Sunday, January 29, 2006
At Last, the Whole Bird
Chicken pieces don't really turn me on, but there's just something about having the whole thing at once. I guess it appeals to the primordial man within, the part of me that thinks that if I had to I could hunt for food. I'm sure that part of me is mistaken, but I still like whole everything: whole spices, whole fish, whole bags of Reese's.
It's also fun to do lots of things with one ingredient. Much like the scrawny famished guy in the cartoons who looks at his fellow castaways and pictures them as roast chickens, I see a roast chicken and I picture soup and a sandwich.
Which are well underway. Margy and I enjoyed a good winter dinner where every dish went right in the oven together -- juicy roast chicken, potatoes with rosemary and whole garlic cloves, and brussels sprouts with butter and pepper. Then after, or actually during, dinner, I put stock on the stove with the chicken carcass (we need stock bad) and made chicken salad with the leftover meat. Margy's set for the week.