New? I write about food occasionally. Surprise. Check out previous notes on bolognese and apples.
About once a month (maybe more, never less), it’ll hit about four in the afternoon (possibly earlier, never later), and it’ll be some anonymous weekday. My wife and I will look at each other, and I will say, ‘Wine?’ and she will close her eyes and utter, ‘Yes’ through barely parted lips. And an hour later, an entire bottle is empty, and we are drunk.
Sometimes - but not always - dinner that night is a roast chicken. The chicken has permitted us to drink as it feels like a special occasion, even though it is one of the most straightforward dinners I can think of.
Roast chicken is one of those meals that engenders unnecessary fear in the insecure home chef. Getting the perfectly tender chicken is easier than one may presume, and the stakes are low. It’s one of the first things I learned how to cook for other people.
True, under-cooking is a disaster - you may poison your diners. But this is easily solved by more oven time. I did this ten years ago to some poor friends who had to pretend to ignore the pink bits close to the bone and push them to the side of the plate. I wish I had never served it. I cringe to think about it. It is better to put the chicken back in the oven, even if it has already been carved for fifteen more minutes. Serve more crackers or cheese or what have you - your guests will forgive you.
Over-cooking is the more common stress point. But a dry breast or thigh is nothing to cry about (for both human flesh and other animal). A bit of gravy or mayonnaise will solve most problems (for both human flesh and other animal). Over-cooking is generally hard to accomplish if you’re following time and you’ve started with a good oily massage of your bird. Don’t fear fat: fat is what a roast is all about.
Roast chicken smells like home. I try to make a roast chicken the first meal of whatever new home I move into. The warm scent lofts through the house and my shoulders sink five inches.
How to roast a chicken
There are countless recipes and I’ve tried a bunch of them. They all deliver a decent result, but these days I stick to the basics. A tried and true formula.
If you can, take your chicken out of the fridge for a couple of hours before you start cooking to get it to room temperature (don’t get too enthusiastic about this in an Australian summer, obviously).
Dry your chicken with paper towel, then season liberally with salt and pepper. I mean liberally, particularly with the salt. Anoint it in olive oil (again, liberally, don’t be a wuss about it). Lean down to whisper to the carcass while massaging and ask it if you may have a glass of wine. It shall answer you yes.
Pour a glass of wine.
Wash your hands. Take a lemon. Stab it a few times. Stick the lemon up the chicken’s bum.
Preheat your oven to 200 - but as always, get to know your oven. I’ve only recently enjoyed cooking in a new oven I bought with my own money. Ovens in rentals are uniformly shit. You will know yours best. You may require a bit hotter, colder, or more or less time. Whatever - again, the stakes are low. Roasting is quite forgiving.
Pop the chicken in the oven for the first twenty minutes. Then decrease your heat down to 180, and cook for 20 minutes per five hundred grams. If you’re worried about dry boobs or you have the time, open the oven every so often to spoon some of the drooling fat onto the breast to moisten it up again.
To check its done, stab it in the thigh. If the juice runs clear, you’re fine. If it’s cloudy or murky, wait a bit longer. If you’re really in doubt, don’t be afraid to carve as necessary and take a peek. (And almost no one knows how to carve so don’t stress it. Again, all will be forgiven.)
You can do whatever other fancy tricks you want. If I have rosemary, I stick it in there. If I can be bothered, I chop an onion and make a nice bed for the chicken to lie on (then the onions become the basis of a gravy later). The prettiest roast chicken comes from slipping thumbfuls of butter underneath the skin to burnish it in bronze.
As a rule, always start your chicken earlier than you think. A roast chicken will happily rest out of the oven for half an hour or more without complaining.
On the matter of sides
Potatoes are compulsorary and should be taken seriously.
Chop them so they’re all around the same size then boil them with a bunch of salt. Once they’re almost done (they surrender to a fork prod with only gentle resistance), drain them. Then - and this is important - pat them dry with paper towel. Rub them in oil, salt, and pepper. Then, oven them for thirty five minutes. Stir halfway through if you remember.
Everything can look a bit yellow and brown on the plate. Chuck some herbs on to fancy it up. Alternatively, roast some raw beetroot, sweet potato or radishes to increase the nutrition density and build up a rainbow.
In an Australian summer, I tend to serve with a simple salad. Leaves and tomato and cucumber will do. In a pinch, dress with lemon juice and a bit of salt. But if you have the time, whisk together some lemon zest, a smidge of dijon mustard, some lemon juice, and then some olive oil. Season. Taste. Dress (don’t drizzle) the salad. Serve.
Bread is allowed. Did I mention wine?
On wine
My wife and I don’t drink on any other night. These days, we clear a bottle of wine on the occasional weeknight and giggle at each other conspiratorially across the dinner table. Our daughters smile, confused.
‘What’s wrong with you two?’
Well, dear, we are tired and drunk and sore and confused. We love you but by Jesus you burn the life out of us and we take the small joys where we can. And right now it is the fact that we’re participating in something you can’t understand. You will sleep by eight and by that time your mother and I will feel slightly woozy and we’ll probably fall asleep in front of a documentary about prisons or some God-awful thing. We will forget this but some part of your brain will remember the smell of chicken, and your parents laughing, and one day you shall do this same thing.
Life is hard. But roasts are forgiving. All is forgiven.
Nice addition is fresh thyme with the lemon upside down its butt. Also slithers of butter between the skin and the breast. Roasting anything with was my favourite thing when l wasn’t sober. Lol