The Chicken In The Squash And Other Tall Tales From The Hill

There are probably more words dedicated to the perfect roast chicken than to any other food. Every omnivore loves it. Thomas Keller reveres it as his last meal. It is the simplest of foods and the simplest of methods which, even when done less than well, yields anticipation the likes of which few other foods can conjure. Even as a not so skilled cook is in the process of failing, the smell of chicken fat and drippings burning on the oven wall as they pop and leap from the bird fills everyone in the house with the highest of hopes. We have all eaten that chicken that made us slow down and reflect for a moment.  But when the chicken before us falls short of that goal we become obsessed with understanding why, or, more importantly, how we can avoid such shortfalls in the future. But perfect roast chicken, despite the best intended mentorship, is elusive and contrary. Even when you do everything right, sometimes the stars don't align.

Even with this resignation to disappointment in tow, I figured I should offer up my own insight into roast chicken, or perhaps more accurately in my house, a chicken cooked whole, as there are two versions I treat with similar technique. The first is a traditional chicken cooked in the oven, usually the chosen path in cold months, and the second, a bird cooked over charcoal on a spit. There are a lot of opinions as to the steps one should take to prepare and cook a whole chicken in either of these venues and I think it might be helpful to look at them one at a time.

First…
Choose a quality bird.
Let's not waste time discussing this. If you buy shitty, battery raised chickens that taste like suffering then just stop reading. Buy your birds from a responsible farm who treats their animals with compassion and respect in the great and healthy outdoors. Any animal that dies for you deserves at least that much, and they taste better and are better for you.

Second…
Choose the right size bird.
It's a fryer. Sorry, but it is. Frying, grilling or roasting, get a small, young bird. They are full of gelatin and flavor and have the perfect ratio of skin and bone to meat. Larger birds are more economical when cooked and pulled from the bone, but the moistest and most flavorful birds for cooking whole or close to whole are the little ones.

Third….
Brining.
Brining is controversial amongst cooks in the know and the skin of chicken is one focal point for debate. Brining undoubtedly has advantages when it comes to moisture retention and juiciness, and is a very consistent means of seasoning. I like to brine chickens in beer, especially New Holland's Mad Hatter (I can't explain why, but Mad Hatter is the best -- don't skip it), but brining can yield rubbery skin. And lord knows there is no point in roasting a chicken if the skin is not enjoyable. You probably won't end up with crispy skin if you properly rest your bird (see below) anyhow, but rubbery is down right sad. I am currently of the opinion that grilled or smoked chicken is best without the brine, especially smoked. The only remedy to rubbery skin is a finish over high heat (and sometimes even this doesn't work) and to me this ruins the beautiful finish a properly smoked chicken has. But when roasting, you can turn chicken skin into a supple, heavenly repository of salt, seasoning, and jus by cooking at higher temps. When rendered out, the skin becomes a sort of sponge for the cooking juices that rise to the surface during cooking and soften to such delicateness they nearly disappear before you swallow. But if you choose to go low and slow, skip the brine. The skin will never become pleasant to eat. Also, don't bother adding anything to a brine that's flavor isn't powerfully soluble in water. It's just wasted. I primarily choose to brine when I have a flavorful liquid, like beer, wine, or cider, that I want to infuse into the chicken, or a vegetable like onion, celery or garlic that gives its flavor up to a brine readily. If the flavor profile you're looking for is more spice forward, rub.

Third…
Marinating.
And yes, this is not the same. To me, the best roast chickens are both brined and spend at least half a day, a day is better, in a flavorful marinade. This period of rest gives the salt from the brine an opportunity to diffuse and a second chance for other flavors to come to the party. I like the classics. Especially for spit roasting. Lemon, garlic and rosemary is a no brainer.

Fourth…
Cooking and doneness.
Debate is fierce regarding cooking temps. Some go for hours low and slow, some go hot and fast. Low and slow certainly yields melt in your mouth results. Hot and fast gives great skin and those amazing caramelized flavors that never happen in the world of golden brown and personally I am a fan. When reading an older cookbook about roasting chicken not long ago, I started wondering why the roast chicken of my childhood wasn't terrible. All these old books say to cook a roast chicken to 170 degrees. Surely this was health department inspired madness. The prevailing wisdom today is to cook chicken to 155 degrees (it will coast to a safe 160 degrees though carry over), below the threshold of 158 degrees where juices start to be driven from the meat. This is still sage advice when cooking white meat on its own. But this leaves thighs and legs bloody at the bone and no one, not even a rare quail eating man like myself, feeling hungry for more. So for years, the question has been, "how do you get nicely cooked dark meat without ruining the white?" The answer, I think, came to me while I was frying chicken. Frying, like roasting or grilling, is a high heat cooking method, but the best results yield form cooking the chicken to 170 degrees, NOT 155. I always assumed there was something about the process that made the difference. But I don't think that's the case.

If you've ever examined a pot roast as it cooks, it becomes stiff, and tough and dry until, late in the process, connective tissue breaks down, fats and liquids are liberated from muscle, fat caps, skin, and bone as the roast rises in temperature and reaches doneness. I believe the same to be true when cooking chicken. At 155, good white meat and undercooked legs. From 155 to 169, no man's land: dry breast and still bloody legs. At 170, provided the following step is adhered to, pull apart tender at the joints, supple, silky white meat, and full flavored, fully cooked dark. This is the low and slow way of judging doneness, but what happens when you apply high heat? All the benefits of the 155 bird on the exterior with great, slow cooked quality meat below, both white and dark.

Fifth…
A long rest.
As long as it cooked. If it took an hour, rest it an hour. A whole chicken will stay hot for much longer than you might imagine. Even a turkey rested for three hours will still be warm after a three hour rest. Please don't worry, the growth of harmful bacteria doesn't start in any dangerous way until the food in question has been outside the safe handling zone for four hours. It is perfectly safe to allow a long, quiet rest. And as my friend and neighbor Fred has remarked, the bird cools off during carving any way, even if it were straight from the oven. "That's what jus is for," he says.

Going to say it again…for the best possible results from a bird cooked whole, rest it as long as it cooked.

Resting is extremely important, especially if you, like me, choose to cook hot and fast. High temperature can drive moisture and fat out of muscle fibers, leaving it dry. After a period of rest, those juices will redistribute into the interstitial areas of the muscle group and sort of rehydrate them. Also, gelatin, which begins to congeal as it cools, becomes more viscous, lending a better texture and mouthfeel to the flesh, and prolonging and developing the taste of each bite as it melts and releases new waves of flavor. If you cut into any piece of meat immediately after it is cooked, all those great juices will be left on your cutting board. Don't do it. Even if you are running behind, make them wait.

In my house, we don't start preparing the remainder of the meal until after the chicken is cooked. In winter when we are cooking in the oven, we remove the chicken from its pan and fill the pan with root vegetables and it goes back in the oven.  In summer, when we fire up the grill and put the bird on a spit, we light another chimney of charcoal when the bird is done and cook foil wrapped potatoes with green garlic or young leeks in late spring or mushrooms in late summer. In both scenarios, it takes the vegetables about as long to cook as the chicken, and forces us to wait for that keen and proper rest.

Sixth…
Eat.
With it just being the two of us, you'd think a whole chicken is not a common menu item in our house, but you'd be wrong. Tonight, as a whole chicken turned on the spit in the grill, Amy remarked that it is probably one of her very favorite things to eat, and I agree, so I cook them often. It is best to keep the meal simple. A green salad along with the vegetables roasted in drippings. The meal is bountiful but the dirty dishes are not, another boon. We eat the wings, thigh, and drumstick the night the bird is cooked, as they are not as pleasant to eat cold, then eat the breast meat the following day, cold, on a salad. Sometimes we have the neighbors over and eat the whole thing, but truth be told, white meat is probably better eaten cold, provided it is nicely cooked and well seasoned.

So perhaps there is nothing new here. But the perfect roast chicken conversation will go on long after I'm gone and I suppose I felt a desire to be a part of it. Chickens are a very good choice in all ways when it comes to eating well. They are versatile and popular, but also very healthy, both for you and the planet. They can be reared well on very little land with very few resources, and even expensive chicken are affordable, considering that every roast chicken leaves a pot of soup in its wake.

And at the end of the day, it's the chase not the catch. We have such fully foment ideas about the perfect roast chicken, even if we don't have the perfect vocabulary to describe it or fool proof method to achieve it. The following method reflects my own overly compulsive trial and error. Give it a shot and let me know how it comes out.

ROAST CHICKEN ON THE HILL
Serves 2 to 4

1 three to four (max) pound whole chicken, rinsed and patted dry
2 twelve ounce Mad Hatters
72 ounces water
3/4 cups salt

The total liquid needed for the brine is three quarts, so if it's easier, pour the beer into a gallon measuring container and fill to three quarts with water. Stir in the salt until dissolved. Fully submerge the bird in the brine and refrigerate for 12 hours.

Remove the chicken from the brine, rinse briefly, and pat dry.

1 lemon, peeled, pith and seeds removed, and cut into supremes
3 sprigs fresh rosemary
6 cloves of garlic
several good twists of black pepper
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp fennel seed
1 tsp salt

Combine all of the above in a mortar and pestle and pound the shit out of it until it becomes a coarse paste. Stir in enough olive oil to loosen it up and coat the chicken. Rub it onto the trussed (especially important if you are spit roasting) chicken and refrigerate overnight.

In Winter:
Preheat the oven to 425. Place the chicken, breast side up, in a cast iron skillet and roast until a thermometer reads 170 in the deepest part of the thigh, 40 to 45 minutes. Set on a cutting board to rest, fill the pan with its roasting juices with your favorite in season root veggies, and roast until done, hopefully about 45 minutes (cut the vegetables into large pieces to accommodate this time line). If they are done sooner, keep them warm until the chicken has had a full rest.

In summer:
If you do not own a small rotisserie made for home grills, buy one immediately. It is the best $50 you will ever spend. They run with the aid of a small electric motor that runs on a nine volt battery that never seems to run out of juice. If you do not own a grill which will accommodate a spit like this, discard it and buy a new one.

Start one full chimney of coals and burn it until they are completely red and the fire has totally subsided. Place the coals in an oval around where the chicken will sit (no coals directly below it), load the chicken about 10 inches above the coals, start the rotisserie, and close the lid. Check after five minutes to be sure the drippings have not caught fire. Check again every so often to be sure the skin is not browning too quickly. If you feel so inclined, a handful of smoking chips once or twice in the cooking process is not unwelcome. Cook in this manner, bringing the chicken and coals closer together as the fire wanes (if need be) until the chicken reaches 170 degrees in the deepest part of the thigh, forty five minutes to an hour.

Light a half chimney of new coals and cook vegetables wrapped in foil over them until done. If need be, hold them warm until the chicken has had a full rest.

Serve at once.

Apple Butter Mea Culpa

When I was very little, my mother took me and my brother Jon to the grocery store. In the seventies it was not uncommon for stores to display canned goods stacked in large pyramids at aisle end caps and, well, kids will be kids. I reached my little hand out, grabbed a can from about mid height and yanked it out, causing a cacophony of collapsing cans that sent them rolling across the store in all directions. Every head in the store swiveled toward me, including my mothers. I looked up, knew immediately I was in trouble, and for some reason, perhaps hoping for distraction from my predicament, decided to yell out "please don't beat me!"

This began a long line of slanderous abuses my mother has suffered at the hands of her children that continues as recently as my last post. Of course my mother never beat me, but a dozen or so strangers thought she did at the grocery store that day. I asked her when we visited for Christmas what she though of the apple butter post, and her brow furled a bit, and she told me that I was wrong about her "cheater" method. She never cooked down store bought apple sauce. When she told me she cooked down a jar of applesauce in the slow cooker she meant her own home made, and I almost immediately saw my mistake. 

70's mom.

For a moment I was relieved. I was really very upset to hear that something my mom made that I really loved was not as authentically mom as I had thought. But soon after guilt swept in its place. I felt terrible for maligning my mother's good name. She said when we were kids, mom and dad were "Whole Earth Catalogue hippies." They grew a large garden and mom made so much of what we ate everyday from it, including catsup, which her spoiled rotten children complained about regularly, as it was nothing like Heinz 57. She also went on to remind me that when Crisco became available for housewives in the south like my aunt Bobby, it was a replacement for lard in things like biscuits and a huge convenience item and meant that you weren't out of biscuits when you ran out of lard (which you got from rendering fat from the hogs you raised yourself). And the truth of the matter is, you will never
make a biscuit as flaky and tender with butter as you will with Crisco (or lard). And so the guilt deepened.

More 70's mom with a sliver of
skinny dad.

So I am at the computer to apologize for besmirching their kitchen habits. The fact is, I write about my mother, my aunt Bobbie, and my Nana with frequency because they are tremendous cooks, and I have been influenced so much by their skills in the kitchen. I would not be a chef today were it not for them. And even though I cook professionally in a very

Eurocentric style these days, you don't have to look very hard to find deep down southern technique imbedded at the root. 

My mother kept me fed and healthy growing up. If that weren't enough, she gave me the seeds of my career and a cooking ethos that has helped me discover a style of my own that is not forced or trend driven, but honest and self aware. I can never thank her enough for providing such a strong foundation to build from. If there are better habits to use as the foundation for kitchen skills than those borne of the American south, I am hard

Great aunt's from the left: Gladys, Mae,
my Nana Lora, Phillys, and Bobby

pressed to identify them. It is certainly true that if you are to grow up poor, it is best to do so in a home that has a good southern cook in it. And a couple of Whole Earth Catalogue hippies don't hurt either.