In honour of Mothering Sunday, we have filled the house with daffodils from Cornwall. Richard’s 90 year old mum is in a nursing home, near his sister, hundreds of miles away. She has not recognized him in years. We send cards and flowers, but Richard cannot bear seeing his mum the way she is now. “She would be mortified seeing herself like this,” he says. He is horrified for her, believing she would not want him to witness her without her integrity. I'm not so sure. She's a survivor. We surrender enormous parts of ourselves in order to survive.
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| California Almond Orchards: This is where Ann and I came from. |
I ask Richard to put up the clothesline this morning, as it is bright and breezy outside, though the temperature is barely inching towards double digits. He graciously obliges, sagely noting we’ve some way to go before spring. I am restless for winter to end. In Northern California, where I lived most of my life, the almond blossom festivals will have come and gone weeks ago. Daffodil Hill, in California’s Gold Country, not far from where I grew up, will be in full bloom before the month is out. Hundreds of thousands of daffodils will decorate the landscape for Easter, just as they do here.
I always associate washing bedclothes and hanging them outside on the line with my mother -- this, in spite of the fact that she nearly always dried everything in a coin operated clothes dryer. Association is a funny thing.
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| California's Daffodil Hill |
The bed is the most important furniture in the house; even more important than the dining room table. I can happily eat and drink in bed, but wouldn't sleep a wink stretched out on the dining room table.
Gathering up the duvet cover, pillow cases and sheets in my arms, I inhale our life: the soothing smell of lavender and verbena; French roast coffee; acrid ink from Sunday papers, books and magazines; wild rose face cream; vanilla lip balm; peppermint hair conditioner; lavender soap; Vicks a kind of weird winter aphrodisiac; the primal scent of skin pressed into skin, body sheltering body, breath inhaling breath . . . The bed absorbs all, like a dream catcher.
What do dreams smell like?
I am stunned to find myself crying, sobbing deeply in the pile of laundry in my arms. Anguished, I curl up with it, inhaling the fragrance of our life, weeping inconsolably for Ann -- Ann who will never again dress her own bed, or hold her husband in her arms; Ann who will never again brush her daughter’s luxuriant hair; share secrets with her sister; take her dogs on adventures; navigate her boat; paint another picture -- or share one more sensuous, languid meal with me.I bury my face in the bedclothes, heartbroken my precious friend is gone. Missing her. Missing the camaraderie I felt sharing the world with her, even from great physical distance. Missing our talks about family, money, men, art, growing herbs, England, California, Obama, feminism, capitalism, socialism, and food. Especially food. Ann sacrificed all pleasures of the table, in an attempt to save her life. I do not possess her discipline or bravery.
Huddled up, inhaling my life, while thinking about Ann’s life, I decide I will cook for her today. I will make a dinner I have made for her before. One she especially enjoyed, when we lived half an hour apart in Sacramento.
I will roast two fine chickens with limes and garlic. Halfway through, I will add potatoes, carrots, onions, and Italian peppers. For dessert, I will make a New York cheese cake, topped with blackberries. A fine meal in memory of my irreplaceable friend.
Roast Chicken
I have bought chickens of every size and variety: Poussin, organic, free range, farmed, corn fed, kosher, halal, and battery. You name it, I've tried it at least once. My own preference is for smaller, free range birds in the 1.5g or 3 - 3-1/2 pound range. These are usually labeled as medium sized chickens. I buy two medium chickens at time, so that we can have roasted chicken soup and sandwiches in abundance. This also works best with company, making a bountiful table.
What you need for one chicken (double the ingredients for two chickens)
Big Roasting Pan
Butter - 100 g
Garlic - 6 fat cloves
Olive Oil - 1/2 cup
Coarsely ground Salt and Pepper - 1 heaping tbs each
Limes - 3 (preferably unwaxed) (If you don't have limes, lemons are good, even oranges work)
Sage - 16 fresh leaves, or 1 tbs dried
Chicken - 1.2g - 1.5g (3 pound range)
Optional Ideas: For added zing, try adding grilled chilies, peppers, or freshly grated ginger stuffed in the cavity with limes.
Remove chicken from refrigerator an hour before preparing for roasting.
Melt butter in small saucepan. While butter is melting, peel garlic cloves and add to butter.
Pour olive oil into blender. Add melted butter and garlic. Blend everything together for about 30 seconds. Pour into spouted measuring cup. Stir in coarse salt and pepper. Set aside. If using fresh sage, wash and set aside. If using dried, add to garlic butter mixture (not in the blender) Wash limes and cut in half. Set aside.
Rinse chickens inside and out, under cold running tap. Pat dry with paper towels (dried skin will be crispier when cooked) Place bird in roasting pan. Pour a tablespoons of garlic/butter mixture inside chickens. Stuff with limes and fresh sage --- if using it. Rub chicken with remaining butter/olive oil combination. Place in hot oven.
Depending on size of chicken, roast for 90 minutes - 2 hours. To make sure it is completely cooked, wiggle the drumstick. If it moves freely, it is likely done. You can also test for doneness by inserting a skewer in the thigh portion of the leg. If the juices run clear, it is cooked through. If not, continue cooking another ten minutes and test again.
To make sure it is completely cooked, wiggle the drumstick. If it moves freely, it is likely done. You can also test for doneness by inserting a skewer in the thigh portion of the leg. If the juices run clear, it is cooked through. If not, continue cooking another ten minutes and test again.
Once you remove chickens from oven, allow to rest for at least 10 minutes before carving. This encourages it to reabsorb the juices. Scoop out limes and squeeze lime juice over bird.
When sharing roast chicken with intimates, don’t bother carving it. Instead, bring it to the table whole and enjoy tugging off a wing or leg, King Henry VIII style.
One of my all time favourite meals was sharing two roasted chickens in just such a way, with Brian and Alicia, on a foggy January night. The next day, we used the leftovers to make the world’s best chicken soup.
Suggested AccompanimentsEverything goes with roast chicken. It is my favourite all season meat. I once read that Orson Wells enjoyed four roast chickens at a sitting. My kind of man.
Enjoy with garlic bread and salad; yams or butternut squash; mashed potatoes; red or dark green cabbage; roasted root vegetables; polenta, rice, orzo (rice shaped pasta) noodles, ravioli or tortellini. White beans, black beans, or red. Grilled tortillas and tomatoes. Homemade dumplings. Corn on the cob. I must stop, for I could fill a book with all the good things you can eat with roast chicken.
Suggested Beverages: Sparkling water with lime; Limeade; Chablis; Sauvignon Blanc; Saki; Cider; Ale
Suggested Music: Shirley Horn singing "Here's To Life"
As the great diva says, "Here's to life, here's to love, here's to you."
Roast Chicken Soup
Every roast chicken is destined to become soup in our house. This is the easiest, tastiest chicken soup you will ever make. If you don’t fancy soup in the warmer months, make the stock and freeze it for things like risotto, polenta, sauces, and gravy. You'll soon find homemade chicken stock a kitchen essential chez vous.
After you have had you fill of roast chicken, put the carcass and any leftover meat, into a large stockpot. Include the onions. Add very hot water to the roasting pan and stir with spatula, lifting the tasty brown bits from bottom of pan. Pour the watery drippings into stockpot. Do this a couple of times until the carcass is more than half covered. From here, you can either refrigerate until the next day (this is what I do) or continue making your soup.Place the stockpot on stove over low heat. Add enough water to cover chicken carcass. Slowly simmer for four hours. If you have some fresh herbs, add them the last hour. I especially like thyme, but rosemary, sage and dill work well too. You probably won’t need any other seasoning, but if you do, you can add it later.
Allow soup to cool in pot. This can take a couple of hours. Then, placing a big colander into a second stockpot, or very large bowl, gently pour the soup, bones and all, into the colander, so that the second pot catches every drop of the delectable broth.Get out a couple more bowls to collect the bones and meat. Pick through the bones, removing all the meat, which will come apart easily in your hands. You can add the meat back into the soup pot, or save it separately for sandwiches and salads. Toss out the bones and onions.
Refrigerate the broth (with, or without chicken) for several hours. When cold, skim the waxy layer of fat off the top and discard, or set aside the schmaltz (Yiddish for chicken fat) for making dumplings, or matzo balls to add to your soup.
Eat the soup within two days, or freeze it for later.
I often add a couple handfuls of dark greens (like baby spinach, or chopped kale) to my soup and serve it over tortellini, noodles, or mashed potatoes. Try it with dumplings or matzo balls.
Crispy Parmesan bread sticks are good too. Best of all though is a chicken dip sandwich: Fill toasted baguette with chicken and dip each bite in a warm bowl of broth. Mmmmm. Best thing you will eat all week.
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| My precious friend Ann, entertaining us in her kitchen. |
