Monday, October 03, 2005

domesticated fowl

so with my new working arrangements, i am blessed with more time at home with mrs hope, as well as more energy to devote to household jobs. yesterday was an incredibly productive day on that front, which is just as well as mrs hope is currently under the weather with a cold. with ample time on my hands i planned and executed my first solo roast chicken, complete with roasted vegetables (okay, i'll admit i did consult nigella from time to time).

it hasn't been often that i've been able to cook, but i have for a long time now scanned the sunday rags for the odd recipe. one writer that has grown into a real favourite is nigel slater, with his evocative writing style, particularly that of roast dinners. a few years back, whilst at a friend's for dinner, i was treated to a 'slater-esque' roast. the meat was juicy and wonderfully fatty. the roast veg was finely cubed; crispy, crunchy and chewy in all the right proportions, it was scraped off the roasting tray in front of our goggling eyes. as i took my plate to the kitchen after the meal, i spied the roasting tray and the charred remains of the veg still glistening there. i was full, but i had also fully absorbed nigel's saying that the last scrapings of the tray are the best bits. i drew closer to the tray - the smell of lemon wafted up as i stirred up the caramelised fragments of potato, parsnip, carrot and onion from the corners of the tray. reverently i raised the heavy wooden spoon to my mouth and took a large mouthful of lemon washing-up liquid, which my efficient hostess had liberally doused the roasting pan in to remove the burnt-on remains. this taste-memory can still make me gag if i dwell on it too much.