…or roast chicken or a pedicure.
A simple roast chicken dish could be the best thing you ever eat.
Joe Bastianich
Last Wednesday night I watched a short clip touting the value of an unexpected mini-adventure, a little expedition to simply jolt you out of your routine for the day. If you were to pull off one such outing every other month, in ten years you’d have 60 experiences that at best were meaningful or thrilling and at worst, provided a good story. An argument could be made that one complicated cooking challenge per week would serve the same purpose. I thought it was a pretty cool video, especially since it showed up in one of my midnight Instagram reel-a-thons, I mean micro-learning sessions.
Lo and behold, the very next morning I saw an Atlanta Braves ticket giveaway for 100-level, first base, shaded seats. Why not? I entered and won. Disclaimer: we aren’t baseball folk, so this really was a lark. As in, it took the better part of an hour to track down the “A” cap. We do own one. One. Then having neither the skill nor patience for stadium parking, I Uber-ed across town to the mid-day game and did (almost) all the baseball-y things required of attendance. It was meant to be – a manifested boon, an exercise in nonessential recreation, and a nifty mini-adventure. I may have been sitting in 95° heat with an $13 hot dog, but I reveled in the Braves victory over the Diamondbacks and had an absolute blast.
The motivation for all this goes back to a dear friend who strongly suggested I take it easy on myself after being trampled by COVID last month. After a few weeks I had finally reclaimed my sinuses (and tastebuds) but was left feeling haggard and frankly, a bit lost. I had been acting testy and reactive, both symptoms of isolation magnified by lingering exhaustion. My pal specifically mentioned a mani-pedi, a makeover at Nordstroms, and perhaps getting my eyebrows done, all trappings of a modern woman’s self-care. I didn’t exactly roll my eyes but immediately thought of the phrase “Treat Yo Self” from Parks and Recreation.
The thing is, I can’t remember ever having a full-on spa mani-pedi, I am completely inept with and only marginally interested in makeup, and I’m not even sure what getting my brows “done” means. Between us, I don’t think my friend knew either, but it sounded fancy and luxurious so it made the list. Regardless, the thought and intent was heartfelt and obvious: Betsy, stop and allow yourself to recover with patience and care. I have to say that with all my bravado and feigned independence, it’s really sweet when my people step in and (try to) boss me like this. Of course I wasn’t going to do any of it, but it was ridiculously endearing and reminded me how much I treasure my inner circle. Well done, you.
But because I do trust my friends implicitly, I took it all to heart and implemented my own brand of self-care. First, I gathered up all my knives to be sharpened. Don’t laugh, that made me extremely happy, dare I say giddy. Next, I upgraded my kitchen storage, rearranged the prep table situation, and added additional shelving. Since I can’t see a damn thing I switched out all the recessed bulbs in the kitchen to double the lumens – 1600 and I now can see everything. Unfortunately, now I can see everything. My final splurge was a couple pieces of overpriced, hybrid cookware I’d been drooling over for months.
Standing in my happy place with my army of inanimate admirers sharpened, updated, organized, and within arm’s reach, I was once again crowned prom queen of the kitchen. THIS was blissful indulgence – you get to pick your own poisons in this world so no judging please. You be you.
Setting my tiara aside for a moment, I understand that another brand of joy is found by taking care of business: squaring your finances, getting an oil change, mowing the lawn, or cleaning out the freezer. They aren’t as sexy as a pedicure, but the less flashy rewards are perhaps more gratifying. So…it was freezer time, a simple but obligatory task. My annual freezer purge is a ritual that toggles between nostalgia and a reckoning of sorts. Every year I have to ask myself “am I incredibly thrifty or just a demented hoarder?” Per usual I found all sorts of hidden gems: a dime-bag of withered pine nuts, a brownish block of 4-year-old brisket, an open jar of pesto married to a rotten ham hock, and no fewer than three ziplocs of frozen shrimp, all containing less than ¼ pound and all horribly freezer burned. That’s not even the worst part.
As a hold-out who is committed to a side-by-side refrigerator, I’ve trained myself over the years to think and store food vertically. When I removed the lower sliding freezer basket I spotted a lonely black binder clip. It was a giant one, the kind that takes two hands to open – the kind that is strong enough to secure a thick manuscript or a bag of a thousand little somethings you really wanted contained. Lurking somewhere in the tall tower above was an open bag of peas or lima beans or edamames just waiting to explode across the floor.
It was peas.
There were peas everywhere.
I’m still finding them.
1600 lumens.
But to my great fortune, a whole frozen chicken tumbled out with all of those peas. I took this as the universe acknowledging my triple-barreled interpretation of “Treat Yo Self.” Holistic self-care welcomes the material or luxury-based moments of joy, like an expensive new skillet or a makeover. But it also includes growth from uncustomary mini-adventures, like the baseball game, and the simple, well-earned rewards of taking care of business, like a home-roasted chicken, even if it nearly breaks your foot. Staring at that chicken wobbling next to my unadorned toes among a sea of frozen peas I was reminded of my mantra for the year: both things can be true. Treating myself doesn’t have to be a gaudy sellout or an act of snooty, spoiled indulgence, but it shouldn’t have to pass an austerity test either.
Two things came from this epiphany. First I was destined to make the most delicious roast chicken ever. Strangely, it felt like the supreme act of indulgence – it was juicy, salty, savory, tender, and perfectly cooked. Naturally I made it a little more complicated by spatchcocking, or butterflying, the bird first, but I swear you could and should do it this way every time. Thank you, freezer gods, for sending me the chicken. Second, I did eventually go to a nail salon. Um…to my friend: apologies for ever mocking your pedicures. I get it now. In my defense, I didn’t know about the massage chairs. It was an hour of obscene coddling and I loved every second of it. To top off the experience, I bought myself a little memento, lest I get too comfy with the glamorous life or my brows actually ever need doing. I am now the proud owner of purse tweezers. Keeping it real.
And Go Bravos!
Spatchcocked Roast Chicken
Ingredients
- special equipment: sharp kitchen shears, large heat proof skillet, convection oven (helpful)
- one 5-lb whole chicken, neck & giblets reserved for later use
- 3-4 Tbs butter
- 1 Tsp kosher salt
- 1 Tbs olive oil
- 1 Tbs high-heat oil, like canola or grapeseed
- Freshly ground black pepper
Method
Start with a 4-5 pound whole chicken. This little nugget fell out of the freezer during the purge of ‘23 and needed to thaw in the fridge a day or two. While I can shred through a blue crab without a second thought, playing home butcher is still not my favorite. I’ll walk you through the process but know that it’s a bit primal. But quick, even cooking and a crispy skin makes the yucky process 100% worth it and you may never go back. Note: this works on game hens and turkey as well.
Rinse and pat dry your chicken, especially the cavity. Flip it over so that the breast is facing down. You will now be able to feel the backbone. You can precut with slits down either side of the backbone as markers if you are freaked. Then use kitchen shears to snip through the skin, meat, and small bones along either side of the backbone. It’s a crunchy, destructive minute or so, but not bloody – you can do it.
Sorry this is gross, but important to see the actual slaughter technique. Once you’ve snipped up either side of the backbone, remove it to expose the cavity. The portion you remove will be about an inch wide. Save the backbone for stock or if you are gagging like me, quickly dispose. The idea is to minimize the depth of field and create a more compact plane of meat. It’s really a dream for both the convection oven and the grill.
Flip the chicken over and press down firmly on the breast until you hear snapping. I know, it’s bad, but now you have a butterflied whole chicken. If you can plan a day ahead, salt the prepped chicken heavily, in every nook and cranny. Place the bird on a sheet pan and store in the fridge, uncovered overnight. This method is called dry brining and promises that crispy skin.
When ready to roast, bring the bird to room the temp for an hour while you preheat your oven to 425°. Gently loosen the skin on top and rub 2 Tbs of butter all around between the meat and the skin. Coat the skin with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Note: if you dry brined with salt no need to add more, otherwise salt generously now.
Heat a large cast iron or heat-proof skillet on medium-high and drizzle in 1 Tbs of high-heat oil. Add the chicken breast down and don’t touch for 3-4 minutes to ensure a meaningful sear. Flip the bird and cook another 2 minutes. Transfer the skillet to the oven and roast uncovered for one hour or until the thickest parts of breast and thighs are 165°. Carve and tuck in.
Foodishness 