This is my absolute favorite photo of Julia Child. It's perfect. Someday I want to have it framed and hanging in my kitchen, but until I buy a new ink cartridge and get a frame this will have to do.
Anyways, it's very appropriate today because at this moment there is a chicken roasting in my oven.
My first roast chicken.
I'm 26 and I'm only now roasting a chicken! Even worse, I'm the author of a three years old this week food blog and had never roasted a whole chicken! For shame, for shame!!
But the truth is the prospect of roasting a chicken for some reason has filled me with nervous dread. I kept pretending I was just saving it for a special occasion or something like that. All lies! But when I realized on Sunday that Mumble's big day was on Wednesday...and as I'd been making so many sweets lately I wanted to make a non-dessert celebratory dish...something that would feed me for several days...o God...it had to be a fuckin' roast chicken. Damnit.
Of course I decided to ignore that decision until this morning when I was already running late for work, realized I hadn't made a lunch, had left my CTA card in my other coat, and remembered I don't own a roasting pan, twine, or meat thermometer. An excellent start!
So I frantically looked at about six million recipes on my lunch break, and narrowed it down to the "Best Roast Chicken You'll Ever Have" on a Cup of Jo. Chicken, herbs, lemon, garlic, butter, S&P. I can handle six ingredients right?
I hauled my groceries home, got my bleach wipes out from the bathroom cabinet, lined my big glass pan with aluminum foil, assembled the cavity stuffers, and then began the inner freak out about E. coli and salmonella that happens every time I handle raw meat. It's not the fact that it's a dead animal that gets me, oh no, it's the evil germs. Once I told myself to shut up and get on with it I actually found it rather funny as it kind of felt like holding a baby (and yes, I know how fucked up that is especially considering my last post!).
As there were no balls of kitchen twine to be had at H. Time, even for ready money, and knowing what happened when Bridget improvised I decided I'd be better off with a splayed chicken. Turns out I didn't need to worry about that but the explanation would make a vegetarian hurl so I'm going to leave you in ignorance.
Once the chicken was safely in the oven I bleached my kitchen like I was cleaning up a crime scene and settled down to munch on cheese and crackers until it was done.
The cooking part got a little interesting when the wee herbs started to burn a bit towards the end which set off my smoke detector right when a nice man from the Illiniois government called to have me do a phone survey. "Wave towel at detector while deciding if you rate labor unions at a hundred "very warm" or one "very cold"." is not anywhere on the recipe. So after 45 minutes I poked it hard with a knife and clear stuff came out. Huzzah!
Took this little beauty out of the oven to cool. It then drained juice all over my chopping board and I had to put it on my cookie sheet to stop it from getting everywhere. Smooth. I cut a leg off and it was all good until I put it on my plate and there was a bit of pink in the juice. Freaked out and did the rational thing, emergency G Chat with Anwen:
me: ps i just roasted a chicken
but i dont have a meat thermometer
Anwen: KJHGFADS
me: so i hope to god its done
im scared to eat it
Anwen: HOUSEWIFE PROBLEMS
me: E COLI IS REAL YO
Debated and decided to stick it back in for a few more minutes (tented with foil) and after only one beep from my smoke detector it was done...for sure this time. Not a speck of pink to be seen!
It was chicken-y, and herb-y, and while I'm taking off five points for a complete and total lack of elegance in the cooking process it gets an 'A' for effort and taste. I'm not going to be doing a chicken roast every Sunday, but maybe for special occasions or something. I was pretty fearless, kind of had fun...and now I have to go clean a shit ton of dishes and come to terms with the fact that there are giblets in my trash can.
Happy Birthday to my terrible toddler!
6 comments:
I'm not stalking you, I promise -- but I just happened to be adding another blog to my reading list when I saw you had posted anew. HILARIOUS, because I too, at 30 roasted my first chicken and felt like an idiot. Then, and ask me to relay the story of roasted chicken and potatoes that I made a few months ago and forgot to have the butcher break down the chicken into pieces for me and I had to do it alone with nothing but a steak knife and a dull chef's knife and a VERY rough theory of how to do the job. It was a tragically mauled chicken that thankfully tasted good. You crack me up, little sister. Crack. Me. Up.
O Lord don't encourage my ego!
And I'm so glad I'm not the only person who's stood in a kitchen, armed with a knife, looking at a chicken and thinking "what the FUCK do I do now??!!" Twinsies once again!!
And P.S. I keep checking your Blog fingers crossed for a photo of these reindeer! Don't make me come up there Missy!! *shakes fist*
HAHAHA! I just updated, actually, since it's been since the late 80s. I'm actually not so much allowed to post pictures until the show opens. Our production manager wants to keep things under wraps until then. So, you'll just have to wait. The legs are currently all hanging around like a creepy butcher shop, so we're planning on taking a shop Christmas photo with all the legs hanging around while wearing the white butcher coats that are actually in the show. It'll be amazing. I'll send one to you.
And P.S. you SHOULD come up here.
For what it's worth, I think Jack looks like a plucked chicken when he's naked, and have been referring to him as such. Also, welcome to the world of chicken roasting. You'll never go back. For extra credit, take the carcass when you're done with the meat, throw it in a stock pot covered with water and whatever root veggies you have on hand (I keep the ends of the carrots I roast with the chicken, plus a potato or two, celery, whatever), a couple dashes of herbs and a touch of salt and pepper. Simmer until your apartment smells like you want to nibble on the desk just to see if it tastes like it smells in there, strain the liquid into tupperwares that stack easily in the freezer and you're done. If you happened to have a fatty chicken you can let the broth cool on the counter and skim the fat off the top before freezing. You'll never go back to store bought stock again, promise.
(Also, my little plucked chicken is sleeping on my lap right now and just filled his diaper so hard that his butt vibrated against my belly. Good thing I like him.)
Oh my gosh. I'm gonna have to come up there!!
My wee Fairy Godson the pooping chicken, nice! I really want to buy a dutch oven so I can do Julia's boef bouginion or coq au vin next, wont't they be delightful on a cold winters night?! Yeeerm!
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