Fate in chicken

When I first met my husband we were both flying around for work. One evening we met at National Airport, having come from different planes, and he very sweetly asked what I would like to do for dinner. I was tired and wanted to stay in. I know it was a Wednesday, because I had read a recipe I thought would be fun in the New York Times food section. But before I could tell him that, he reached in his briefcase and pulled out a NYT folded to that very recipe: Beer Can Chicken.

No surprise, that is what we made for dinner. It did peg my then boyfriend as a beer snob, as he only had Heineken (in glass bottles, which wouldn't at all do) in his fridge, and he actually had kind of a problem with buying Budweiser.

I married him anyway.

Nearly a dozen years later, we still make it. If you can't guess from the recipe's title, it involves a beer can and a chicken, some spices and a grill. The kids love it -- the way the chicken hunches over the can like a Wisconsin ice fisherman waiting for a bite. It makes for poultry moist on the inside, with a coating of crunchy skin floating on the outside, kissed with cumin and paprika, which falls off the bone with a delicate steam like a woman fainting.

This method is reminiscent of a rotisserie chicken, but spiking the beer with herbs really ups the intensity of the flavor. On the rotisserie, we stuff the chicken with whatever herb is running away with the garden, in this case lemon balm and parsley, and always a ton of garlic.

Either way, it's a winner. While it sits on the can you have time to sit and catch up on the week, or you can leave it with a magazine and go do laundry. It is truly easy and delicious. Procure an organic chicken (thank you Elaine Boland at Fields of Athenry, AGAIN!) and you've got a home run.

Beer Can Chicken

(from the NYT food section, original recipe, Wednesday, July 7, 1999. I don't know whose copy this is, mine or his, but no matter. It's all ours now:)

1 cup wood chips, soaked in beer or water to cover for one hour then drained
1 can beer
1/3 cup barbeque rub ( this can be varied depending on your tastes. I like the cumin/paprika combo, as mentioned above, but you can easily use a store bought jar. Herbs will work for a more elegant bird, and it is lovely with just sea salt as well. I kind of go by what I want for sides)
1 3-4 lb. chicken

Set the  grill up for indirect grilling. On a charcoal grill, this means lighting the charcoal, and when it is burning separate it into two piles with a foil drip pan in the middle the size of a pie plate. Position the grill above the coals and set the chicken on its pedestal on the grill. Toss the soaked chips on the charcoal to generate smoke. Cover the grill and cook for about an hour. If needed, toss more briquets on and keep the cover off until they ignite. On a gas grill, if it has two burners light one side and cook chicken on the other. If there are three burners light outer two and cook chicken in the middle. Wrap the chips in foil and poke holes on the top; put in on one of the burners. If you do use the rotisserie,  lose the can.

Open beer can and pour half on the chips. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the spice in the can. Sprinkle half of the rest in the cavity of the bird, and the other half rub on its exterior.

Stand beer can on counter and lower each chicken on the can so it covers the main cavity. Pull the legs forward to form a tripod so the chicken will sit up over the can. Carefully put chickens on grill, over the indirect heat.

Throw chips on coals or slip into burners as mentioned above. No matter your cook method, roast chicken until browned and meatiest point of the thigh registers 165 degrees; juices will run clear. Take off grill and discard can, carve and serve.

Enjoy!

Why did the chicken cross the road? Would you believe he was in a curry?

The chicken is a versatile, humble creature, able to be both the best and the worst of culinaria. Let's skip the worst, and just admit: There is something about a roast chicken that not only welcomes you home but pulls up a chair and says 'Bon Appetit.' It is unremarkable on the highway to divine.


There are many ways to roast a chicken. I happen to like Mark Bittman's quick method most: put a metal roasting pan in the oven, turn it to 450 degrees. When the oven is hot, put the chicken in the pan. This sears it and cuts the roasting time, though I have never met his record of 45 minutes. I also like the versions (Ina Garten has one) that stuff it fuller than a skinny man at a hot dog eating contest with garlic.

These are Sunday, lazy afternoon roast chickens, that slowly fill the house with smells of comfort and joy, that, when pricked, ooze pure gold juices to mix with heavy cream into a heavenly gravy. But I often do not have time for these roast chickens, however much I might idolize them. That is why, for me, the advent of rotisserie ovens in many local groceries is up there with the great events of the 21st century. (The 20th century, I am pretty sure, was the ATM card.)

There they are, right when you walk in the store, with their rich, lazy Sunday afternoon attitudes, even on a Tuesday at 7 p.m. when you haven't an idea about dinner. Their smell assails you as you enter the supermarket, changing dinner from a scary prospect to a delightful one in a whiff. I have been known to drive 15 miles out of my way for a rotisserie chicken. Once, when I got there and none were left, I was so bereft that the frightened manager gave me 'I owe you's' for three chickens.

But what really rocks about a rotisserie chicken is the day after. Because you have all this plump, moist chicken waiting patiently for something special to happen to it. You can chop it, grind it, puree it, sautee it, stir fry it -- it cares not. It's date night for this chicken, and it's ready to go. Especially somewhere exotic, somewhere it can put on rouge and a silk scarf. That, you'll agree, means curry.

Now, there are even more recipes for curry than there are for roast chicken, and like the chicken, I have tried my fair share. But what really puts the ease in easy for me has two ingredients. Making this a three ingredient dinner. See, I told you it could be simple.


Three Ingredient Chicken Curry

1 1/2 cups coconut milk (You can use lite, if you are concerned about fat, or even coconut milk beverage, which is deceivingly creamy -- So Delicious makes one that posts only 50 calories a cup.)
1/4 cup curry paste (Patak's Mild Curry Paste is a good choice, I have another I like as well, or better, it's more subtle, but harder to come by.)
Diced rotisserie chicken, about 4 cups

Heat the coconut milk, add the curry paste and whisk to combine. Bring to a simmer and add the chicken. Let simmer 20 minutes or so more to really saturate the chicken. Or eat it immediately.
I crumbled some curry leaves in it last time which I had in the freezer from the Indian shop in Chantilly. Or you can use chopped fresh cilantro. That totally makes it necessary to change the name.

I think it's worth it if you do.

PS -- To kick this up a notch 'real food' wise, I like to get the chicken from one of two shops in our town that roast organic chickens (Home Farm, and Market Salamander, both on Main Street in Middleburg, Virginia, see links), rubbed with spices or just sea salt. Because I really do think that organic can make a difference in how healthy the chicken is. With real food, what it's been fed is a barometer of how well it, in turn, can feed you. (It's also important where it lived, for chickens that rove around are tastier than caged birds. No one I've read can explain this well. Most agree that they just taste more chicken-y. They are right. Try it.) And the other bonus is, I have an organic carcass for making broth. (More, much more on making broth later.)



I served this with a sweet potato puree, (boil two sweet potatos, a cup of baby carrots until tender. Drain, reserving small amount of liquid. Process until smooth, using either reserved liquid or cider, season with salt and pepper) which was a good counterpoint. But the spinach, now that was a joy, kicked out of being comfortable by studs of coriander.

Sauteed Spinach with Coriander

1 T olive oil
1 T coriander seeds (hint: buying spices in bulk in the Hispanic section of our supermarket makes them completely cheap -- you get a whole boatload for just a couple of bucks.)
1 t coarse sea salt
3 T slivered and peeled garlic
1 clamshell fresh baby spinach

Heat oil, add salt and coriander seeds. Add the garlic and turn until just browning. Add spinach and cover, letting it wilt. Off the heat and stir together.


I have found that roasting salt like this with spices heightens and emulsifies it, so it coats the food with a subtle picante, as a jewel tone scarf intensifies ocean blue eyes.

Enjoy.