I roasted a chicken last night, to rave reviews from the family. That may not seem like a big deal, but I've been a vegetarian since I was 15. I don't like dead animals, especially when they look like the animal. In other words, while I've been able to cook a chicken breast or a steak, whole birds . . . not so much. I am routinely relieved of the Thanksgiving nightmare . . . it's at my house BUT mom prepares the turkey which we cook in my oven. There is no way I'm plucking feathers or putting my hands in a dead bird.
So, a roaster is an event. I had a butcher remove all the inner stuff and clean it for me. I put on gloves (yes, I keep a box here for just that purpose) and shoved rosemary (lower case "r" for the herb, not a friend) inside. And I threw stuff in the pan and on top to minimize the touching. No tasting for me. But I nailed it . . . the meal, not the actual chicken.
No comments:
Post a Comment