| While I was roasting a chicken, I nipped down to the store to buy some veggies to eat alongside the chicken. The store had a hot rack with a few nice roasted chickens. I'm thinking, "why all the effort of seasoning inside, outside and under the skin, cooking briefly in a hot oven, then finishing over a long time in a slow oven, when these here chickens are so easy."
When the chicken was done, I started with a thigh and leg, my favorite parts. "Not bad, probably better than store bought." Then I ate a breast. A slow cooked 160 degree breast. Holy mother of all chickens. Warm, moist, infused with herbs, and as tender as could be. I'm trying to find a metaphor for the tenderness. Not mushy, at all. It provided a little resistance to the teeth, but quickly yielded. A little more resistance than grilled salmon, but not much. Sort of like a piece of fruit. Moist, warm, juicy fruit. But made out of meat. Moist, warm, juicy meat fruit. So anyway, that's why I try to make time to cook. After that, the carcass along with roasted carrots, onions, leeks, celery, shallot went into pot, eventually yielding a concentrated stock to be reserved for future cookery. |
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