07 February 2007

I heard the chicken singing

A simple roast chicken is always a favourite. Unfortunately, I didn't get home from work early enough to roast the bird whole, so I decided to practice takeing a chicke apart and broke it down into 10 pieces (separated the meaty bit from the other bit of the wings). No brining. Just slathered it all in butter, salt and pepper and then spritzed a lemon over top. Roasted it to a lovely golden-mahogany.

As much as I love the taste of roasted chicken, I'm particulary enamoured by its sounds. When it's ready it sings a sizzly little sorprano. The other sound I like is the crackle when the fork's tines pierce the skin and plunge into the flesh.

I made one of many un-named glops to go with it: hot Italian sausage, sweet potatoes and Brussels sprouts. It plays against sweet and salty, firm and soft. It's just good.