I really lost it yesterday. The chicken was there, a gift from Barry, he of montrealfood fame. It was STARING ME IN THE FACE. But Brigitte had to go BACK to the dentist to remove the crap from her wisdom tooth surgery. Bleeding like a stuck animal. I was alone except for Taishi.
Did I crumble, like I thought I would? Did I give up the quest and say "Okay, it's hot dogs for dinner . . ." I was so tempted. I not only had to make the first roast chicken of my life, but I HAD TO DO IT RIGHT.
So I did. I chopped a whole bunch of shallots, a bit in a daze. I toasted two slices of country bread, like a robot. I made a compound herb butter with garlic and parsley and fresh thyme. I put the chicken in the refrigerator, naked, so the skin would crisp up, for at least four hours.
Then I did what I was dreading . . . took the bird out and pushed up the skin so it was loose everywhere and spoonfed the herb butter under it. Then I stuffed it after cracking some pepper and sprinkling a little garlic salt into the stuffing.
Somehow, in my daze, I'd remembered to preheat the oven to 550 . . . I turned it down to 500 and cleaned about 10 new potatoes, sliced them kind of thick, and put them in a broiling pan drizzled with olive oil and chopped garlic and then set the chicken on a rack just above them so the drippings would flavor everything.
Then I made the gravy . . . I couldn't believe I was doing it, but I chopped the onion and sautéed it with garlic like an automaton (I was busy worrying about Brigitte) and chopped thyme and parsley and then added wine and chicken broth and reduced it over thirty minutes and then made a roux with herb butter and mixed it all together and it got thick and creamy and my god, the end of the road was near . . .
And the smell of the chicken roasting (my first!) filled the house and my work was done and Brigitte came home without pain and Taishi was being a seven-year-old angel and all suddenly became right with the world.
It was a good chicken. It was my first, but I did it goodly. I will make it again. I will make it better. Just like every day of this neue jahre, nouvel année, nuevo años, o-shogatsu . . . you guys take it easy and keep up wit' me. I'm gon' kick yo' asses!
Yey! your first roast! Congratulations on not freaking out and eating hot dogs.
ReplyDeleteIt's funny, I use the "bleeding like stuck animal" phrase very often I say "bleeding like a sacrificial cow".
Good to hear Brigitte is doing well too.
Hmm, usually I use "bleeding like a stuck pig" but that's not nice to say about anyone!
ReplyDeleteYes, I'm proud of myself. At every step of the way I said "Do I really want to continue doing this? Gravy too? Forget it!" but I did it, for some reason. It reminds me of my old self, who would always start some ambitious project but never finish it, always be TOO ambitious and give it up mid-way . . . well, that day I just pulled out the stops and JUST DID IT. I did it ALL THE WAY THROUGH and as carefully as I could, knowing that any failure meant the failure of the whole project.
I did it then and I'll do it again. Just like I write my songs, I know that any faltering means failure . . . and we don't want that!
And don't worry, I'll be your second customer,(you'll be the first) so DON'T OVERCOOK that magret de canard au miel dijonnaise . . . plaise . . . but if you do, we'll just agree that those haricots verts fins will be perfectly spiced.
How dat?
Brigitte is sleeping soundly and I'm bombing the universe and I guess I'll continue to bomb it all the way to Japan and back.
Like they say, I'm not a problem drinker. I drink, I stand up, I fall down. No problem.
:)