What I Ate For Dinner

I've never really agreed with the notion that you judge a cook by his roast chicken. The technique is pretty straightforward, sure, but I figure there are all manner of cooks in the world, many of whom could give a damn about roast chicken. Hell, I'm usually one of them. The bird itself makes no sense: the thighs cook at a different rate than the breasts, and the thighs that cook slower are tucked away while those big ole breasts protrude into the arid oven as if they're hopin' to get dried out. It's kind of like trying to roast a sinewy lamb shank and a tender filet mignon at the same time, no? And the difference between good and average with poultry is greater than for most meats. If you think you can just shove the bird, legs agape, wings flailing, into a hot oven and yank out a moist and sumptuous dinner thirty minutes later, you probably also know how bad things can get without at least a gesture toward technique. It's easy to do it right, but give the bird its due: at their juicy best, these guys really deliver, but at anything less, you've got dry, chalky meat chipping off the bone like mortar. I know I've personally been responsible for things going south in a hurry. And when they do, there ain't no amount o' saucin' go'in help that. So cook your game hen or chicken or turkey with the resolution to take it to the peak of flavor--and not a step further. To do just that, this technique, adapted from Anthony Bourdain's Les Halles Cookbook, is one of the more reliable I've seen.

Start by taking the giblets out of the bird (if they're there) and making sure the whole bird is completely thawed (if you bought it frozen). Dry it off. Then rub it down with salt and pepper. Since the salt and pepper is going to come into contact with the raw poultry (either directly or through your chicken hands), you want to mix the salt and pepper in an isolated dish dedicated to the purpose. Throw away any remainder. Be sure to season the cavity! There's meat in there, too.

Next, load the cavity up with diced onion, lemon wedges (or quarters), and chopped fresh rosemary. Now the butter. You want to slide a knob of butter underneath the skin of the breast meat. There should be a way to wedge your finger between the meat and skin WITHOUT rupturing the skin. You may want to trim away the top part, where the skin and meat abut to form a seam, to make this easier. Get at least two knobs in there, one per breast. More the better.

Now on to trussing the chicken. This part's easier done than said, so check the video. Basically, you cross the legs perpendicularly (or nearly so), and tie them with kitchen twine. Be sure there's nothing in the string you're using that will melt in the oven. Next, cock each wing back behind the bird so that the tips are touching the shoulder blade area. Sort of like a full Nelson. Run another length of kitchen twine around the wings and tie 'er up. This will help the chicken cook relatively evenly.

Place the chicken in a roasting pan or other oven worthy vessel. Surround the bird with potatoes, onions and carrots, and put about a half-inch thick coat of white wine on the bottom of the vessel. Pop it in an oven preheated to 350 for about 20-30 minutes, depending on the size of your bird.

After the 20-30 minute initial roast, knock the heat up to 425-450 for the last 20 or so minutes. That'll give you a good bronze on the skin. It's all done when the juices from the thigh joint run clear.

For a simple sauce: sauté shallots in butter until blonde, then sprinkle a delicate handful of flour over them. Mix in the flour to form a roux. Then, deglaze with white wine and add demi (ideal) or a glug of chicken or beef stock (respectable) in a proportion equal to the earlier glug of white wine. Season, reduce by half, and you're done.

Some places serve up the whole Cornish game hen to a single patron, full skeleton 'n all. Seems awkward to me. Instead, you might consider separating the thigh joint from the rest of the bird so that you're left the thigh and drumstick as an independent unit. Then, I usually yank out the drumstick bone since it's easy enough to get out. Leave the thighbone in; it's a pain to get out and not that big a deal anyway. Serve up the thigh-drumstick slab with some of the breast meat (which is easy to carve off). Now you've got the whole shebang on the plate and only one bone (thigh) to worry about. And you've navigated the only roast with two kinds of meat that cook differently, and you've done it with admirable panache.

As mentioned already on this blog, when it comes to skewered and grilled chicken, you're really talking about sauce as substance. That's probably because chicken lacks a bit--really a lot--in the flavor department, especially if you're dealing with the white meat. And it needs something to protect it on the grill. This means it's condiment time. Under such circumstances, chicken satay delivers nobly, so it's worth having in the arsenal.

You could marinate your satay. You could, really. And classically you would. But I don't. I say just slather the sauce on the chicken, grill as such, and then spoon a bit more sauce on top upon service. Simple.

There're a buncha variations out there, but here's a general road map to get you to Sataydom, after which you can make whatever sorts of adjustments, amendments and bastardizations you prefer. With so many alternatives available, I'll relate the recipe in a sort of "get there fast and then take it slow" style.

Start with good peanut butter. You know what that rules out. You want the shortest path from peanuts to butter, so look for the grinders with big bins of peanuts on top that churn out fresh peanut paste. Look for unsalted, unadulterated varieties. That'll give you dominion over all seasoning decisions. King in the castle.

Spoon your peanut butter into a food processor or blender, and throw a bit of coconut milk in, too. You want this to be a smooth, medium thick sauce, so you'll need probably a whole can 'er so of coconut milk for a few cups of peanut butter. Now the spices. Add these to taste: basil, lime juice, chilies (more on these guys below), soy sauce, white wine vinegar, fresh-cracked black pepper, and brown sugar. Blend it up.

As I say, you're going for a medium build on your sauce. It should coat a spoon of course, but it should also drizzle down off the spoon in a smooth, viscous (though not goopy or gelatinous) stream. Taste it after blending, and adjust. Vinegar and lime juice will give a bit of sharpness and definition to an otherwise full bodied, creamy sauce. If you like heat, you may want to experiment with chilies north of Serrano on the Scoville scale. Serrano chilies are great, but I've learned that, in modest quantities, they're not really hot enough to puncture the creamy, buttery atmosphere of peanut sauce. If you like heat, a more potent pepper may be what you need.

Anyway, once you have the sauce, slather it on diced chicken (I go with thighs). Then skewer it up. Be sure to soak your skewers so they don't catch on fire (too much) on the grill. And never crowd chicken on the skewer. Grill on high heat until crisp or even charred (a little) on the outside, and serve with just a bit of the sauce spooned over the chicken. You don't want to go overboard with peanut sauce; this stuff can weary the palate in large doses. A little fresh lime juice is nice, too, on the final product.

The dark, roasty creaminess of satay calls for something sharp and crisp, I think. So here's a very simple salad that plays nice with satay. Slice jicama and carrot into strips about two inches long and a quarter inch or so wide (sort of like a julienne). Toss them with lime juice, pinch of salt and a judicious drizzle of sesame oil. You're going for light and crisp, so take 'er easy on the oil.

Gotta say, I've never been a huge fried chicken fan. Sure, I've had some of the good stuff, but it brings back too many stinky and unglamorous memories to do it myself. Back before the bright lights, fat paychecks and adoring fans of the blogosphere, I worked the ole' Sunday brunch for a couple of years. One of my duties was the fried chicken station: introduce the chicken to the egg wash, bludgeon in seasoned flour, fry mercilessly, and repeat. I felt like I was a "culinary undertaker": the chicken had so much potential, so many possibilities, so much to look forward to, but it always wound up leathery, fatty as all hell, thick crusted and nasty. Oh, yes, and then there's the matter of sifting pounds of seasoned flour at a time to avoid clumps, and then at the end of the shift, filtering several gallons of 350 'er so degree fryer grease. So, to say the least, I've long been a bit put off by this southern standard.

Until now! David Chang has a wonderfully ingenious method that minimizes the time the chicken spends swimming around the fryer, and still produces maximum flavor and texture. And there's no breading to worry about. Instead, this preparation features a three-step process, and it's simple. I use bone-in thighs, though breasts, wings and drumsticks would also work well.

Start by brining the chicken for at least an hour in a mix of water, salt and sugar (Chang's recipe calls for 4 cups lukewarm water, half cup of sugar and another half cup of kosher salt for a brine suitable for an entire 3 to 3.5 pound chicken). Be sure to seal up the chicken and brine in a lidded container or freezer bag, and then let it marinate in the 'fridge.

Then yank out the pieces of chicken, remove them from the brine, and steam 'em. The idea is to cook the chicken the whole way in the steamer, which (depending on how much you're dealing with) can take in the neighborhood of 30 minutes. Then stick the steamed chicken back in the 'fridge. Chang says to leave the pieces of chicken in the 'fridge for two hours or overnight, and then to let 'em rest at room temperature for 30 minutes before frying. But a Baron is a man of many obligations and anxieties, so I shortened the prep time to about 20 minutes in the 'fridge and 10 minutes on the counter. And the produce of my abbreviated labors was still amazing.

Now you're ready to fry the chicken. I use peanut oil in a medium saucepan. Heat the oil to 375 degrees (F), just enough to allow the chicken to be mostly submerged. I also use wooden chopsticks to handle the chicken in and around the fryer, which minimizes splatter. Be sure to pat down the chicken with a paper towel before frying, or you're ganna have hot grease all over the place.

The pieces of chicken are already cooked, so just let 'em fry until deep brown. That took about four or so minutes per piece for me. Be sure not to crowd the fryer. It shouldn't take too much time at all since they've already got the brown sugar in 'em, and as that caramelizes in the fryer, they'll crisp up and go brown. Yank 'em out when beautifully browned and let 'em hang out on some paper towels. Serve hot. If you have to do these in batches, which is likely, you might use a warm oven to keep the early finishers warm while those bringin' up the rear finish off at the spa.

Chang suggests a vinaigrette for the chicken, and it is a must. This stuff is serious--and simple. For a cup (which is more than you'll need for two people), his recipe asks you to combine the following in a bowl large enough to vigorously whisk the mix (sotto voce: you don't really have to measure, but the ratios are important, so I'll include the volumes listed in Chang's recipe here. I've modified a few elements, but the spirit remains the same. Like most things in life, this one's to taste):

2 tablespoons finely chopped garlic
2 tablespoons peeled and finely chopped ginger
¼ teaspoon of finely chopped chilies (I used Serrano)
¼ cup rice wine or white wine vinegar
¼ cup soy sauce
2 tablespoons neutral oil (Chang suggests grapeseed, though I used peanut)
¼ teaspoon sesame oil
1½ tablespoons sugar
Some freshly ground pepper.

Whisk the above together. Taste, adjust and repeat until perfect. Smile.

To serve, toss the fried chicken with the vinaigrette in a bowl and serve warm. If you're a conscientious host, you'll throw a little of the vinaigrette out for dipping. And there you have it, fried therapy for a fryer-weary Baron. Man, do I hate fryers. But this one mitigates the usual humiliations of the industrial, or even at home, fryer, and delivers nobly.

This weekend, as Americans kick their already red-lining nationalism into high gear and laud the grandeur of war by blowin' stuff up, some Bud Light Lime-woozy, smoke-choked minds will hungrily turn to a more genteel arena of combustibility: the grill. But not everyone will be blarin' the J.P. Sousa and cruising around, Burt Reynolds-style, with the T-tops off in an '88 Pontiac Firebird on the fourth. As regional royalty, you see, I can't help but view American independence and the whole democracy thing as sort of a mixed bag: progress some say, sure, but it well nigh put we barons outta business. Some people don't even believe that I am low-level nobility, and no one on my block responds to my requests for land tax. Philistines, you all! But I've got a skewered counterpunch with which to serve the Home of the Brazen its comeuppance, au style du Baron. Today, my feeble resistance comes in the form of Japanese food for the Fourth of July weekend. Such blasphemy (the cuisine of a former enemy as communion in the holiest cathedral of jingoism!) probably puts me on some CIA watchlist.

Yakitori is one of the most common--and delectable--staples of Japanese pub (or izakaya) food. This idea is just to yaki (grill) your tori (chicken) on a skewer. Tonight, we're knocking out a typical variety called negima, which is just chucks of chicken grilled on a skewer with scallions. That's pretty straightforward: just be sure to soak the skewers in water for 20 or so minutes so they don't get blow'd up on the grill, and don't crowd the chicken onto the skewers. Honor the homesteaders by giving those dogs space to roam.

Gotta say, though: Chicken skewers are great 'n all, but they're really just a vehicle for the sauce. And this sauce is versatile, since you could use the ingredient line-up as a marinade for the chicken, or thicken it up with roux (as I do) and slather it on the chicken before service. Or you could Double Down and do both--if you like livin' on the edge.

Ideally, tradition tells us, you've got some mirin (sweetened rice wine mix-mash) or sake around to use as a base. I don't because I can't stand the flavor of either. So, I start with white wine, add some soy sauce, hoisin, grated ginger, wasabi and/or siracha. Whisk those together and season with salt and pepper. You can also add chopped green onions if you're looking for something to do with the pieces you didn't put on the skewers. At this point, you've got what could be a marinade.

To sauce 'er up, throw the above mash into a medium saucepan and bring to a simmer/low boil. Let the flavors come together for a moment, and then taste. Too sharp? Add more sweet stuff like hoisin or brown sugar. Too bland? Re-season with salt and pepper, as well as some more ginger and wasabi. Pretty damn delicious? Go blow something up to celebrate.

Thicken it up with a roux (equal parts oil and flour), and let the sauce overcome the chicken skewers like an illegal occupying force deployed by a cowboy-president backed by a knuckle-dragging electorate and a spineless congress. Your sauce should not be the edible equivalent of a non-binding resolution.

I served this up with a light, crispy summer salad. Combine sliced jicama, cucumber and carrot in a bowl and sprinkle with salt and brown sugar (this is the quick pickling method of David Chang). I'd probably go two parts salt to one part sugar. Refrigerate for 10 'er so minutes. Eat.

See? It tastes good to not be a provincial nationalist!

Pesto is right up there with hummus in the world condiment hall of fame. It can hold its own on sandwiches, bread, and pita as well as it can on pastas, vegetables and meats on the grill. Seasoning options abound and the versatility of the basic ingredient line-up has given rise to all sorts of variations. Garlic alone can articulate itself in pesto in any number of registers. Lightly sautéed (as tonight), it gives a moderate flavor and some toastiness, and if roasted, it would give a more subtle smoothness to the dish. Raw garlic can also be used, but be advised that it imparts a sharp flavor and some heat, so be judicious.

Tonight, I'm preparing a pretty traditional version. Start by sautéing minced garlic until the edges are just turning blond or brown. In a bowl, combine the lightly sautéed garlic and add some chopped roasted pine nuts. The pine nuts will give a roasty and slightly bitter background to the more assertive flavors (lemon juice and garlic in particular) as well as some texture. Follow that up with chiffonade of basil, grated parm, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and, optionally, some chopped sundried tomatoes. Bring the mixture to a paste-like consistency with a good olive oil and you're pretty much done already.

For the chicken pesto sandwich, you have two options for pesto deployment. First, you can slather the pesto on the bun; alternatively, you could toss the chopped chicken with the pesto and then set 'er up on the bun. In either event, finish the sandwich off with some more sundried tomatoes and smoked mozzarella. Some baby field greens tossed in a balsamic vinaigrette would also go well on the sandwich.

Pesto goes great with steak fries, too, so I dress up the plate with a little of both.

There are moments in the kitchen that call for innovation, but tonight ain't one of 'em. We're doing chicken cordon bleu, the famous French dish, with a classic hollandaise sauce. Although I've made a few substitutions--coppa for ham, panko instead of breadcrumbs--the spirit of the dish stays pretty close to home.

Start with a pounded chicken thigh or breast. Place it on a sheet of plastic wrap and cover with a mix of grated cheese (tonight I'm using an aged Vermont cheddar and smoked mozzarella), salt, pepper, chopped fresh herbs (thyme tonight, but most anything'd work) and a splash of brandy for moisture to help adhere the seam when its rolled up. Overlay that with a slice or two of coppa, ham, prosciutto or whatever you prefer. Be careful not to overstuff.

On top of the plastic wrap, roll the chicken closed so you have a bit of overlap at the seam. Then pull the plastic wrap tight around the chicken roll, especially at the seam, and twist to assure a solid closure. Place the plastic-wrapped chicken on a plate and refrigerate for 20 or so minutes. This preparation obviates meddlesome kitchen twine and toothpicks by allowing the chicken roll to form its own closure.

For the breading, start with egg wash (eggs and milk) in one bowl and panko in another. Remove the plastic and dip the chicken in the egg wash and then the panko. Now it's ready to be browned on the stove (seam side down to begin), and then thrown in the oven until done. Mine tonight took about 15-20 minutes in the oven at around 375 degrees.

For the hollandaise, as Mark Bittman tells us in "How to Cook Everything," the blender makes what used to be a delicate operation nearly fool-proof. Start with two egg yolks in the blender, add some lemon juice, salt, pepper, balsamic, a very small amount of whole grain mustard and chopped herbs. Drizzle a bit of melted butter in and blend. Continue adding butter as it blends until the sauce thickens and has a smooth consistency. Everything here's to taste, so be sure to kill the blender and grab a nibble often.

To heat the hollandaise, boil water in a fry pan and throw in a (paper) towel. Transfer the hollandaise to a glass or metal bowl and place on the towel. Stir almost constantly until the sauce warms (to about the temperature of bath water)--but of course be careful not to let the eggs scramble.

Tonight, we served up the chicken cordon bleu with smashed new potatoes and a simple side salad.

Tonight, we're cookin' up chicken provençal, a slow (but not too slow) cooked French classic. I'll serve it up with wasabi mashed potatoes piped into rounds on a baking sheet, and browned under the broiler. To complete the plate, I add carrots and zucchini in with the chicken, although lots of other root vegetables or squash would also work. I've borrowed from Mark Bittman's recipe for this one.

For the chicken: dredge the thigh and drumstick in seasoned flour and brown, skin side down. Then brown the other side, and as much of the rest of the chicken as possible while seasoning with salt and pepper. You could also do this with breast meat, but in any event, I'd advise going with skin-on, bone-in cuts. You just can't replicate that flavor.

Once the chicken is well browned, remove it from the pan. Sauté chopped shallot and tomato in the remaining olive oil and fat rendered out of the chicken skin. After they soften up, sauté finely minced garlic and olive, and then add chicken stock and/or white wine, as well as chopped fresh herbs. I'm using rosemary tonight since I've got some fresh, but thyme or pretty much any other fresh herb would also work.

Allow the liquid to simmer for a few moments and then add the chicken back in. Simmer on medium-low while covered for five or so minutes, reseason and flip. About half way through, add the vegetables. The time will of course vary depending on how much chicken you've got in the pan, but for two servings (that is, one thigh and one drumstick) tonight, the chicken took about 17 minutes total. So, I let the veggies simmer for 8-10 minutes, and they were perfect.

If you're going to cut the chicken open to check for doneness, go for the joint on a thigh-leg combo, since that's what will finish cooking last.

Wasabi mashed potatoes have already been explained on this blog, but for this presentation, start with a Ziploc bag (unless you have a pastry bag, which would be ideal). Fold the top quarter of the bag down and to the outside to assure you've got some clearance up top after you load it up with mashers. Spoon in the potatoes, reserving one corner, which you'll snip off. Go small on the first snip; you can always make it bigger. Then, on a buttered and floured baking sheet, pipe the potatoes on in any design you like, but keep in mind that something with height may be best since that'll give a good presentation and also brown up better. Also, you want to avoid lumps in you potato mix, since they'll clog up the bag.