F. Fowler - Fifty Shades of Chicken

LEARNING THE ROPES

If you’re dealing with a novice bird, have your butcher butterfly your chicken for you. He or she will be happy to oblige.

I’m eyeing the black bowl, with its startling black prong. My inner goddess’s eyes are bugging out of her head. Even she’s unsure. Jeez, I could never…

“How does that work?” I ask, fascinated.

“The vertical roaster? It holds you up while I cook you. Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes. I’d like a home demonstration.”

“Very well, Miss Hen. You are, as ever, highly unpredictable.”

He starts with an unhurried massage across my breast and legs, his hands traveling my body until they reach the apex between my thighs.

“You are a daring and beautiful bird,” he continues. “I’m going to put this inside you now. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He hoists me up over the bowl and lowers me slowly onto the upright prong. I gasp as its majestic length fills me, holding me tightly in position. The sensation is excruciating and exquisite. Am I really ready for this?

“This will be intense, because you’ll be unable to shift as I cook you.” He reaches down to bind my feet with a length of twine. I am utterly immobilized. Just before he delivers me to the tender mercies of the oven, I feel him scatter some objects at my feet. Stuck as I am, I can’t tell what they are.

“Taters, baby,” he says, with his uncanny way of reading my mind.

I hardly hear him as the oven heat takes possession of my flesh. I stiffen a little and my legs pull almost painfully against the twine, but I hardly notice. This is the most agonizing, exquisite feeling. My juices surge as flavor detonates up and down my body.

He pulls me off of the device, frees my ankles, and lays me gently on the bed of potatoes. My legs unbend a little and my juices flow over my golden, glowing skin.

That was, without a doubt, the most intensely juicy finish we’ve ever achieved together. Hmm, the upright roaster…

Note to self: explore the toy drawer more often.

vertical roasted chicken with spicy tomato potatoes

SERVES 4

1 (3½- to 4-pound) chicken, patted dry with paper towels

2¼ teaspoons coarse kosher salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1½ pounds Yukon Gold or russet potatoes, cut into 1-inch dice

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1 teaspoon ground cumin

½ teaspoon hot chili powder

¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1 Preheat the oven to 425°F. Massage the chicken all over, including the cavity, with 1½ teaspoons of the salt and the pepper. Rub a tablespoon of the oil all over the chicken’s skin.

2 Position the chicken’s nether parts over the vertical roaster’s erect member and thrust the bird down. Tuck her wing tips up behind her wings, behind her body. Tie her legs together with a piece of butcher’s twine or cooking bands (see Learning the Ropes). If the vertical roaster is too small to hold all the potatoes in the bottom, place the roaster and potatoes in a 9 × 13-inch baking pan.

3 In a bowl, toss together the potatoes, tomato paste, cumin, chili powder, nutmeg, the remaining 2 table-spoons oil, and the remaining ¾ teaspoon salt. Scatter the potatoes on the bottom of the pan around the chicken.

4 Roast for 30 minutes, then stir and baste the potatoes with some of the rendered chicken fat at the bottom of the pan. Continue to roast until the skin is golden and the thigh juices run clear when pricked with a knife, 10 to 20 minutes longer. The potatoes should be soft. Let the chicken rest for 10 minutes before serving.

LEARNING THE ROPES

Cooking bands, which look like colorful rubber bands, are reusable and can withstand the heat of your oven. Use them in place of twine to tie up your chicken’s legs if she’s in the mood to flash a little color or if you don’t want to use twine.

“You seem a little on edge.” he says.

On edge ? Me ? I can’t help but squirm after the stretching he gave me last night with the upright roaster. My inner goddess is stuck in pigeon pose as she attempts a yoga routine.

“Let me relax you,” he continues in a low voice. “Take a deep breath, Chicken. Think of a waterfall.” He positions me on my back on a cutting mat, in a neutral position. He grasps one of his many blades and traces a gentle line, drawing the tip toward the apex of my thighs, down there . I feel vulnerable and eager as my legs loosen. His expert hands do the rest, coaxing my legs wider, wider, until they slacken and drop to the mat. I am indecently splayed, yet so blissed out I scarcely register his fingers sliding into me, until I feel a deep clenching where he’s inserted half a lemon. Oooooh .

“You look beautiful like this, Chicken. I must take a moment to enjoy the view.” The hunger in his voice makes my body hum with endorphins and a dark feeling I’m afraid to name. In my fading consciousness I see my inner goddess arching into something like a slutty upward-facing bow. Inner peace is clearly not what’s on her mind.

“Now—” he says quietly, “let’s kick it up a notch.” He fiddles with the stereo remote and abruptly cranks up some throbbing hip-hop, jolting me awake. With an oven mitt he pulls a hot, heavy skillet from the Wolf. Wow, I can feel its torridness as he brings it closer—it’s not just hot, it’s solar. “Drop It Like It’s Hot” thumps out of the kitchen speakers like a tendering mallet. But I’m still too limp to do anything but moan softly.

“Oh, Chicken, you’re so ready,” he yells over the noise.

He slips me into the oven and cooks me ardently and fast. Somehow, despite the conflagration around me, a tiny, unnoticed drop of calm expands inside me, filling me as relentlessly as the citrus did before. As the heat and thudding bass line crisp every inch of my outside, a juicy serenity swells within. Holy shit… it’s intense… and deep… the music… my juices are building so quickly… It’s as if all the toys and techniques we’ve ever used were only leading me step-by-step to this poultry nirvana. The crispiness and juiciness come together at exactly the same time, and every part of my body finishes in unison. Ahhhhh .

My inner goddess, languid and wet in corpse pose, wears a beatific smile. Om shanti shanti shanti .

skillet-roasted chicken with golden onions and lemon

SERVES 4

1 (4- to 4½-pound) whole chicken, patted dry with paper towels

2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt