Tonight was my first foray into the world of cooking roast chicken. For the past 48 hours all I have been thinking about is roast chicken. The crackly skin. The taste of roasted, salted poultry with hints of olive oil, garlic, vegetables, and herbs. Tonight I took a brave step into this world.
On my way home from my day job - I repair luxury Swiss watches at a gentlemen's shoppe down in the Financial District - I stopped at Gristedes, which has to be one of the worst supermarkets in New York and likely in the entire universe. I bought 3 pieces of chicken breast still on the bone and with skin. Granted, my goal is to cook a whole chicken, but I thought this would be a suitable initial venture.
I sensuously rubbed olive oil on the breasts, along with garlic paste and salt and pepper. I actually was worried that I put too much salt on the chicken, but this turned out to be a completely unfounded worry. Lesson learned: use LOTS of salt. I cooked the chicken at 400 degrees for about 30 min, and then turned the oven up to 450 and cooked for another 15 minutes or so.
The result? I didn't overcook the chicken, which is good, as I think one of the biggest challenges will be properly cooking the bird. Still, despite this victory, the chicken was rather bland. A very unflavorful, boring, bland roasted chicken.
As I later retired to my chamber to enjoy a cup of tea and a scone, I put Beethoven's 5th onto my record player and relaxed in my armchair, contemplating the mysteries of roast chicken. A volume of Chaucer, which I must not have properly placed in my bookcase, fell off the shelf and hit me in the head, at which point I gave out a tremendous moan and then started to cry.
To be continued...
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