There are worse things in the world than roasting a chicken once a week. Of course given my lack of organization and general allergy to schedules, it never works out to be a regular, say, Sunday night thing for us. But we do it often enough, and now that it’s warm the grill can step in to replace the oven. Whichever method you use, it is vitally important to save all the bones, even if you have guests; if they think it’s weird, tell them to get over it. You boil them again, so what’s the problem? Throwing bones away before using them for stock is a crime, plain and simple.
Lately there are lots of meals for which I don’t open wine–it’s expensive to drink all the time and takes a toll physically–but for a roast chicken I almost always pop a friendly, mid-weight red–lately Borgueuils and Chinons have been really doing it for me, but with a few more degrees on the thermometer, this is a meal designed for rosé. Speaking of which, it’s back to utterly gorgeous outside (I’m drinking rosé now) but we went through a pretty chilly spell a few days ago. In response (and lately I’ve been thinking about how much the weather influences my cooking every day), I made sort of summer picnic food but with all of the cold-weather comfort quotient we needed on the evening in question.
