Perfect Roast Chicken

[donotprint]

I cannot thank Elinor enough for her afternoon nap on Monday.  I had planned to roast a little chicken for dinner, but she fell asleep in the sling at 4:34.  I decided to stay still and let her sleep deeply since she had gone to bed late the night before.  She slept her typical 45-minute cycle.  And then she kept sleeping.   She slept two cycles, then three, and, finally, four cycles until she woke up at 7:30 to fill her belly.  We are early evening dinner people, always having to go to bed early so Dave can be at work in the 4:00 hour.  So starting to roast a chicken at 7:30 was not an option.  We had eggs over easy and spinach with garlic, currants, and pine nuts instead.  I salted the chicken, which would have otherwise been salted just before cooking that night.  And then we went to bed.  Elinor slept and slept and slept until 8:30 on Tuesday morning.  Sixteen hours.

With Elinor apparently having completed her three-month growth spurt with great success, we were both poised to take on Tuesday as mature people do—with the utmost efficiency.  By dinner, we had done laundry, thrice climbing the three floors to our apartment from the laundry room below; pumped twice; bettered our minds with A Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Runaway Bunny, and Goodnight Moon; made and eaten a salad and two soft-boiled eggs; snacked on two kiwis, an apple, and some almonds; chatted; taken in some sun and fresh air, three miles’ worth on Jackson Street, having no shortage of hills styled after a ski-jumping slope; and produced, directed, and performed a finger puppet program starring Ms. Daisy, a cow, and Mr. Tiger.  By 5:00, two imperative tasks remained: bathe us and roast a chicken.  I was exhausted, more spent than I have been since the first week after Elinor arrived.  And I was supposed to roast a chicken?

I have a troublesome history roasting chickens.  It is a skill that I have assigned to the preparations-that-I-must-master list in my black notebook entitled “Food.”  Roast chicken appears alongside classics such as chocolate cake (check, an onyx-like flourless one) and hand-rolled pasta (quasi-checked after spending a day in Bologna with two sfogline, one crass, one rotund).  And still I have continued to struggle with it.  Some harrowing results: rosy juice puddling on a guest’s plate; pasty, flacid skin; breast meat so astringent that the eater was forced contemplate whether he had just bitten into a quince or did indeed ingest a fowl breast.

As for bathing, it never happened.  The chicken did.  Please do add a check aside “perfect roast chicken” on the list.  Thank you, Judy Rogers and your instructive tome The Zuni Cafe Cookbook.  I have spattered page 343 with schmaltz in homage.  As it turns out, there are some immutable principles to roasting a perfect chicken.  Salting at least 24 hours in advance.  Employing high temperature for honeyed, crispy skin.  Flipping during cooking.  Choosing a relatively small bird, at most, 3.5 pounds.  After following Ms. Rogers’ instructions, one hour later I stepped onto small plot of utopia, hereafter defined as that place where the slippery savoriness of roasted chicken skin gives way to the thigh’s firm, dark succulence.  Frankly, it was a rather libidinous experience.  I ate half of the chicken—I had planned this, given my dearth of energy beforehand—and did not have to refuel again until at least 2:00 that morning.[/donotprint]

Perfect Roast Chicken
Adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook, Judy Rogers

I am a convert to salting meat early.  While salt first draws fluids out of the meat, after a period, the meat reabsorbs the salt with any accompanying flavors.  Salt, the flavor vessel.  The resulting meat is savory and moist.  I also love that the prep work is finished far in advance of cooking time.  Consider making two of these little birds—one for tonight and one for the rest of the week.  Don’t forget to save the carcass for making stock.  And, please, eat the skin.  In it hides the nutrients from the (pasture-raised) chicken’s dinner of grass and insects.  (Good) fat is back, friends.  Rejoice.

2.5- to 3.5-pound pastured-raised whole chicken *
Unrefined sea salt
Freshly ground pepper
1 or 2 tender sprigs of herbs, such as rosemary, thyme, or sage
Water (optional)

Serves 4.

* Signifies a lactogenic (breastmilk-supply enhancing) food

P R E P . One to a few days in advance (bigger birds benefit from more salting time).  Upon returning home from buying your defeathered friend, remove the lump of fat near the neck, if present.  Then combine in a bowl  ¾ teaspoon of sea salt per pound of chicken with a generous amount of freshly ground pepper.  Rinse the bird and pat it dry inside and out.  Press the salt and pepper over the entire bird, applying more to the meaty areas, such as the breast and thigh.  Where each breast meets the edge of the carcass, gently push your finger under the skin until the skin covers your first finger joint.  Make a tiny slit on the thickest part of each thy and make two similar pouches under the skin.  Insert a ½” piece of herb into each of the four pockets.  Loosely cover the bird and refrigerate.

Note: Removing the wishbone makes carving the breasts much easier and allows you to cut larger pieces of breast meat.  That said, it is completely optional.  To remove the wishbone (visualize our collarbones and find the equivalent on the chicken), scrape a knife against each side of the wishbone, then wiggle your thumb and pointer finger to the end of the bone that bisects the two outer bones (imagine the tail of a “Y”), and pull the entire wishbone out.  Thomas Keller demonstrates this technique in The Green Kitchen, episode 17, from 1:25 minutes to 2:00 minutes.

C O O K . Remove the chicken from the refrigerator.  Preheat the oven to 475°F (this is the time to buy an oven thermometer since most oven readiness sensors and temperature gauges are inaccurate; it will be the best $5 you will ever spend in the kitchen).  Pat the bird dry inside and out. Pat it very dry, or sacrifice crispy, tan skin for soft, ivory skin.  Tuck the wingtips into the chicken’s torso or else the tips might burn (see my photo!).  Using a pan that is only slightly larger than the bird (I used my Lodge 10” cast-iron skillet), warm the pan on medium heat on the stove top.  Place the bird breast side up in the pan; you should hear a sizzle.  Put the bird in the oven on the center rack.

• Breast up: 30 minutes. Hang out in the kitchen for the first 20 minutes to make sure that the skin is beginning to brown and sizzle.  If neither has occurred within the first 20 minutes, increase the temperature 25°F.  If the skin appears at risk for charring, reduce the temperature by 25°F.  By 30 minutes, the bird should be a golden tan color.
• Breast down: 10 to 20 minutes. Flip the bird onto its breasts.  I use a combination of my hands and a slotted spatula.  Tongs also work, though be mindful not to tear the skin while turning the bird.
• Breast up: 5 to 10 minutes. (I realize that the absence of exact cooking times may induce anxiety.  Consider the size of your bird.  If it’s closer to 2.5 pounds, use the shorter cooking times and increase accordingly.)  The chicken is done when you pierce the thickest part of the thigh with a sharp knife and the resulting juices are clear.
• Remove and rest. Remove the chicken from the oven, place it where you will carve it, and cover with foil to rest for 5 to 10 minutes.
• Drippings—optional. The drippings are heavenly.  I usually pour off most of the fat into a teacup and let it solidify in the refrigerator.  (I use it throughout the following week for cooking eggs (think: fried eggs, soft scrambled, frittatas) or vegetables (big leafy greens, carrots).  It’s mild enough to substitute for any fat you might typically use in cooking, such as olive oil.)  Once the lean drippings and only a bit of fat remain in the pan, slice the skin between the bird’s torso and legs and pour the juices into the pan.  Add a ¼ cup of water, reduce the heat to medium-low, and let the drippings reduce a bit.  At this point, you could cook increase the heat and cook any accompanying vegetables in the drippings.  Or, save the drippings for another use (see “R E F I G U R E” below).

C A R V E . I’ve always been nervous to carve poultry.  I’m far from perfect, but I learn each time I do it.  Timidness is unwelcome; attack carving with gusto!  The basic idea is that the bird will guide your knife.  For instance, starting at the breastbone, slide the knife down the chicken’s ribs.  If you have not removed the wishbone, you will have to carve around it to remove the breasts.  To remove the legs, find the hip joint (again, think of your own anatomy and find the equivalent on the chicken).  There is a small gap in the joint that allows the knife to slide through with minimal effort.  For a visual, see the same video of Thomas Keller from The Green Kitchen, Episode 17, 5:18 minutes to 6:30 minutes.

E A T  A N D  D R I N K . Roast chicken goes with just about everything.  You pick.  On the wine front, look for something smooth and moderately acidic to cut the small amount of fat left on the skin.  Consider a light dry red wine, such as a pinot noir or Burgundy, or a Beaujolais.  Alternatively, a white Burgundy or a New World chardonnay from a cool climate would also work well.

R E F I G U R E. Roast chicken has got to be the most refigurable American food, so perhaps you already have your favorite ways to use it.  Here are a few ideas:

• A light chicken stock. Add the carcass, plus six cups of cold water, and bring to a boil.  Then add a roughly chopped carrot and onion, a head of garlic sliced in half, a stalk of celery, 8 black peppercorns, a splash of lemon juice or white wine vinegar, and a sprig of parsley, thyme, and a bay leaf tied with kitchen string.  Reduce to a simmer and cook for 4 to 5 hours.  Use immediately or freeze for later use.  (Because I don’t have much freezer space, I reduce the stock again by half and freeze in ¼-, ½-, and 1-cup portions.)
• Crunchy chicken salad. Make a dressing of 3 tablespoons sesame oil, 1 tablespoon rice wine (or champagne) vinegar, 1 tablespoon minced cilantro, 2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger, one clove of minced garlic, unrefined sea salt, and freshly ground pepper.  Shred or slice the chicken.  Thinly slice a head of cabbage. Add some almonds, cashews, or black sesame seeds, if desired.  Toss all together.
• Mushroom toast. Toast a thick slice of rustic whole-wheat bread, and rub a clove of garlic gently over the top.  Spread a layer of goat cheese over the toast.  Cook mushrooms with thyme.  Add sliced chicken to the pan with a splash of red wine vinegar.  Top toast with mushrooms, chicken, and some caramelized onions.

Text and photo © Blue Egg Kitchen 2010

[print_link]