Once or twice a year, I’ll teach the same class I’ve taught for years at the same local cooking store. Sometimes the class is called “Advanced Knife Skills,” sometimes “Basic Butchering,” and once it was called “You Be the Butcher.” No matter what the store calls the class, the curriculum has been the same. The first half of the class is spent taking a chicken a part in extreme detail. The second half is spent working with a pork loin and seafood.

One problem or opportunity or benefit that comes from teaching this class, is the leftovers. Not the traditional leftovers from a cooking class, everything here is raw meat in various forms of disrepair. The county health inspector doesn’t allow the students take home their “leftovers,” nor can they be used for other classes. The assumption is that since the meat was handled by someone from “the great unwashed masses,” all of the meat is contaminated. (Students do wash their hands before starting, but nothing prevents them from touching their hair or picking their nose and then touching the meat.) Once in a while, my assistant may take home some of the swag, but usually it is left all for me. A typical class may produce 35 kg (75 lb) of chicken, 6 kg (13 lb) of pork loin, and 1 kg (2 lb) of shrimp. That’s a lot of protein to stuff into my refrigerator at 10 o’clock at night.

Some parts are predestined for habitual uses: the bones, wings, and whole drumsticks become glace de volaille, the boned-out legs get stuffed to become jambonneau de volaille aux abats rouges, and any whole thighs will be boned and added to any boned-out thighs for grilling. That leaves the breasts, most of which are mangled and dissected into multiple pieces. Some can be salvaged and cut into shreds for Asian dishes, but what to do with the remainder has always been an issue. I’m not a fan of chicken burgers or chicken sausage.

Just about at the time I last taught the class, Stéphane Reynaud’s book “Terrines” arrived at my doorstep. Browsing through the book, I found a recipe for terrine de blancs de volaille. The recipe used lots of boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Nothing close to the quantity I had to consume, but enough it make the pile significantly smaller.

The resulting terrine was … okay, something like a super low-fat chicken bologna without the pink color. The flavor was good, but the texture was a little dry. By itself the terrine didn’t stand out, but with mayo between a couple of slices of bread or cubed, fried in butter, and inserted into an omelet, it was very nice.

I cut a chunk into 2-cm (8⁄10-in) cubes and fried them in clarified butter. Now the flavor was exciting, and the portion size was just right for an amuse-bouche. Lest my guests think the meat was still a bit dry, I decided to provide a minuscule serving of sauce in a separate dish to accompany the cubes. I chose a sauce moutarde, which would be quick and appropriate.

I’m not quite sure how to take my wife’s comment on the final result: “I’ve had tofu that was supposed to look like chicken, but this is the first time I’ve had chicken that looks like tofu.” I think it was a compliment?