Roasted Chicken

If you asked me, say, three weeks ago if I would make you a roast chicken you would have been laughed at. Nothing personal. It just had no place in my cooking vocabulary. To me, based on absolutely no facts what-so-ever, there was some sort of arcane knowledge and advanced skill needed to even buy a full wingy and leggy chicken. What a difference those twenty-one or so days make. What brought on this life-altering transformation in my thinking? Tom Colicchio. Sometime last week I was reading his Think Like a Chef in bed and just as L, who does a lot of martial arts, was just finally slipping off into some much needed sleep after a couple of days of very hard training, I nudged her awake.

“bwuh?” she queried.

“Oh L, are you still awake?” I turned the book toward her, “Since you’re up, look at this, I was thinking of roasting a chicken this week. How’s that sound, eh? Impressed?” She didn’t respond right away so I nudged her again.
“bwuh whuh, huh?” I held the book before her, pages flopping across her face, pointing out the glistening, rosemary crowned chicken that Colicchio had apparently made. Her teary eyes strained open a crack in the glare of my full spectrum, 90 watt night light (I’ll have to replace the shade one day). I held the book closer for her.
“Yup, ‘bout time I start roasting some fowl, yup, very manly—like bbq.” She was quiet for a moment as this sank in.
“Mm,” she noted.
“I know! Bet you didn’t think I’d ever roast one, did you? In roasting you just gotta remember the basics: brown, gently roast, baste, and rest.” I could hear L gently snoring in agreement beneath the tent of Tom Colicchio’s Think Like a Chef. I planned the roast for the weekend.

On our regular Saturday visit to the St Lawrence Market L for some reason had no memory of our conversation and couldn’t figure out why I was buying a 3½ pound organic, free-range capon from Manos Meats. A capon is a very young rooster that has been castrated. They say a castrated rooster that makes a good roasting bird. Without nackers, these little guys have no sex drive, they spend their days eating and lazing in the shade wondering what hens are for until they become little fatty fatty boobalatties. We got it home and I followed the recipe exactly—well, as close as I could.

I started off by rubbing the chicken inside and out with the kosher salt and pepper. Once seasoned it’s time to tie up the little guy, also known as “trussing”. The facially-pierced young butcher at the local supermarket was kind enough to supply me with three feet of twine. I assumed he gave me exactly as much as I would need so I began to fumble with string and chicken in an embarrassing attempt to wrangle and rope it. For the next five or so minutes, I flipped and flopped this bird, got tangled up with string and skin-flaps, I got to know this capon very well. I was clearly missing something int Colicchio’s explaination, being a more visual learner I had to pull out the Joy of Cooking and look at the trussing diagram. Within a couple of minutes I had succeeded, albiet poorly. According to Jacques Pepin, the purpose of “proper” trussing is so the bird is easier to handle, it keeps it’s shape and it roasts evenly. My trussing technique proved to be somewhat less than “proper” being that the chicken continually Houdinied his little wings loose. It was suggested that I should have chopped off the wing tips at the first joint (and Pepin adds any other small tips as well) but I thought Colin, I’d named him by this point (and given him a bit of a back story), Colin had had enough things cut off him in his short life (and what a heroic life it was, what with the unbelievable single handed rescue of all those hens in the big coop fire of ought-six, made all the more amazing considering he didn’t know what hens were for). Besides, I like crispy wing tips, the removal is more for aesthetics than anything.

I got the peanut oil shimmering and began the browning phase of the roasting, both sides and then on his back and into the oven for 20 minutes. Once the timer went off, I tossed in some unsalted butter and put it back in to roast for another 30 minutes. I took it out frequently to brush the skillet butter and drippings all over to keep Colin well basted. When it was done and resting I added white wine to the chicken drippings in the skillet along with some garlic and lemon juice and made a really nice pan gravy. Tom Colicchio doesn’t mention this but going with the idea of his book he most likely would approve.

And there you have it. I figured out that no arcane knowledge was necessary, roasting was far easier than I thought. Like a mantra I repeated Colicchio’s advice over and over: brown, gently roast, baste, and rest. The meal, served with a mixed green salad with a mustard vinaigrette, was enjoyed by both of us. L even had seconds. So now if you ask me if I would make you a roast chicken, I’ll still laugh at you, and then start the oven.

So later that night as I was rereading the roasting chapter of Think Like a Chef, I felt proud of my newly aquired skill and decided to follow the book further to the next recipe. I turned to L who was snuggled deep under the covers beside me and nudged her.

“Hey L? What do you think about a pan-roasted striped bass next week, or maybe halibut? Yup, I think it’s about time...”

“gwuh?”


ROAST CHICKEN

Ingredients
• 1 3½ pound free-range capon
• kosher salt & freshly ground black pepper
• 2 sprigs of fresh rosemary
• 2 sprigs of fresh thyme
• 1 tbsp peanut oil
• 2 tbsp unsalted butter
• pinch fleur de sel

Method
1. Heat the oven to 375°F / 190°C / Gas Mark 5. Rinse the chicken and dry thoroughly with paper towels. Season the chicken inside and out with kosher salt and fresh ground pepper, stuff the rosemary and thyme inside the cavity, then truss.

2. Heat the peanut oil in a large, heavy ovenproof skillet over medium heat until it “moves easily across the pan.” Place the chicken on its side in the skillet and brown, about 7 minutes. Turn and brown the other side, about 7 minutes more. Turn the chicken breast-side up and transfer the skillet to the oven. Roast for about 20 minutes, then add butter. Continue roasting, basting (I used a brush) occasionally, until the thigh juices run clear, about 30-35 minutes more. Remove the chicken from the oven and cover loosely with aluminum foil. Allow the chicken to rest for 10 to 15 minutes, then carve and serve sprinkled with fleur de sel.

RED WINE-POACHED BEEF WITH STAR ANISE, LONG PEPPER & CARDAMOM INFUSION

When I first laid eyes on Ludo Levebvre’s cookbook Crave: The Feast of the Five Senses I didn’t know what to make of it. I would go into detail about the hilarious photographs (which I’m sure were not the intention and thus making it all the more sad because of it) but I have seen enough entries online treading that path, and a joke told too many times ceases to be funny (The Aristocrats aside). I think it best to present this link to SoCalorie’s An Open Letter to Ludo Lefebvre, from the May, 2005 entry from la.foodblogging.com, and leave it there. Aside from the pretty pictures, what kept me looking through this cookbook were the recipes, flavours different from what I was used to, but recognizable all the same. They looked really good, I mean, look at the guy’s creds, Lefebvre’s worked under some amazing people in some impressive places. He obviously knows what he’s doing—in the recipes, if not branding. The book was filled with spices that weren’t (yet) in my pantry (or my vocabulary), things like Chinese star anise which is the seed from the Badian tree, a small evergreen related to the magnolia. The seed contains anethole, the same ingredient which gives the unrelated anise its flavor. In China these beautiful little things are called bājiǎo, “eight-horn”. Lefebvre also calls for Indian long pepper which I’ve yet to track down but he describes the flavour as sharp, bitter and slightly sweet with a “light floral aroma”. Similar to regular pepper only hotter. Interestingly enough, the word pepper is derived from the Sanskrit word for long pepper, pippali.

I decided to try the one recipe I read over and over again, like a fine poem, his red wine poached beef recipe, a refinement of bœuf à la bourguignonne. Without the searing step and sliced very thin he claimed the meat would be "soft as butter." Over the week I slipped out during lunch breaks and evenings to Whole Foods, the LCBO (known as the liquor store to those outside of Ontario), and Kensington Market to get the ingredients together. As stated, the only thing I have yet to find is the long pepper, I substitute freshly ground pepper instead. All the burners of my tiny 20 inch Magic Chef crapomatic stove were called into duty. I even broke out my new mortar and pestle for the spices. Then followed a sweaty dance with pots and pans do-si-do’ing around the burners. With an allemande left and an allemende right I jumped back and forth between the beef, endives and reductions with as much grace as my ample frame could muster. As long as it is, I found the recipe particularly easy to follow and in the end both dishes were ready at the same time (which for me, is quite the feat), well, somewhat ready—the lemon reduction hadn’t reached the right consistancy, but to wait the extra five minutes or so would have compromised the rest of the meal. I plated and served it immediately. A complete success. The Port reduction was rich and velvety and its deep notes of sweetness a great balance to the citrus tang of the carmalized Belgian endive, which is cooked in lemon juice and water leaving just a hint of its usual bitterness. As promised the meat was amazingly tender alive with hints of spice from the poaching liquid. L had no complaint about the runniness of the lemon reduction.

RED WINE-POACHED BEEF WITH STAR ANISE, LONG PEPPER, & CARDAMOM INFUSION
(My version—for two)


Ingredients
For the Beef:
750-ml bottle dry red wine
2 whole star anise, slightly smashed
2 tsp coarsely ground pepper (long if you can find it)
1 tsp coarsely ground green cardamom seeds
1 1/2 lb piece of filet mignon, trimmed

For the Port Reduction Sauce:
2 cups ruby port (Paarl Vintage Character Ruby Port)
1 cup Wolfgang Puck Organic Beef Broth
2 tbsp chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces
fleur de sel and freshly ground black pepper
...and for garnish additional freshly ground star anise, pepper (again, long if you can find it), and green cardamom

I needed:

• 3 saucepans for the poaching and two reductions
• 1 skillet for caramelizing the endive
• 1 small melon baIler I bought for the occasion
• 1 liquid thermometer for the poaching liquid temperature
• 1 meat thermometer (instant or not) to check the internal temperature of the beef
• 1 mortar & pestle (or spice mill) for the spices

Method
For the Beef:
Combine the wine, star anise, pepper, and cardamom in a heavy large saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat. Remove the cooking liquid from the heat and cool to 185°F. Add the beef to the cooking liquid. Place the saucepan over low heat so that the cooking liquid barely simmers. Cook, uncovered, until an instant-read meat thermometer inserted into the center of the beef registers 135°F for medium-rare, about 25 minutes.

For the Port Reduction Sauce:
Combine the port and beef stock in a heavy medium saucepan. Boil over high heat until the liquid thickens slightly and is reduced to 1/2 cup,about 25 minutes. Whisk in the butter to form a smooth sauce. Season the sauce to taste with fleur de sel and pepper. Keep warm.

To Serve:
Cut the beef crosswise into 6-8 slices. Arrange the beef slices to the side of 2 large plates, overlapping slightly and dividing equally. Sprinkle the beef with fleur de sel and black pepper. Drizzle the port sauce around the beef (yum). Sprinkle with the additional ground star anise, long pepper, and cardamom. Serve the caramelized belgian endive with lemon alongside.


CARAMELIZED BELGIAN ENDIVE WITH LEMON

Ingredients
2 heads of Belgian endive
1 cup strained fresh lemon juice
1 cup water
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp sugar
fleur de sel and freshly ground pepper

Method

Combine the endive, lemon juice, and water in a heavy medium saucepan. Cover and cook over low heat until the endive is tender, about 15-20 minutes. Using tongs, transfer the endive to a plate. Cool for 5 minutes. Cut each endive lengthwise in half. Using a small melon baIler, trim the tough center core of the endive halves—gently now as the leaves come apart easily. Season the endive with fleur de sel and ground pepper. Continue boiling the cooking liquid until it is reduced to 1/4 cup, about 12 minutes. Keep the lemon reduction warm.

Heat the oil in a large nonstick saute pan over medium-high heat. Sprinkle the sugar over the oil. Place the endive halves, cut side down, in the pan. Cook until the sugar begins to caramelize and the endive halves are golden brown, about 2 minutes. Arrange 2 caramelized endive halves on each of the two plates. Drizzle the warm lemon reduction over the endive and serve.