Amber Makes Dinner

I have made roast chicken. At least, I think so. Right now they're sitting in the refrigerator waiting to be stuck in the oven. They're dressed and ready to go.

I got the idea to make a roast chicken from Amy Cohen, who I'm currently doing online PR for. In her book (The Late Bloomers Revolution, available now in fine book retailers near you!) she talks about how she roasted a chicken for the first time when she was in her mid-30's, and I realized that I had never roasted one. So I'm trying, and inviting some family over to test it out (also, I haven't seen them since my wedding, and I'm excited to have them over).

I didn't own a roasting pan, so Jen and I acquired one at Williams-Sonoma. I've had cars, GOOD cars, that didn't cost as much as this frigging thing. It's gorgeously shiny, of course, and it came with a free rack and "turkey lifters" which are a pair of giant forks you use to lift a cooked turkey out onto a platter. The woman at the store told me, "it was worth every penny", especially with the extras, and I was sold. I'll tell you what, though, my GREAT grandkids better be using it!

I bought two chickens, and then, using a combo of my Betty Crocker cookbook, everything Jen told me to do, the internets, and a wild guess or so, I set to work.

Martha would not approve.

Since we're kosher (esq), I rubbed them with margarine instead of butter. I stuffed them with onions chopped up (leftovers from Monday's meatloaf), more margarine, and Heineken (which is barely fit to drink, but should give the chicken a nice flavor... I hope). On top it was paprika and salt. You're supposed to pin the wings to the body with toothpicks, but I only had cheap-o ones, so it took me a bunch of tries to get them to stay down. Then you're supposed to tie the legs together with "kitchen twine". I have no idea what the hell that is, so I just grabbed regular twine, and I'm hoping it'll be fine. I kind of felt like a masochist binding their ankles. This is, by far, my weirdest cooking experience.

I'm praying I won't have to order a pizza.

Chickens, apparently, come with a bunch of shit stuffed inside them. I called them "insides", but the proper word is something like "Giblers".

Jen says they're for making gravy, but every time I get near them, I want to throw up, so I'm probably going to throw them out... dog & dog might like them, actually.

I have some sort of weird dessert in the oven now, (hot fudge sundae cake!), but I'm a fairly confident baker, so that should be fine.

Almost time to put the chicken in!

Here goes nothing!