A few years back, I decided to try my hand at a new recipe, one of those extra lovin' numbers. I was craving roasted chicken and I had never before prepared a whole chicken. So feeling a little adventurous and really excited to knock the socks off my family with a juicy succulent bird, I hunted down the perfect recipe. I knew it was the perfect recipe because Ina Garten said so, and let's face it, she would know. Recipe in hand (Perfect Roast Chicken), ingredients, and a kitchen all to myself...not sure how that happened...I started the process.
"Preheat oven to 425." Done.
"Remove the chicken giblets." Wait, what?
"Remove the chicken giblets." Eyes glazed over. What?
"Remove the chicken giblets." Chickens still come with those? No, that can't be right.
Picking up my plump whole chicken, I took a closer look at its packaging and I saw the most horrific words, "with neck and giblets." What? Nooooo. I carefully put the chicken back down on my counter, washed my hands and left the room. I was not prepared for this. I don't do blood and guts. I was the most ineffective lab partner when it came to dissecting creatures. Nope. This surprise feast just wasn't happening. I could wait to make the meal when George got home and he could remove the giblets and apparently the neck, too. So there I sat resigned to wait for my man to save the dinner, when that nagging woman in my head (she's old and rugged and most likely slaughtered her own pet chickens before removing their giblets) started fussing at me to put on my big girl panties and if I needed to wear some latex gloves that would be okay, she wouldn't tell anyone. So I did put on my big girl panties and a pair of latex gloves and I marched into the kitchen praying the whole time that I would not faint or vomit.
I removed the wrapper and carried my hefty bird by it's legs to the sink. Let me just say this, raw chicken is slippery and I don't know about you, but I don't hug naked chickens so getting that heavy bird to the sink without dropping her to the floor and sending her into a salmonella spin was a feat in and of itself. Gosh, this was about to get real personal and I didn't want to be rude so I introduced myself to the bird, named her Betty, and promptly apologized for the many ways in which I was about violate her. I gingerly stuck my hand in Betty's carcass and pulled out a plastic bag of what my Aunt Nita would have probably called gravy goodies but we were not having gravy with this meal...especially if I had to put those goodies in it. I was not ready for that. I could just imagine ripping that plastic bag open and the slimy innards flying out all over the place slapping me in the face before skidding across the kitchen floor and coming to stop under the oven. No, I would not be opening that bag of gravy goodies.
After tossing the bag into the trash can, Betty and I clumsily danced our way from the sink back to our workstation. Feeling like she and I were in this thing together...I mean we were really getting to know each other..I looked at Betty and with all the confidence in Ina's recipe, I simply said, "Let's do this."
"Remove any excess fat and leftover pin feathers and pat the outside dry." Okay, I could handle this part although who was I to judge Betty's fat as excessive? So there she was, Betty with her newly performed lipo all waxed and dried. Betty was ready for either a day at the beach or an afternoon in my oven. Unfortunately for Betty, the rest of the recipe was simple enough to handle (though I did not relish the task of stuffing her with a whole lemon sliced in half, a bunch of thyme, and a head of garlic) so she spent the afternoon working on her tan in my roasting pan.
I'll have to say, and not pridefully so because after all it was Ina's recipe, that was the best tasting chicken I have ever had. My family enjoyed it but I don't think they tasted as much love and goo I as I did. I have made that recipe a few times but I usually make George prep the bird or I use pieces. I just can't allow myself to get so involved with another bird. In the end, there could never be another Betty.
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