The chicken has been roasted.
I'd pretty much eaten the four potatoes that were diced and roasted underneath the chicken and the five tomatoes that I had cut up for two salads. The chicken, or at least the bits and pieces I pulled from its carcass after I'd carved it, was delicious. I've got two breasts, two thighs, two wings in a container ready to be divvied up as lunch. I've got a carcass devoid of any slivers of meat awaiting its stock bath.
The peach jam was a success. Its production was prompted by my addiction to Fage Peach Yogurt. I pretty much eat a $2 150g container every morning and I know that it's excessive to spend so much money on yogurt. So, I purchased a large 500g tub of plain Fage for $5 and 2 lbs of peaches for $2. I used about $1.50 worth of peaches and have enough jam for about two containers of yogurt. I've learned a little bit about pectin and I feel like a country bumpkin making my peach "preserves.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
poultry with a pause - part I
When I set out to roast a chicken a few days ago, it was not as simple as it sounds.
On Sunday, I bought a lovely bird from soon-to-be momma bird Karen at McCall's Meat & Fish Co. It's one of those olive oil ingesting, happy feathered fowl from Kendor Farms. I was excited to take on my first solo roasting.
That night, I threw some overdue unpasteurized apple juice into a large bowl with an imprecise amount of salt and let the chicken soak. I went to sleep with the bird belly up and before I went to work, turned the bird belly flopped so that both sides would get an equal sugary salty slathering.
Then President Obama came to town. And while I don't have political leanings being that I'm actively uninformed and Canadian, I was happy that he was here. I was happy that he was schmoozing at John Wells' Hancock Park home with John Wells' friends paying $30,000 per couple to drop by, say hello and take a Twitpic with POTUS.
I was NOT happy that the uncoordinated, seemingly erratic and clandestine street closures prevented me from going up both major streets that lead to where I live. I couldn't get home in time to roast my brining chicken. Feeling trapped, I pulled over after being re-routed for the 3rd time and just happened to be near the apartment of two friends. My guardian gays, as they are now known, welcomed me, poured me wine, fed me chicken teriyaki and cookies 'n' cream ice cream. They saved me from a 3 hour commute and a midnight snack filled with the bitterness of a disgruntled resident alien.
Tonight, I placed the chicken on a rack above a pan and let the oven rip. But apparently, as I made peach jam while I waited for it to roast, the oven wasn't hot enough. As the planning was interrupted for the roasting of this chicken, so was its actual roasting. I took the bird out after an hour and let it rest for 15 minutes and when I cut into it, the meat was dark pink. The oven was fired up a 2nd time and now it's in there...sizzling and hopefully getting hot enough. At this point, the jam is done and I'm going to start eating my tomato and basil salad. Tomatoes from the Nozawas and basil from my "garden". It's not a big plant but apparently, many of my culinary endeavors are stunted. Stay tuned for part II when I actually can report on how the chicken tasted. And this time, I can't blame "the Man."
On Sunday, I bought a lovely bird from soon-to-be momma bird Karen at McCall's Meat & Fish Co. It's one of those olive oil ingesting, happy feathered fowl from Kendor Farms. I was excited to take on my first solo roasting.
That night, I threw some overdue unpasteurized apple juice into a large bowl with an imprecise amount of salt and let the chicken soak. I went to sleep with the bird belly up and before I went to work, turned the bird belly flopped so that both sides would get an equal sugary salty slathering.
Then President Obama came to town. And while I don't have political leanings being that I'm actively uninformed and Canadian, I was happy that he was here. I was happy that he was schmoozing at John Wells' Hancock Park home with John Wells' friends paying $30,000 per couple to drop by, say hello and take a Twitpic with POTUS.
I was NOT happy that the uncoordinated, seemingly erratic and clandestine street closures prevented me from going up both major streets that lead to where I live. I couldn't get home in time to roast my brining chicken. Feeling trapped, I pulled over after being re-routed for the 3rd time and just happened to be near the apartment of two friends. My guardian gays, as they are now known, welcomed me, poured me wine, fed me chicken teriyaki and cookies 'n' cream ice cream. They saved me from a 3 hour commute and a midnight snack filled with the bitterness of a disgruntled resident alien.
Tonight, I placed the chicken on a rack above a pan and let the oven rip. But apparently, as I made peach jam while I waited for it to roast, the oven wasn't hot enough. As the planning was interrupted for the roasting of this chicken, so was its actual roasting. I took the bird out after an hour and let it rest for 15 minutes and when I cut into it, the meat was dark pink. The oven was fired up a 2nd time and now it's in there...sizzling and hopefully getting hot enough. At this point, the jam is done and I'm going to start eating my tomato and basil salad. Tomatoes from the Nozawas and basil from my "garden". It's not a big plant but apparently, many of my culinary endeavors are stunted. Stay tuned for part II when I actually can report on how the chicken tasted. And this time, I can't blame "the Man."
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