F. Fowler - Fifty Shades of Chicken

2 cups shredded cooked chicken

½ cup fresh or frozen peas

1 To make the crust, slice the butter into cold cubes. Toss together the flour and the salt in a large bowl. Work the butter into the flour until the mixture forms pea-size crumbs. Slowly dribble in the water until the dough just combines together. Wrap tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

2 To make the filling: Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat until it is sizzling. Add the leeks, potatoes, turnip, carrot, and celery. Cook, stirring often, until the vegetables are slightly caramelized, 7 to 10 minutes. Stir in the garlic and thyme; cook for 1 minute. Toss in the flour and stir vigorously to coat the mixture with the flour; let it cook for 1 minute. Stirring constantly, pour in the broth in a slow, steady stream, then do the same with the cream. The sauce should come together smoothly. Season it with salt and pepper. After the mixture has bubbled and thickened for a few minutes, stir in the chicken and peas. Remove the pan from the heat and let it cool completely.

3 Preheat the oven to 375°F. Spoon the filling into a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate or a 2-quart soufflé dish.

4 To prepare for pie bondage, lightly dust a large work surface with flour. Roll the crust out to a 10-inch circle. Using a sharp knife or pastry wheel, slice the crust into ½-inch strips. Arrange the strips over the chicken in a tight, restraining, crisscross pattern, covering up all the chicken underneath. Brush the top lightly with cream. Bake until the crust is golden and the filling is hot and bubbly, about 45 minutes. Let cool slightly before serving.

LEARNING THE ROPES

If you aren’t comfortable with crust bondage, skip it; instead, arrange the crust on top of the pie. Tuck the edges into the side of the pan and slash the center to allow steam to escape. Novices can purchase a prepared pie crust instead of making their own.

“Black, Black!” I whimper. “Please.”

The door of the Wolf flies open and he pulls me out, the roasting pan cradled in his oven mitts.

“No,” he gasps. “You can’t be overcooked. What have I done?” He scrambles for a meat thermometer.

I begin to sob uncontrollably. No, I’m not overdone, but I was beginning to fall apart. I had to use the safeword.

It started in the usual way, with me facedown on a rack. He slipped a lemon inside of me, and another, then some garlic and herbs, filling me over and over. Then he cooked me, low and slow. At first it was sweet and warm and I built slowly. My flesh softened and practically separated from my bones. But he wouldn’t bring me to doneness. Hour after hour, for how long? How many hours would he keep this up? Was he angry because of the photos? This wasn’t cooking, it was revenge. Finally I broke.

“Why are you taking so long?” I ask plaintively.

“Chicken, slow roasting is a standard technique in… I just had to…” He stills and hangs his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I begin to recover myself. In fact I’m still quite tender and moist.

“You just had to what?” I ask.

“I just had to cool you down for another round,” he says finally. He quirks his lips into a foxy smile. Hell’s bells.

“You’ve already made a meal of me. Have you come back for more?” I ask, quickening.

He drizzles me with oil and then cranks up the heat. I feel my legs start shaking. The stove is quaking. My heart is aching.

Oh, Blades, roast me all night long.

slow-roasted chicken

SERVES 4

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

1½ teaspoons coarse kosher salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 lemon, halved

2 sprigs of fresh rosemary

2 bay leaves

6 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

1 Rub the chicken all over with the salt and pepper, especially inside the cavity. If you want to draw this out even more, let the bird marinate in the fridge, uncovered, all day long (4 to 8 hours).

2 Preheat the oven to 200°F. In a baking dish, gently lay the chicken down on her breasts. Squeeze the lemon juice all over her and then thrust the squeezed-out lemon halves into her cavity along with the rosemary, bay leaves, and 2 of the garlic cloves. Scatter the remaining garlic in the bottom of the pan. Cover tightly with foil and roast her long and slow, all night long, for 8 hours. (Or start your bird in the morning and serve for dinner.)

3 Take the chicken out of the oven and turn on the broiler. Unwrap the bird and use two spatulas to move her to a waiting platter. Take care; after her night, she might just well fall apart (then you know you did a good job). Drain off any liquid that accumulated in the bottom of the pan (save this stock for another use). Discard the bay leaves. Move the chicken back to the pan, breast side up. Drizzle with the oil and broil until the breast is golden brown and the chicken can’t take it anymore, 2 to 4 minutes longer. Let the chicken rest for at least 5 minutes, then devour. You won’t need a knife; the meat will fall off the bones at your very touch.

“I might have been killed,” Blades says darkly.

Oh no no no. Not my Shifty. Control-freak foodie obsessive, master of the kitchen, my boy with his toys. I can’t imagine a world without him.

“The igniter on the oven misfired. I was preheating it, but it never lit. The gas knob jammed. Fortunately I always keep a toolbox in the kitchen. It was sheer luck I wasn’t suffocated or blown up.”

Wiley looks sidelong at Blades.

“Hmm, yes. Very fortunate.” He fidgets anxiously.

“All right, disaster was averted. We’ll grill outside. Wiley, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get things prepped.”

He carries me out to the grill, where I finally break down.

“Oh, Shifty,” I sob.

“Hush,” he says. He smiles and holds up a beer can.

“Yes, baby, have a drink. I’m sure you need it.”

“Oh, no, this is not for me, Chicken.” He quirks his mouth into a wicked smile.

Holy fuck… Will it? How?

I gasp as he fills me with its astonishing girth. The feeling of fullness is overpowering.

He rests me on the grill and I can feel the entire world start to engorge. Desire explodes in my cavity like a hand grenade.

I perceive Wiley hanging back, seemingly texting, his hungry eyes fixed on me in this compromising position. I can just make out the title of the book sticking out of his jacket pocket— How to Cook a Wolf. Hmm.

Just before awareness evaporates, I recall my mom’s warning—never hire a coyote to guard the henhouse.

grilled beer-can chicken with cajun mayonnaise

SERVES 4

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

1½ teaspoons coarse kosher salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 cup mayonnaise

1½ tablespoons Cajun spice mix or hot chile powder

Hot sauce, to taste

1 can beer

Lime wedges, for serving

1 Prepare the grill for indirect heat: if using gas, turn on half the grill to medium high, leaving the other side off, and let preheat for 10 minutes. If using charcoal, mound and light the coals under one side of the grill only. Place an empty disposable foil baking pan on the empty side of the grill to catch drips. (You can also line the empty side of the grill with foil; do so before you heat the grill or use mitts.)