(roast) chicken dinner
I have been reading Ruth Reichl’s newsletter since it started on December 1st. It has made me want to buy many things (mostly for myself, making it all the more dangerous) and has also made me marvel at how many menus she has squirreled away over the years. And on December 20th, it made me begin to crave a roast chicken.
The last time I made a roast chicken was Christmas 2020 - my first Christmas spent away from my family, courtesy of COVID. Ironically, this very fact was what enabled me to make a roast chicken for Christmas. I wouldn’t have been able to make a roast chicken for my vegetarian family’s Christmas Eve dinner. I used Samin Nosrat’s recipe for Buttermilk Roast Chicken, which tempted me with its simplicity. It came out perfect. Crispy skinned outside, tender inside. There were plenty of leftovers with only three of us eating (and the many sides we made). It reminded me that roast chicken is a meal for a group, if you don’t want to eat leftovers for a week.
When I came home from visiting my family this year, I had a few days off. I couldn’t stop thinking about a roast chicken. In fact, I discovered a desire to make a whole meal centered around that chicken. I had mentioned this to a few friends, and one reached out asking if I still wanted to cook, as she wanted to bake a cake. It was settled. I was going to have my dinner.
On the menu: Samin’s roast chicken, with some potatoes nestled under it in the cast iron pan; an arugula, leek, and wild rice salad from Abra Beren’s Ruffage, that I had made last summer; and a roasted carrot and bean dish from Abra Beren’s Grist, a gift from my Secret Santa. Perhaps an appetizer or bread of some kind as well, but that would be a game-time decision. And pear cake for dessert. I could picture this meal on the plate. It felt well-rounded, satisfying and hearty, but still interesting. I already wanted to pour myself a glass of crisp, cool white wine to drink alongside this meal - which would be eaten at the dining table and NOT on the couch. An adult meal.
The night before dinner, I removed the wingtips and seasoned the chicken (per Samin’s instructions), let it sit for 30 minutes, then wrestled it into a Ziploc bag and poured buttermilk in there with it. I shoved things around in my always-crowded fridge to make room for it to sit on a plate for the next 24 hours. I put the beans into a bowl to soak before going to bed.
The next morning, I ran out to pick up the last of the ingredients - arugula, potatoes, shallots, and leeks. I was reminded how grateful I have been in the past two years that there are multiple grocery stores within walking distance of me. Grocery trips were often the highlight of my days in lockdown. The dishes I had planned would each take about an hour or two to make, and I didn’t want to reheat everything, so I planned to simply cram all the cooking into the few hours before my friends arrived, at 7pm.
I began feeling antsy about this plan around 1:30pm. I have never served dinner on time, whether it’s for two people or ten or just myself. I made up the dressing for the salad. Around 4:30pm, I drained the soaked cranberry beans, and put them on the stove. Stovetop cooking times for beans are still a mystery to me. I put the base of the mojo de ajo into the oven and cut my multi-colored carrots into quarters and kept an eye on the beans. Around 6pm I put on some music and poured myself a glass of wine (cool, crisp, and white, as promised). The beans were almost done, I was rinsing the rice to put it on, and all that was left was roasting the carrots and the chicken.
At 6:30pm, I realized my mistake when I checked the recipe for the chicken. It should have been sitting out at room temperature for an hour before going into the oven. It was still in the fridge. Note to self: this is why you read recipes thoroughly each time you cook them. I immediately pulled out the chicken and decided 30-40 minutes at room temperature would have to be good enough. Dinner would just be at 8pm instead of 7:30pm. Late again.
I was worried about having nothing out to eat when my friends arrived, now that dinner was delayed, so I threw together a quick snacking board - crackers, cheese, cherry tomatoes, and peppadew peppers. I quartered the potatoes to roast under the chicken and arranged them in the cast iron pan.
The chicken went into the oven around 7:15pm; my friends arrived at 7:25pm. I poured wine and we chatted as I put together the wild rice salad. These were good friends, so I told them about the faux pas with the chicken. No one seemed to mind much. However, another snag occurred when the roast was supposed to be done. Usually, this buttermilk chicken is browned and crispy all over. But the potatoes had prevented the bottom of the chicken from direct contact with the cast iron, making it a light golden color compared to the nice color on top. We executed a quick extraction, scooping out the potatoes and drippings. The chicken went back in the oven for ten minutes. I suspected it was likely done already, but without a meat thermometer, I didn’t want to take any risks. Finally, around 8:30pm, the chicken came out of the oven. It was supposed to rest for 10 minutes, so I brought it over to the table, where the other dishes already were, and we sat down.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I cut into the chicken. It was cooked through and still tender. The beans and the salad complimented nicely, though I did some mental self-critiquing for next time. We ate and made conversation and before I knew it, the chicken was down to its last legs (no pun intended). My friend’s pear cake was brought to the table, and I pulled out vanilla bean ice cream to go with it. We had sat and talked over dinner and dessert for nearly an hour and a half, and I felt wonderfully relaxed.
As we cleaned up and I put away the leftovers, I realized it was just enough for one meal. Perfect. I wouldn’t be eating roast chicken for a week. My friends left, and I sank into the couch in contentment. Despite the last minute snafus, I had really enjoyed this - the planning, the cooking, the hosting.
I’m not usually a resolutions person, but this dinner has prompted me to make one: host more dinners in 2022. I want to sit around the table with my friends, have great conversation, and try cooking new dishes. And perhaps by the end of this year, I’ll figure out how to serve dinner per my original schedule!
