of chicken skin very often.  The skin is a delicious and coveted part of fried chicken and roast chicken, and if it’s well-rendered it can also go into some cold, day-after preparations like chicken salad sandwiches.

But if you are shredding leftover chicken to make chicken noodle soup or chicken stew, you may want to set the skin aside for another application.

Here’s how to turn cold, flabby, leftover chicken skin into golden brown, crispy pieces of crackling. Line a sheet tray with parchment and lay out the pieces of chicken skin so they are flat.  Place another sheet of parchment on top, and then another sheet tray on top of that, so that you have sandwiched the skin between the trays.  This is just to keep the skin from curling up.  It may also help them cook evenly, now that I think of it.

Bake in a 350°F oven until crisp and deep golden brown with an amber hue.

You now have what are essentially chicken skin crackers.  You may be wondering what you should do with them.  Here are some ideas.  Crumble them onto soups, and into salads.  Use them as a base for an hors d’oeuvre, or as a crispy garnish for any number of dishes.  Mac and cheese comes to mind.  In my opinion the supreme usage for crispy chicken crackling is to layer it generously onto a tomato sandwich.  Spicy chili mayo, pickled red onions, and rocket can play welcome supporting roles in this venture.

A sandwich made with tomato, chili mayo, pickled onion, and crispy chicken skin.

Chicken Stew

chickent_stewUnlike beef stew, which I make from fresh cuts of beef, chicken stew is foremost a way of reclaiming and elevating leftover roast chicken.

There’s not much point in stewing chickens these days.  Old recipes like coq au vin are from a time when we actually let some of our birds grow old enough to be tough and require stewing to tenderize.  Basically all of the chickens that we eat now are less than two months old, so their meat is extremely tender.  Stewing these birds only dries them out.

However, if you happen to have leftover roast chicken, shredding the meat and coating it in the sauce of a stew returns some moisture and savour to the meat.

In other words I consider this a great secondary preparation.  Roast a chicken for Sunday dinner, make stock from its bones on Monday, have chicken salad sandwiches on Tuesday, and chicken stew on Wednesday.

Obviously the exact vegetables should change with the seasons.  Below is an example of a late summer version using corn, bell peppers, zucchini, and potato.


Chicken Stew


  • 75 g unsalted butter
  • 200 g onion, 3/4″ chunks
  • 20 g garlic, minced
  • 1 tbsp sweet paprika
  • 1 tbsp dried oregano
  • 175 g carrot, 3/4″ chunks
  • 100 g celery, 3/4″ chunks
  • 60 mL dry cider or white wine
  • 150 g red bell pepper, 3/4″ chunks
  • 500 g Yukon gold potato, 3/4″ chunks
  • 90 g corn kernels
  • 1 L good chicken stock (approximately)
  • 250 g zucchini, 3/4″ chunks
  • 400 g chicken, shredded or cut into 3/4″ chunks
  • 120 mL chopped herbs, ideally a mixture of parsley, thyme, rosemary, and sage
  • 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or white wine vinegar
  • kosher salt to taste
  • black pepper to taste


  1. Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed pot.  Sweat the onion, garlic, paprika, and oregano in the butter until the onions are starting to turn translucent.
  2. Add the cider or white wine and reduce by 2/3.
  3. Add the carrot, celery, bell pepper, potato, and corn.  Add chicken stock until the vegetables are just, just covered.
  4. Simmer very gently until the vegetables are tender.  The potatoes will take the longest.  Add the zucchini for the last 10 minutes.
  5. Remove 500 mL of the stew and blitz into a smooth purée in a blender.  Add the purée back into the the sew.
  6. Add the chicken, fresh herbs, and vinegar.  Taste and adjust salt and pepper as desired.

Yield: about 2 L of chicken stew

Chicken Wings

Chicken wings straight out the fryer.Buying whole animals forces you to eat their various components in rigid proportion.

For instance, if you go out on a Wednesday and eat two dozen chicken wings, you have eaten the upper appendages of six chickens.  If you had to purchase those chickens as whole birds, you would then be stuck with a dozen breasts and a dozen legs that you would need to consume before you ever ate wings again.

All this to say I don’t prepare chicken wings at home very much.  But I love them, and sometimes I’ll squirrel away the wings from my chickens, accumulating them over several months, until I have enough to justify preparing them bar-style.

Anatomy of a Chicken Wing.  If you were confused by the statement above that each bird yields four wings, this is because we divide each of the bird’s wings in two: the first segment, closest to the breast of the chicken, is the drumette; the second, farther from the body, is the wingette.  These are the two types of meat that you get when you order wings at a bar.  The drumette looks like a little drumstick.  It has one bone through the centre, and the meat is on the pale, lean side.  The wingette has two slender bones arching within, and the meat is a bit darker, and for my money, juicier.

There is actually a third section of the chicken wing, the wing tip.  This is always removed in western restaurants, but is usually left attached to the wingette in Korean and Japanese restaurants.  If you think that the best part of the chicken wing is the crispy, tacky, saucy crust, you should consider finding wings with the wingtip still attached, as you’ll increase your crust-to-meat ratio.

Cooking Method.  Bar wings are made just like fried chicken: the meat is marinated, then dredged with flour and deep fried in oil.

Sauces.  Most chicken wings are then coated with sauce while they are fresh out of the fryer.

“What about salt and pepper wings?  They don’t have sauce on them.”

I’m going to pretend you didn’t just bring up salt and pepper wings.

Un-sauced wings are fine.  I like plain fried chicken as much as the next guy, but sauce is what makes chicken wings.  At the bar you can smell when the group three tables over gets their platter of wings because the air is redolent of the chili and vinegar in the sauce.  That’s what I like about wings.

My two favourite sauce flavours are “hot” and honey garlic.  You can make a fantastic honey garlic drizzle at home.  Just heat honey in a small pot, then add garlic grated fine with a microplane, some dried herbs like thyme and savoury, and a splash of cider vinegar.

Dipping Sauce.  Wings are often served with a ranch-type dipping sauce.  You take your saucy wing and dip it in yet another sauce.  It doesn’t make sense.  It shouldn’t be good, but it is.  A simple dipping sauce can be made at home by combining mayonnaise and sour cream, then flavouring with garlic and herbs.

The perfunctory celery and carrots seem like a clumsy way to add some vegetables to the meal, but they, too, are perfect.  A cool crunch between firey heat.

A plate of chicken wings, honey garlic and hot

Towards a Theory of Fried Chicken

Fried chicken cooling an a rack.Usually I don’t post about something til I’m confident I have a best practice down pat.  I have to say that there’s one important point in my fried chicken technique that I am waffling on: I’m torn between the winning flavour of buttermilk-brined chicken, and the superior texture of dry-rubbed chicken.

The Chicken.  Frying chicken is a bit of a balancing act: you want the crust to develop the perfect, deep golden brown at the very instant the meat reaches the proper temperature.  If you were to take an entire leg from a large chicken and deep fry it, the exterior would get much too dark by the time the meat cooked through.[1]

For this reason I like using smaller birds, somewhere around four pounds, and I cut them in the classic 8-cut style.

Brining vs. Dry-Rubbing.  Once the bird has been cut there are two mains methods for marinating it.  The first way that I learned is to submerge the chicken in buttermilk overnight.  If given sufficient time, the tangy flavour of the buttermilk penetrates the flesh.  It also supposedly tenderizes the meat, I think because of its acidity.  The next day the chicken is dredged in flour and fried.

Many chefs expound the dry-rubbing method, in which the chicken is set out on a wire rack, sprinkled with salt and spices, and left uncovered in the fridge overnight.  The salt works its way into the meat, and exposure to the dry, circulating air of the fridge supposedly makes for better skin.  The next day the chicken is dipped in buttermilk and dredged in flour before frying.

This past weekend I tried these two methods side by side.

Dredging.  I dredge in flour spiked with a bit of paprika and dried herb.  I add only a tiny bit of salt to the flour because the brining and seasoning methods above have already made the chicken plenty salty.

Dredging should be done moments before dropping the chicken in the oil.  Shake excess flour from the surface.

Frying.  As always I will emphasize that you don’t need a deep-fryer to deep fry at home.  Any straight-sided, heavy-bottomed pot or pan will do.

Fried chicken is cooked at a relatively low temperature.  I heat the oil to 320°F.  The cold chicken actually drops the oil temperature to 275°F or lower, and it will take several minutes to recover.  Higher temperatures will darken the exterior before the meat cooks.

Even if the chicken is entirely covered in oil I flip all the pieces half way through as the downward-facing sides tend to brown faster.

Cooking takes roughly 15 minutes, depending of course on the size of your chicken bits.  I use a temperature probe and pull all the breast meat at 70°C and all the leg meat at 80°C.

The Results: Buttermilk Brine v. Spice Rub

Some succinct tasting notes.

Buttermilk-brined chicken.  Dark amber colour, actually a bit too dark.  Crust not perfectly cohesive? Tangy, well-seasoned throughout.

Spice-rubbed chicken.  Beautiful golden brown.  Well-seasoned but perhaps not as thoroughly penetrated with salt?  To me no detectable buttermilk tang, even with the dip before dredging.

No discernible difference in moisture content between the two styles.

They were both delicious, and I would be happy to serve and eat either.  The visual difference was striking.  Temperature was carefully controlled, so I figure that the extra milk sugars present in the buttermilk-brined chicken burnt.  Also I think that the extra moisture on the brined chicken caused some of the dredging to slide off during frying.

More work is required obviously.  Below is my dinner plate.  The drumstick in the background is the spice-rubbed chicken.  The thigh in the foreground the buttermilk version.  Accompanied by garlic mash potatoes and green salad.

A plate of fried chicken, buttermilk mash potatoes, and green salad


1. If you do find a piece of chicken getting too dark well before the meat is properly cooked, you can take the chicken out of the oil and put it on a wire rack on a sheet pan and hold it in a 250°F oven.  The meat will continue to cook and the browning reaction at the surface will slow considerably.


Chicken Stock and Chicken Noodle Soup

As I mentioned in the Cutting Poultry post, one of the chief pleasures of buying whole birds from the market is that you get a bunch of bones with which to make stock.

You can make a small amount of light stock with one chicken carcass, or you can freeze the bones and collect a few carcasses so that you can make a whole pot.  You can cut up your chicken, raw, into largely boneless pieces, and save the raw bones for stock.  Or, if you roast the whole bird and pull the meat off at the table, you can save the cooked carcass for stock.

All the bones of the bird can go in the stock.  The neck and back are particularly good.  I like to set aside the wishbone. While this particular collarbone does not have the same Delphic power as that of a Thanksgiving turkey, it’s still fun to break.

If I have raw, uncooked chicken bones, I roast them very aggressively before making stock. Roasting produces richer flavours and colour, and makes a clearer stock.  The slender bones of the chicken require very high heat, at least 450°F, to brown thoroughly.  I deglaze the roasting pan with a small amount of cider, white wine, or even diluted vinegar if I’m hard-pressed.  The fond that forms on the roasting pan is tasty, and the touch of acidity from the deglazing liquid will help dissolve collagen into gelatin and give the stock a richer mouthfeel.

As discussed in my post on making stock:

  • start with cold bones, and very cold water
  • bring to a simmer very slowly
  • skim away foam and sludge
  • simmer extremely gently, so it is steaming, and there are almost no bubbles
  • simmer the bones overnight, then add the roasted vegetables for the last hour, and the fresh herbs for the last fifteen minutes.

Notes on Chicken Noodle Soup

Chicken noodle soup is perhaps the ultimate New World comfort food. (It’s main contenders would be macaroni and cheese, Thanksgiving stuffing, and pumpkin pie.)  While a flavourful broth is the essential foundation of good chicken noodle soup, there are still many other factors to consider.  First of all, it is important to leave a small amount of fat in the stock.  Most cultures that make chicken broth recognize the importance of a few spots of gleaming fat floating on the surface.  The most refined even have names for these spots.  The French call them  les yeux, “the eyes.”

The following are matters of personal taste.

A small amount of moist, tender chicken.  When I was a kid I didn’t even like having chicken in my chicken noodle soup; I was perfectly content with broth and noodles.  As a grown-up, I put a bit of meat into the soup, but not much; typically just some meat pulled from the carcass.

Lots of noodles.  Obviously you can use whatever kind of noodle you want, but I prefer delicate noodles as opposed to chunkier, say, penne or bowtie.  Sometimes stars align and I have made both chicken stock and fresh egg noodles.  When you roll and cut fresh pasta into, say, tagliatelle, you always have a bit of misshapen pasta scraps left.  They are occasionally sold to customers in fancy Italian restaurants as “rag pasta” or malfatti, which I think means “malformed,” roughly.  Anyways, they’re great in soup.  If you want a very clear broth, boil the pasta in a separate pot of water, or it will leach starch and cloud the soup.

Lots of herbs added shortly before serving.  This is important.  Herbs give up their strongest aromas and flavours after only a few minutes of simmering.

Lots of black pepper.  Also important, especially if you have a runny nose.

Soda crackers soaked in broth cure most ailments, physical and spiritual.

Chicken noodle soup!

How to Truss a Chicken

Truthfully I never truss poultry.

The theory behind trussing is that birds, in their natural, irregular shape, do not cook evenly: the slender, exposed limbs, the wings and the legs, cook faster than the breasts.  This is true, no doubt, but the legs, made of dark meat, need to reach a higher temperature than the breasts to be cooked through.  By leaving the legs un-trussed and exposed, they reach their higher finishing temperature at pretty much the same time as the breasts.  For this reason the only thing I do to prepare a bird for roasting is bend the wingtips and tuck them behind the bird’s back.

At any rate, Thomas Keller holds trussing as a fundamental skill, so I thought I’d show you how to truss a chicken for the sake of completeness.  It’s very simple.

Position the bird breasts up, with the tail away from you.  Bend the wing tips against their will and tuck them underneath the bird, as shown below.

A chicken, on its back

Tucking the wings under the chicken

A chicken with its wings tucked in

Cut off a piece of twine roughly three times the length of the bird.  Put the centre of the twine underneath the tail of the bird. Draw the two ends towards you and cross them so that they pull the ends of the drumsticks together, like so:

Looping twine around the chicken's tail and legs

Tuck the twine back under the ends of the drumsticks and pull it tight around the sides of the bird.

Pulling the twine tight when trussing a chicken

Tie the twine together under the stub of the neck.

A trussed chicken

That’s it.  You now have a nice, compact, uniform bird.

8-Cut Chicken: The Classic Fried-Chicken Cut

Fried chicken should be eaten off the bone.  Following is the classic way to break down a whole chicken into boney pieces that can be dredged and deep-fried.  Traditionally there is a lot of cutting through the bones, which is fun but can leave little shards in the meat.  I’ve cleaned up the method somewhat by separating at the joints where possible.  Even so, I wouldn’t cut this way if I were feeding small children.

We start by removing the legs at the hip.  Bend the leg backwards to expose the joint, then cut with a knife.

Removing the leg

The leg, removed

To separate the thigh and drumstick, bend the knee against it’s will until it snaps, then cut through the joint.  These are the first two pieces of our final eight.

The drumstick and thigh, separated

The same process is repeated on the other side of the bird so that we have two drumsticks and two thighs.

Now the interesting part.  We’re going to cut out the spine of this bird, which is way easier than it sounds.  A heavy knife will easily break through the several adjoining ribs.  Flip the chicken over so that you are looking at its back.

The back of the bird

Make a cut down one side of the spine, all the way down the chicken, from the shoulder to the tail.

Cutting along one side of the spine

Repeat the cut on the other side of the backbone and remove the spine.

Removing the spine

Next is another through-the-bone cut.  Looking into the bird, at the very centre we can see the keel bone, or sternum.  We’re going to bust through that to divide the chicken in two.

The keel bone, or sternumWith the keel bone split, we have two quarter chickens

Finally we cut through the breasts, dividing each into two, roughly equal pieces.  You need to chop through the rib and shoulder bones beneath the flesh.

White quarter chickens

Dividing the breasts


Our 8-cut chicken: eight pieces with lots of bones, all of roughly equivalent size.

8-cut chicken!


Duck Breast

Scored, raw duck breastIf you spend enough time with culinary types, eventually you’re going to hear some douchebag call a duck breast a magret.

Magret is a term from Gascony, a Basque region of southwestern France.  This is the spiritual home of modern foie gras: the liver of ducks and geese that have been forcibly fattened by a process called gavage.  The many products and byproducts of these fattened birds form the pillars of the remarkable cuisine of Gascony.  For instance, the rendered subcutaneous fat is the main cooking fat in the region, and is used to make confit.

Traditionally, magret refers to the lean portion of a bird that has been fattened for foie and confit, namely the lean meat of the breast.  The magret can be used in confit, but in rustic taverns the breast was often separated from the fat and skin, then seared and served rare, like a beefsteak.  Sometime in the 1960s, restaurateurs in the Landes region of Gascony started doing this, and the trend caught on in fine-dining establishments throughout the western world.[1]  Outside of France, the term magret started being applied to all duck breasts, even if the bird wasn’t fattened for foie gras.

The ducks available to us here in Edmonton have very little in common with the fattened poultry of southwestern France.  First, they are different breeds.  Since the 1960s, the most common foie gras bird in Gascony has been the Moulard[2], which is a cross between a Pekin and Muscovy.  Common North American breeds include the Long Island, Pekin, and Muscovy, and most are not aggressively fattened.  Since these ducks don’t have a huge amount of subcutaneous fat, the skin is usually left on the breast.  (The exceptions of course are the few foie gras producers.  To my knowledge, all of the producers of foie gras in Canada are in Quebec.  They include Palme d’Or, Aux Champs d’Élisé, and Palmex, all of which raise Moulard ducks.[3])

The goal in cooking such a piece of meat is to get crisp skin, well-rendered subcutaneous fat, and rare or medium-rare flesh.  The difficulty, then, is in rendering the fat long enough so that it isn’t flabby and chewy, without overcooking the meat.  First the skin is scored to help leach out the fat.  Then the breast is cooked in a pan, skin-side down, over low heat, for several minutes.  This renders the fat while cooking the meat very slowly.

To tenderize, the breast is usually sliced into thin strips, across the grain of the meat.

Below is a duck breast from Greens, Eggs, and Ham, with celery root purée and backyard baby veg:


Duck breast with celery root purée and baby vegetables

1.  Many sources claim that a particular Gascon chef, André Daguin, “invented” the idea of serving rare magret.  Daguin himself says this in his book Foie Gras, Magret, and Other Good Food from Gascony.  Larousse Encyclopedia, however, insists that it was common practice to serve rare magret in the rustic taverns of the region, so my assumption is that Daguin simply popularized the dish.  Up for debate, I guess.

2.  From this interesting bit of EU bureaucratic paperwork:  “Committee on Animal Health and Animal Welfare on Welfare Aspects of the Production of Foie Gras in Ducks and Geese”.  European Commission. December 1998.

3. The respective websites of the three producers all mention their use of Moulard, or Mullard, ducks.

Roast Chicken

Roast chicken drumstickCrisp, delicate, golden skin.  Moist, tender, well-seasoned flesh.  A whole bird, brought to the table and broken into pieces, distributed amongst the diners according to their personal preferences.  This is the beauty and simplicity of the ideal roast chicken dinner.

You can go to ridiculous lengths to roast the perfect chicken – (see the In Search of Perfection episode on roast chicken, which involves brining, soaking in water, scalding three times, cooking in the oven for five hours, then searing on the stove top…) – but with a fraction of the effort you can have mostly the same results as the most complicated procedures.

The following process results in by far the highest ratio of eating quality to effort.  All it takes is some planning.

Truly crisp skin is something of a rarity in chicken; the meat cooks so quickly that the skin usually doesn’t get exposure to enough intense heat.  To crisp properly, the skin has to be absolutely dry before the bird goes in the oven.  To achieve this, thoroughly pat the bird with paper towels, then leave it on a wire rack in the fridge, uncovered, for 24 to 48 hours.  This is the part that requires planning ahead, but it makes a huge difference.

This day-or-two drying also gives us the opportunity to season the meat, as well as increase its tenderness and moisture-holding capacity.  Season the bird judiciously with salt before putting it in the fridge to dry.  Get salt in every cavity and crevice.  The salt will penetrate the meat, almost as if the chicken were in a brine.

Usually at this point a chef would truss the chicken, tie it with twine to keep the legs and wings close to the body so that the bird cooks evenly.  While I do tuck the wings underneath the body of the chicken, I leave the legs in their vulnerable, splayed position.  The reason is this: The light meat of the chicken breast is best cooked to 155°F, while the dark meat of the legs is done at 165°F.  Trussing ensures that the breast meat will overcook before the legs are done.  Again, you can go through all kinds of trouble to try and correct this (applying ice packs to the raw breasts so they start at a lower temperature than the legs, cutting up the bird before roasting so that the breasts and legs can be removed at different times, and so on…) but leaving the legs to fall away from the body exposes them to more heat, so they reach their finishing temperature at more or less the same time as the breasts.

Since chickens are so small and cook so quickly, the oven has to be blisteringly hot for the skin is crisp before the meat is overcooked.  After lightly oiling the bird, I roast at 450°F.  Even at this temperature it takes maybe 30-45 minutes for the meat to cook through.

So simple.  So good.

By the way I stole most of this info from On Food and Cooking and The Zuni Cafe Cookbook.

The table, set for a roast chicken dinner

Cutting Poultry

The latest in the “Cutting Whole Animals” series on Button Soup: a general approach for cutting poultry.

The general skeletal and muscular structure is almost identical for all meat birds.  Proportions of wing to breast to leg will vary, but the following procedure will work for chickens, turkeys, ducks, geese, and guinea hens, as well as game birds like pheasants, grouse, partridge, and so on.

This is a whole chicken.  It’s from Four Whistle Farms.  It weighs about 3 kg.

A whole chicken from Four Whistle Farms


Removing the Legs

The legs pull easily from the body.  You can see a good deal of loose skin between the leg and body.

Pulling the leg away from the body of the chicken

Cut the skin and pull the leg farther from the body.

Cutting the skin between the leg and body of the chicken

Bend the leg behind the bird to snap the joint where the thigh bone meets the hip.  You can see the exposed joint in the picture below.

Bending the leg of the chicken back to pop it out of its socket

There is a pocket of dark, tender, flavourful meat on the back side of the bird, at the top of the hip bone, on either side of the back bone.  This is called the oyster meat, or simply the oyster, because of its uniform, round shape.  We want to make sure that the oyster meat is removed with the leg.  Otherwise it would be left on the bird and end up in the stock pot. I locate the oyster, then use my thumb to pop it out of the hip.

Locating the oyster meat

Cut around the oyster, then through the broken joint, and follow the meat as closely to the body of the bird to remove the leg.

The separated leg and remaining body of the chicken

Repeat the process on the other side.

The chicken with both legs separated

Now we have a legless bird:

Our legless bird


Removing the Breasts and Wings

Birds have a very pronounced sternum, which cooks call the keel bone.

Make a cut just off centre and follow the keel down to the rib cage.

Cutting along the side of the keel bone, or sternum

Now make small, exploratory cuts, following the rib cage and pulling back the breast as you go:

Cutting away the breast

Eventually you will expose the joint where the wing meets the shoulder.

Locating the shoulder joint

Break and sever the joint to remove the breast-wing.

The removed breast and remaining body

Repeat the procedure on the other side of the bird.

Both breasts removed

This is the remaining carcass.  There is still some good meat on it, especially along the back and neck.  These pieces certainly can be roasted or fried, but I typically use them in stock.  The meaty back adds flavour, the neck gelatin.

The chicken carcass, legs, breasts, and wings removed

Depending on the size of your bird and pot, you may want to break the carcass into smaller pieces.  The back actually separates quite easily from the rib cage and neck.  Simply bend to snap.

The chicken carcass, divided


Dividing the Leg into a Thigh and a Drumstick

This is one of the legs we removed from the bird:

A chicken leg: thigh and drumstick

Here is the other side of the leg, the side once attached to the body.  There are two parts to a chicken leg: the thigh and the drumstick.  You can see that they form something close to a right angle.

The inside side of the chicken leg

Cut away the meat where the drum and thigh meet, then snap and sever the joint.

The drumstick and thigh separated


Dividing the Breast and Wing

This is the breast and wing from one side of the bird.  The wing has three main sections.  Starting at the breast they are the drumette, the wingette, and the wingtip.  I’m sure you are familiar with the two types of chicken wings that you get at a bar.  The one that looks like a small drumstick is the drumette.  The wingette is the one that is flat, long, and has two slender bones arching through its length.  There is some debate as to which is superior.  For my money, the wingette is more moist, and I enjoy eating the meat from between the two bones.

Whichever is your favourite, you should only date people who like the other part of the chicken wing, so that you can share a basket without fighting.

The wingtip is not typically served.  I put it in my stockpot.

If you leave the wing on the breast the piece of meat is called a supreme.  This is a very elegant cut of meat.

The chicken breast, with wing attached

While traditionally the whole wing might have been left on the breast, today it is more common to see just the drumette.

Chicken wing tip, wingette, and supreme