Sit down

This is crazy huge. Are you sitting down?

Yes, it's a chicken. A raw chicken. A raw, whole chicken. Only thing missing is the head and feathers. Any one who has known me for any length of time knows that I have an irrational neurosis about preparing or eating meat that resembles its original source too closely. That doesn't mean I don't want my meat to be fresh. I just prefer to not be able to envision the poor thing that gave it's life for my pot pie.

That said, I have come to terms with the fact that roasting a whole chicken is much more economical than buying chicken breasts. Alas, my penny-pinching has defeated my animal-lover. I did of my own accord and by my own hand prepare, roast, and consume the aforementioned chicken. (J did help take the leftover meat off the bones, but I was perfectly willing to do it.)

I had planned to document the whole experience in photos, because this is a pretty big milestone for me. But digital cameras and raw chickens are not normally good co-workers. So you only get the one photo while it was still nicely wrapped and sanitary, and only vaguely in the shape of a poor little chicken body.

Once I unwrapped said chicken, well, there you go. No mistaking it now--that's a headless chicken. The directions were easy enough. Rinse, pat dry, remove giblets from cavity, season, roast. I can do this. I even allowed myself only 15 minutes to get it done so I wouldn't hesitate. Rinsing done, little wings getting slightly more flappy. We'll skip the patting dry business. Remove giblets from cavity. Hmmm. Now that it's over, all I can say is that the directions were just trying to be polite. What I really had to do was put my hand inside the chicken's southern-most body opening, locate and remove its internal organs--all easily identifiable from my freshman biology class. That was obviously the most traumatic part, but then came the Great Pan Debacle of '09.

After seasoning the chicken, I put it in my pan of choice only to find that the lid wouldn't stay on. Wash hands, find new pan. Try again. Same dilemma. Allow me to point out that I have a big roasting pan, but the recipe pointed out the importance of using a pan that was just big enough so that the chicken would stay juicy and not dry out. So, wash hands, find new pan. Rinse, repeat. Finally ended up with the original pan, held closed by foil. You can imagine by this point how floppy the little bird had gotten at being handled so much. I really wanted to try holding it by its pitiful little wings and making it dance, but I was afraid I would rip the bones out of their sockets and the whole thing would have gone in the trash.

I am happy to report that this post is so long because it was a cathartic experience for me to have accomplished this and knowing I could blog about it gave me the wherewithal to do it. I have since learned that summoning the courage to insert my seasoning inside the chicken will yield more flavor (hat tip to my big sis), so I am willing to try again. In a few months.