It's Friday night. I'm young. I'm single. The city is practically begging me to put on a LBD, 4" heels, and experience the vibrant nightlife. Instead, I'm at home. Wearing an apron. And Ugg slippers. With a chicken roasting in the oven. What happened?
A wise woman once told me that the true test in determining whether someone is a good cook is by the quality of her roasted chicken. This wise woman may have been Ina Garten (or was it Martha Stewart?), and she may have not been talking to me directly, but I've still taken her words to heart. I've asked myself many times before, and I will ask it once again: am I, in fact, a good cook?
Some may agree that the roasted chicken test is a fair evaluation of a cook's aptitude in the kitchen (for the record, I don't think it is), but it raises a number of questions, of which one that is particularly bugging me: how many cooks (even the "good" ones) still roast their own when they can pick up a rotisserie chicken at Costco for a mere $4.99? After all, it's roasted fresh daily, it's a good price, it tastes good, it goes a long way....why waste the time, effort, and money on roasting your own? Duh, because Ina says so! And because like so many other things, it's just so much more satisfying to do it yourself. Remember when Merrill Streep roasts a chicken and bakes the perfect chocolate cake because it's Alec Baldwin's favorite meal in It's Complicated? That doesn't really have anything to do with anything, but I love that movie and thought I'd give it a shout out. (I might also mention that I strive to have a house and bakery like hers in Santa Barbara one day.)
Meanwhile, back to reality in my little Portland kitchen, tonight I came face-to-face with a raw (free range, with no added hormones, of course) whole chicken for the first time ever, and I was a little on edge. There might be no judging panel or culinary authority watching over my shoulder, proctoring my progress and performance as I removed the giblets (gross), stuffed it with herbs and a lemon, massaged it with butter, and took all those other necessary steps according to Martha's Cooking School book, but I was still a little nervous. Having that glass of wine by my side as I write this certainly quells my anxieties some and I just keep reminding myself, "Allison, this is only a test", but still: what if my roasted chicken sucks? What would Ina say about me and my ability to cook? If I'm only as good as my roasted chicken...well, I could be royally screwed and my ego could be permanently damaged. On the other hand, if my test results show perfectly crisp skin and succulent meat, I might feel on top of the world. However, without an adjudicator in the testing center tonight, I'll have to battle with my own bias and judge for myself in the most objective way I know how. According to my oven timer, I have about 45 minutes until the moment of truth arrives... I'll let you know how it turns out.
For now, my recommendation to you is this: one of these days if you're feeling the need to sacrifice your social life to keep yourself in check as a cook, just roast a chicken! Or you could simply denounce the test, buy a Costco chicken, go have a night on the town, and save the oven to bake your ski boot liners like my brother.
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Or you could do both and smell like roasted chicken on the slopes. Mine smell like brownies.
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