In which I (almost) help roast Lemon Thyme Chicken
Well, my sister claims that I totally helped roast Lemon Thyme Chicken, but I can’t help but feel that if I had absolutely no clue what I was trying to do then there’s no possible way for me to have actually helped.
So, I was supposed to drive my sister back to her place yesterday morning (which involved being up at 6 when we’d stayed up until midnight), and after obeying all of the various rules my mother put down to try to ease her raging paranoia about me driving whilst sleep-deprived and admiring the rain that was splashing all over the road, I decided to stay for a lot of the day.
I also ended up staying the night.
The main reason that I ended up staying the night was because my sister and her roommate had a scheme to (bum-ba-da-bum!!!) roast a lemon thyme chicken. And how often do you get to help try to roast a whole chicken (which, might I say, was huge!!! As far as chickens go, that is)?
Unfortunately, I do not have the recipe on hand to post up here, and I failed to take pictures of it. Which means that I can only repeat some of the jokes that arose from trying to cook this poor chicken.
First off, we were supposed to rub the chicken with salt, which… well, fortunately I didn’t have to do it. Because it also involved rubbing it inside the chicken, which was just kind of weird. I did hand handfuls of salt to my sister’s roommate though. Turns out, two or three very large handfuls of salt was much more than the recipe called for. But then we were suppose to let it sit for 12 to 48 hours in the fridge, but since we weren’t that patient, maybe it’s a good thing that we put too much salt on, to help give it the drying out or moisture purging effect or something.
The main butt of all of our jokes (which sounds completely wrong in itself, I know) was the business of the lemon. My sister had to take a whole lemon, puncture it with a fork, and then stuff it inside of the cavity before it cooked. Personally, I thought it a little invasive, but then I guess we do almost the same thing with turkeys at Thanksgiving time. Except with stuffing instead of a lemon. By the by, is there a holiday that’s the equivalent of Thanksgiving in Britain?
And then another recipient of our jokes was the fact that the recipe ordered us to “let the chicken cook undisturbed for 55 minutes at 450°. Due to the fact that we’re us, this resulted in two effects.
1) We disturbed it by throwing a pan of potato goodness in to cook as well, which probably was thoroughly disturbing to the poor chicken. And very hot for us. Have you ever had hot onion fumes gushing into your face? It’s a very interesting sensation.
2) We had a dish towel on the rack of the oven, which acted as a curtain over the oven window. This gave rise to a few jokes about how the chicken would feel less disturbed with this courteous act of privacy.
And then there was all of the fun that ensued once we took the chicken out.
There was something about putting fresh thyme on the chicken once it comes out of the oven, which was supposed to “sizzle and release a burst of perfume.” I was the one trying to sprinkle fresh thyme on it, and I was disappointed by how poorly it sizzled and released a burst of perfume. But it was a bit of a delayed reaction on the perfume part. We could smell it in a bit.
And then we had to attempt to “tip the chicken to dump the juices into the pan.” Which, well… How do you tip a chicken that has been recently cooking at 450 degrees in an oven? We settled on each of us having a pair of tongs and trying to manipulate the chicken in the correct directions.
And then there was the removal of the lemon, which… well, it inspired its own jokes. We were smart and used the aforementioned tongs to pull it out.
And then there was the thing about juicing the lemon and pouring the juice back into the pan with the chicken juices (we’d removed the chicken at this point) and trying to simmer them in the pan over the stove. Now there’s a nice brown-black circle on the pan where it was sitting over the burner.
There was the fun that occured when we were attempting to cut the chicken apart (and the fun that ensued when I started freaking out about potential salmonella), and rubbing butter all over stuff, and all of the other stuff that you have to do to prepare for eating a roasted chicken.
But, I would like to say, that it was a lot of fun trying to help roast a chicken in the oven. And it was especially fun eating it. 🙂
Now, hopefully, I don’t get salmonella. If I do, it will be reason for a very long post about how miserable salmonella is. Let’s face it, that’s the LAST thing I ever want to post about.
But my main consolation if I Do get Salmonella is that I will be able to blame my sister’s roommate. Who, I would like to point out, did a fabulous job with this whole chicken thing!!!
See? There’s a silver lining in everything. Even in the good stuff.