I vividly remember my first attempt at roasting a chicken. I was thirteen and my mom left me with detailed chicken operating instructions. I followed them to the best of my capacity, which was scarce, since back then I didn’t know anything about anything (something which, sadly, continued well into my twenties). Anyway, it seemed to me that the chicken was sticking out of the roasting form unnecessarily much… so I took care of it. The look my mother gave me, when she saw the final product of my culinary zeal – the product being a chicken splashed out like a frog in water after I gave it my best push to make sure it would be nice and flat – the look she gave me, indicated that she firmly believed, at that moment, that I was nineteen shades of crazy and counting. It took me about fifteen years before I attempted to roast a chicken again, but this time with dramatically different results… The below recipe is possibly the juiciest, tastiest, most mouth-watering and world changing roasted chicken recipe in existance. It is, in fact, the über-chicken…
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February 20, 2010 in
soups
Tim is claiming to have a cold. He looks pretty healthy to me, but then again, he sighs dramatically, insists that he has a headache and that he needs some tender loving care. Still, he’s quite endearing when he’s sick, which is something that cannot be said about me in the same circumstances. I, normally, turn into a red nosed, irritable, whiny, aggressive and completely unbearable sneezing-wheezing-coughing bag of germs. And the way it usually goes is as follows: Tim gets his cold first and then graciously shares it with me, only by the time it gets to me, the bacteria usually would have developed a mean streak and decide to come down with all the vengeance. Ah, the joys of marriage and its joint marital colds. By now, I have the cold alert procedures worked out. Due to the dislike and the disbelief in the healing power of cold medication, I rely on my patented, highly effective and scientifically proven way of curing colds: Mom’s chicken soup. Hectoliters of Mom’s chicken soup to be exact. And you know what? It really works. My theory is that chicken soup is pure love, it is warmth, it is home, it is a feeling that someone really loves you; it’s all you need to feel better. [Either that, or terrified by the prospect of another bowl of soup, the patient recuperates on the spot]
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