I am roasting a chicken!
This is announced with the brass band in full swing, spotlights glinting off golden trumpets blaring, because I have never roasted a chicken before. When I told Matthew this evening I’d be roasting a chicken for dinner, he said: “Easiest thing in the world.” This is what I hear, but the last time I was in the proximity of someone roasting a chicken as if it were the easiest thing in the world, that someone was Schmio—and if Schmio knows something, it is her way around the kitchen, so she hardly counts.
So.
I am roasting a chicken, and it is going so well I am down here on the computer instead of upstairs by the oven, wringing my hands. (Or, happily, a chicken’s neck.)
It probably seemed like maybe things were not going to go as planned when CC came into the kitchen earlier and said, “Is it done?” and I said, “Please. I have only just now found the scissors to open the packet with.”
But soon I was rubbing the chicken down with half a lemon, and then stuffing it with garlic and thyme and a couple of handfuls of diced bacon. My hand may have been getting rather friendly with the chicken when CC said, “Do you feel funny?” and I said, “No,” because it is true, “it feels good.” I like to work with meat, is the thing, and if I’m going to be rubbing my hands against something, I’m quite happy for it to be a whole chicken rather than a bed of nails.
I’ll say, though, I felt a little bad when we flipped it on its side to go into the oven, ’cause it looked like he’d just put his glasses on the bedside table, turned out the light, and, all peaceful-like after a hard day’s work, rolled over to go to sleep in a bed of parsnips and carrots.
This is announced with the brass band in full swing, spotlights glinting off golden trumpets blaring, because I have never roasted a chicken before. When I told Matthew this evening I’d be roasting a chicken for dinner, he said: “Easiest thing in the world.” This is what I hear, but the last time I was in the proximity of someone roasting a chicken as if it were the easiest thing in the world, that someone was Schmio—and if Schmio knows something, it is her way around the kitchen, so she hardly counts.
So.
I am roasting a chicken, and it is going so well I am down here on the computer instead of upstairs by the oven, wringing my hands. (Or, happily, a chicken’s neck.)
It probably seemed like maybe things were not going to go as planned when CC came into the kitchen earlier and said, “Is it done?” and I said, “Please. I have only just now found the scissors to open the packet with.”
But soon I was rubbing the chicken down with half a lemon, and then stuffing it with garlic and thyme and a couple of handfuls of diced bacon. My hand may have been getting rather friendly with the chicken when CC said, “Do you feel funny?” and I said, “No,” because it is true, “it feels good.” I like to work with meat, is the thing, and if I’m going to be rubbing my hands against something, I’m quite happy for it to be a whole chicken rather than a bed of nails.
I’ll say, though, I felt a little bad when we flipped it on its side to go into the oven, ’cause it looked like he’d just put his glasses on the bedside table, turned out the light, and, all peaceful-like after a hard day’s work, rolled over to go to sleep in a bed of parsnips and carrots.
posted by stellou at 12:58 PM
5 Comments:
Mmm. Yum. I love parsnipitty-snips!
I love roasting meat. You just bung it in the oven and forget about it and it's done. Fantastic.
cour marly: YAH! Parsnips are my new friend. And they look like a snowman's nose, which is always funny. I found a suggestion of parsnip chips, flipping through Stephanie Alexander, but I don't know that I am so ambitious.
tscd: Yes, now that I have a roast chicken under my belt—
may I just pause here to laugh VERY LOUDLY—
I see what you're saying. My concern with roasting, though, is the possibility of the meat getting all dry and overdone. What I've enjoyed, with meat, is stewing. Now there's something you can just, um, bung in the pot and forget about. And three hours later, Hel-lo, lamb shanks, well hel-lo, lamb shanks, it's so nice to see you back where you belong...
There is something about stuffing your hand up a chicken. I tried this Jamie Oliver tip the other day - cook the lemon and garlic before putting it in the butt. He suggested boiling with spuds, but I microwaved instead. Worked just as well. Definitely rub with olive oil and salt and peppa! Yum, so good and lazylah!
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