Tuesday 31st

I find roasting a whole chicken to be very therapeutic. I don’t mind if there are no roast potatoes and trimmings. I just love the simplicity of bunging a chicken, relatively unmolested (OK maybe some herbs and a lemon up its ‘cavity’) into the oven. It’s a sort of multipurpose meal really, perfectly suited to a Sunday roast, dinner with friends, with a salad in the garden in summer, or a solo supper with plenty for lunch the day after. I love the routine of picking the flesh off the carcass, and preparing a stock from the leftovers.

Anyhow, I’m in the mood for some chicken therapy. A small organic bird comes in at less than a fiver – a lot for a midweek meal, but I’ll get tomorrow’s lunch and some good therapy for my money.

The idea is simple, bung it in the oven, watch Simpsons, do emails, eat chicken. But somewhere in between Market Street and the fruit and veg stall by Shudehill I decide to poach the bird with some seasonal veg (carrots, leeks) and some non-seasonal veg (fennel, tomatoes). Chilli and basil will give it a bit of welly.

Well imagine the faffing. The bird was fairly small, but was still a tight squeeze for the pan. The problem with these organic chucks is that they have such strong bones, and I ended up having to punch the bloody thing to get it into the pan. Half an hours simmering and the veg goes in – so the pan is now full to the brim with broth which occasionally bubbles up over the hob.

Rubbish tomatoes purchased at the last week at Tescos fail to leave any sort of impression in the broth, so I throw in stir some sun-dried tomato pesto from a jar (lurking in the fridge for weeks now, but seemed OK) into my bowl which gives it some edge.

I suppose it was OK in the end, but I felt I had to battle with the chicken a bit, don’t have an excuse to make stock (although there is some of the soup left, which will see some noodle action tomorrow) and there weren’t any crispy bits of skin to guiltily chew in the kitchen.
Next time I’ll just bung it in the oven.