F. Fowler - Fifty Shades of Chicken

1 garlic clove, minced

1 lime, zested and juiced

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 (3½- to 4-pound) chicken, cut into 8 pieces, patted dry with paper towels

1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt

Chopped chives

1 Preheat the oven to 400°F. Whisk together the cream, mustard, garlic, lime zest and juice, and pepper. Rub the chicken parts with the salt. Drizzle the cream mixture over the chicken, tossing to coat.

2 Line a jelly-roll pan or baking sheet with a nonstick liner, or with aluminum foil, oiling the foil. Arrange the chicken to fit in a single layer, leaving breathing room between the pieces. Roast for 20 minutes, then raise the oven temperature to 500°F and continue to roast until the chicken is cooked through and golden skinned; the tender breasts will take about 25 minutes, and muscled legs will need 5 to 10 minutes more. Serve the chicken garnished with chives.

The ingredients list on the Sub-Zero is unusually detailed today. It’s classic Blades—bossy, elaborate, and demanding, and it ends with “PURE New Mexico chile powder.”

Jeez. To his usual arsenal of barked commands, bullying stares, and aggressive flavoring, he’s now added shouty capitals. Is he trying to impress me or intimidate me? He’s so mysterious.

When he struts back into the kitchen, barefoot in jeans and a tight black T-shirt, he places a bag of bright red powder on the counter in front of me.

“I brought us something new to play with today.”

I think I’m scared of whatever it is.

But I can’t take my mind off the chile. It looks dangerous, exotic, hot. I imagine his skilled fingers rubbing that tangy sting deep into my skin. Who’s hot tonight, squawks my inner goddess, who’s hot tonight? She’s got a little pitchfork and she’s thrusting it up and down suggestively. I’m really not sure what she’s trying to tell me with that one, but somehow it’s convincing.

He’s at the front burner of the Wolf sweating onions and peppers, his apron hanging off his hips in that special way. He pours himself a little wine and sways to music only he can hear. I feel loose-limbed, my bones like jelly.

My stars. The onions aren’t the only thing he’s sweating.

chicken fricassee with prosciutto, tomatoes, and sweet peppers

SERVES 4

1 (3½- to 4-pound) chicken, cut into 8 pieces, patted dry with paper towels

2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt, plus more to taste

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 cup dry white wine

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 teaspoon pure chile powder such as New Mexico

1 teaspoon sweet paprika

½ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, more as needed

2 ounces chopped prosciutto or other cured ham

2 small red onions, each cut into 6 wedges

2 red bell peppers, cut into ½-inch-thick strips

6 plum tomatoes (1½ pounds), halved lengthwise or quartered if large

1 cup unsalted chicken broth or water

Fresh basil, for serving

1 Rub the chicken with the salt and pepper, and let it rest in a baking pan. Mix together the wine, garlic, chile powder, paprika, and red pepper flakes and pour over the chicken. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate overnight in the refrigerator, turning the chicken once.

2 Preheat the oven to 325°F.

3 Remove the chicken from the marinade, reserving the marinade. Pat the chicken dry. Heat a Dutch oven or very large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat and warm 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Add the prosciutto and sear on all sides until golden brown around the edges, 1 to 2 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the prosciutto to a plate and set aside. Add another tablespoon of olive oil to the pan. Add the chicken and sear in batches on all sides over medium-high heat until golden brown, 8 to 10 minutes (add more oil if necessary). Transfer the chicken as it browns to a plate.

4 Add the onions and bell peppers to the pan and cook over medium heat until tender, 7 to 10 minutes. Add the reserved marinade and, over high heat, reduce the liquid by half. Return chicken and prosciutto to the pan and add the tomatoes and broth. Cover and bake until the chicken is tender, 50 minutes to an hour, uncovering the pan after 30 minutes. If the sauce is thin, transfer chicken and vegetables to a platter and tent with foil. Bring sauce to a simmer on the stove. Reduce until thickened (this could take 20 to 30 minutes). Season with more salt if needed. Pour over the chicken and garnish with basil.

“Have you ever wondered what’s on the other side of your limits?” he asks. Without waiting for an answer he punches something into the stereo remote. Holy fuck, what’s he going to do next?

A stormy surge of strings issues from unseen speakers, while Blades pinches gently at my flesh. It’s just a little tickle at first, but as the music builds, so does he. Suddenly, sharply, he pulls a strand of dark meat from my drumstick.

“B’gawk!” I cry out. It takes me by surprise, but I find I like how it feels. It tingles. He does it again, harder.

As the music surges on, his fingers dig more deeply into my flesh, stripping morsel after morsel of my body in perfect time with the music. It’s a sweet agony, as he strips me down with his masterful fingers. I am drawn deeper into my most hidden desires by the delicious sensation and the otherworldly harmony of strings and winds.

The music stills a moment and so does he. Then a second musical theme emerges, less stormy than the first—in my mind I see the motions of a hen as she crosses a country road. Something dangerous and irresistible pulls her toward the storm on the other side. The birdlike warble of a single oboe floats over the strutting strings, as Blades’s deft fingers continue to ravish my pulchritude… pluck and pluck again… but the music, transporting me… his fingers deconstructing me… Yes, I get this. I’ve navigated into a dark and carnal place. When at last the music drives for its climax, so do I, churning and flying apart like a blender on liquefy. Wow.

“What was that music?” I groan incomprehensibly as I recover.

“The allegro from ‘The Hen’—Joseph Haydn’s Symphony No. 83 in G Minor,” he says. He inserts me between two soft buns. “For some reason I’ve always wanted to cook to it.”

The vision of the country hen comes to me again. It’s so mysterious. But I think I know now why she crossed the road.

barbecued chicken sandwiches

SERVES 6

FOR THE BARBECUE SAUCE

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

¾ cup light molasses

⅔ cup white wine vinegar

3 tablespoons tomato paste

1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt

1 teaspoon Tabasco or other chile sauce, plus more for serving

½ teaspoon dry mustard powder