How to cut up a chicken

One of the many things I regret not listening to my dad explain to me was how to cut up a chicken. Now that he's not around, I've had to figure it out myself. I'm not the type of person who's very good at looking at the wispy little drawings in cookbooks and translating that into my hands and the chicken on the cutting board. So it's taken a number of years and countless chickens until I finally feel I can do a respectable job of cutting one up.

The fact that we now roast a chicken almost every week has helped, although my poor husband had to listen to quite a bit of swearing over the last few years as I struggled to teach myself. The thigh was always my nemesis. Wing, drumstick, no prob. But the thigh was always tricky to outline and inevitably I ended up hacking into the joint, either resulting in a very tiny thigh or a weirdly large one carrying with it part of the bone that connects the thigh to the back I guess (do chickens have hips?).

Anyhow, I finally figured out a few things that really make it easier. 1) Let the meat rest. I knew this from a cooking standpoint--let the juices redistribute etc-- but letting it cool makes it much easier to handle and the parts become more distinct. 2) The order that works best for me goes: drumstick, breast, wing, thigh. And here's the secret with the breast: remove the entire breast off the bone, which is easy, but takes a bit of practice so you don't lose much of the meat, then slice cross-wise. I used to just slice it straight off, but I have to say, not only does it end up looking much prettier, but the cross-cutting makes for more tender chicken. Slicing it straight off results in unnecessary shredding. 3) Do not cut into the thigh until you find the joint. This is basic, I know, but it has generally been a problem for me, as I would get frustrated and end up angrily hacking through something or other just to get it done. But if the chicken isn't too hot and you're careful, you can find the joint and remove the thigh so it turns out intact.

I should have taken a picture of the chicken cutting procedure but juggling the chicken, knife, and camera seems tricky. The husband has been interested in helping me with the picture taking business so next time I will enlist his skills.

Dinner with friends, and a simple breakfast

Last night we had good friends over for dinner. It's been very wintery up on the top of the hill where we live, with wind whipping over Twin Peaks and rattling our little flat. We've been cranking up the heat and piling on sweaters. So, pot roast seemed like a good idea.

As with most recipes, I turn to Marcella Hazan. I like her Pot Roast of Beef Braised in Red Wine. It's reliable, and it manages to seem both elegant and rustic. I served it with mashed potatoes (which always get the short end of the stick when I'm cooking--this was proved true again last night when the cream and butter boiled over and I ended up haphazardly mashing them in the pot they boiled in in a rush to the finish) and roasted asparagus--the cheating cook's vegetable, because it is so easy and everyone seems to like it.

The pot roast turned deep brown from the initial searing, then got velvety and sweet from three hours of slow braising. As has become my habit, I added a few things to Marcella's recipe (sacrilege, but not only does she not call for any sizeable vegetables, but she calls for miniscule measurements of them, such as 1 1/2 T. chopped tomatoes. Yes, tablespoons.) I got some good carrots at the farmer's market and the husband put in a request for pearl onions. Impossibly cute and delicious, he reminded me. I agreed, so long as I could use the frozen and pre-peeled ones. I am not about to go blind for some pearl onions, painstakingly marking the little x in the root and struggling to get a grip on their slippery little skins.

But the star of the evening if I do say so was the dessert, a delicate apple crostata. Braeburn and Fuji apples (I know, not traditional, but that's what I picked) tucked into a golden and flakey crust, with a sparkly sugary shine on top. The secret to this delicious pastry is that the dough is very short, resulting in a very tender crust. Served with vanilla bean ice cream, this launched the four of us into a temporary coma.


As you'll see, I'm trying out something new here, food photography. I'm a borderline terrible photographer so bear with me. So far what I understand is that you need light, not too much background crap, and it's imperative that you get weirdly close to the food.

This morning I woke up surprisingly refreshed, after sleeping deeply and undisturbed for a good eight plus hours. It is so great to wake up on a Sunday and have no plans but coffee and The New York Times. And, currant scones.



Later tonight: roast chicken and freakishly large Brussels sprouts.

The hungry dog's hungry dog

As you might have guessed from the title of this silly thing, in addition to just being a hungry person who likes to cook, eat, and think about food, I also have a hungry dog that lives in my home.

My dog likes to eat almost everything. Sometimes I share my breakfast with her. Usually I eat yogurt (which, P.S., I hate, but I have no breakfast ideas, since I really don't like breakfast but force myself to eat it), with raw almonds and fruit. Whatever the fruit is, the hungry dog gets a couple of bites. She will eat any fruit. She's very partial to apples and bananas, but I've seen her eat honeydew, cantaloup, pears, persimmons, peaches, kiwi, and oranges. When she was a puppy, she did not care for citrus, but like a human, as she grew up, she developed a taste for bitter and even sour things. Now she'll gobble an orange segment, no questions asked.

She also likes all raw vegetables, with the exception of lettuce and onions. When I'm chopping up veggies, she' s at my feet waiting for bits to drop. In fact, she knows that the phrase, "Uh oh" is usually accompanied by something falling to the floor, and if you say these words, she'll snap to attention and stare at your feet, prepared to dive for the lost bit of diced carrot.

The dog has been known to eat celery, zucchini, green beans, potatoes, and fennel, but her all-time favorite vegetable (I guess technically fruit) is the tomato. When she was a little puppy and I was living in the 'burbs, she would steal tomatoes from the garden. She'd bite into every single one, leave the green ones (too tart!) and take care of all the ripe, juicy red ones in a few quick bites.

And of course like any dog she likes cheese, peanut butter, and any kind of meat--especially roast chicken. She now recognizes the smell while it's roasting in the oven. If our oven door wasn't so incredibly dirty, I like to imagine her sitting in front of the oven, staring at the bird, quiet and still in its hot little box, getting crispy and delicious. It's no wonder why she likes it so much--it's one of the few non-produce items we cook that she actually gets to sample.

I like that I have a hungry dog. For one thing, she was real sick a few years ago, and we didn't know if she would live. The first sign of her being sick was that she didn't want to eat. But we were very, very lucky, and the vet fixed her up. So now, when I see my hungry dog, it fills me with joy, because I know she feels good.

Also, I like to think of her as my kid, to whom I've passed my food-loving genes. You might think I'm crazy, but me and my dog, we are connected. I'm sure we're a little bit the same even though we couldn't possible be. I do know if I were a dog, I'd be a hungry dog: I'd be her.