In one new and notable entrant into the pantheon of foodie film, “The Chicken, The Fish and the King Crab,” we are treated to an image we won’t soon forget: chickens, in all of their feathered glory, sprinting aimlessly across an open field to an orchestral score.

Such studied reverence for these ubiquitous fowl is understandable, though, when one considers the subject of the film.

“El pollo, el pez y el cangrejo real,” the Spanish translation of the title, is a documentary that details the journey of a Spanish entrant into the world-famous international Bocuse d’Or cooking competition.

Held bi-annually in Lyon, France, the Bocuse d’Or brings together 24 renowned chefs, each one representing his or her nation in a sort of gustatory Olympics.

The competition was originally conceived by three-star Michelin French chef Paul Bocuse, a man who, if the film is any indication, is filled with a certain dour egoism that one might expect from a superstar chef in a country renowned for elevating the art of both classic cuisine and haughty gesturing.

Contestants must create two separate courses based upon the three eponymous ingredients — chicken, fish and king crab — although the myriad other ingredients they use are unregulated. Each chef seeks to incorporate the “flavor” of his or her country, and it is firmly understood by all involved that, as a French institution, one must use classic French techniques to succeed.

“The Chicken, the Fish and the King Crab” was an entrant in the recent Tribeca Film Festival in Manhattan. It aired over the course of a scant three nights, requiring that one show up at the theater an hour in advance just to wait in the rain for a decent seat.

Such a show of dedication was laughable compared to the enthusiasm exhibited by attendees of the Bocuse D’Or itself. The rabid fans waved various national flags, chanted in unison, and provided a brief glimpse of what it might look like if every team in the World Cup played in one arena … at the same time.

“El pollo” documents the travails of Spanish Bocuse entrant Jesus Almagro, a highly decorated chef with abundant competition experience in his native country. We watch months of frantic training, each week unfolding in a similar pattern of highly regimented food preparation, reviewing, tweaking and, ultimately, abandonment.

Almagro prepares his dishes exactly as he plans to prepare them during the competition, and then invites a cadre of fellow chefs to dissect his work. Should you ever find yourself with 20 Spanish chefs critiquing you, brace yourself for some serious feedback.

To the viewer, each dish that Almagro delivers looks divinely edible. To say that every individual piece (of which 24 must be precisely replicated to accommodate the judges) is intricate would be an understatement; the techniques used to create one beautiful bite-size morsel both astound and baffle.

It is as though a team of European sports car designers turned their attention to small pieces of food; the dishes require not only new-fangled kitchen gadgets but also notebooks brimming with diagrams, X-Acto knives, protractors and all form of precision instruments normally relegated to the work bench.

Almagro even hires the previous year’s winner to help him design his entry dishes. While we have no idea what this costs, one can assume a healthy portion of self-respect was thrown into the deal.

The film works on multiple levels, melding a documentary of the human psyche with an attention to detail in cooking previously seen only on the Food Network. Yes, traveling with the film crew to the source locations of the various ingredients is lots of fun. But watching the pressure of the competition consume such highly accomplished chefs is worth the price of admission alone.

As the film won’t likely see wide release, the price of admission will probably be a slot in your Netflix queue, but you’d be a chicken yourself not to check this one out.