Not Philosophy, but, hey.

While tilting back a glass of red Bordeaux, an aroma floated up into my awaiting nostrils. It was the rough, somewhat barnyard smell of dark poultry meat, a smell that conjures up visions of grey meat that falls apart at the merest touch, and feathers plastered together lifelessly that resemble nothing more than toothpicks and sticks.

Then, the epiphany - Of course Coq au Vin makes sense. Drowning a cantankerous old capon (tough and bitter, and spiteful to the hilt) in red wine and braising it slowly is brilliant. The aroma of the wine and the taste of the stewed chicken are made for each other. Grape and fowl - disparate items, yet idyllic complementarians.