A Very Nice Little Roasted Chicken

Los Angeles, California

We are home. Three little words, but oh what is attached to them. After thirty days in Carmel, I packed up my notebooks, seasonings, sweaters, and heart, then Billy & I returned to our home in Los Angeles. Tony Bennett surely was misdirected when he left his heart in you-know-where. If he had ventured anywhere near Monterey County, he would never have so carelessly misplaced such an essential organ in San Francisco.

Upon our return, Los Angeles was drenched in another major rainstorm -- good, as it flies in the face of prognosticators of doom who have been throwing that nasty word -- drought, at us every chance they get. Now it rains, and it rains, but they continue to tell us it is not enough. Hillsides in Southern California are awash with mudslides, but, sorry, not enough.

I would have a hard time coming home anyway, but with all the gloom and pessimism in the state, country, and world at large, my reentry is daunting at best. Let's face it, I needed some bucking up. And I got that -- dinner with good friends, Bonnie and Marty, last Saturday night. We went to our favorite Thai restaurant which is owned by other good friends, Ricky and Rattikorn. That should have been enough. But, truth be told, I still needed . . . a chicken.

Butterflied Lemon Chicken with Croutons


1 butterflied chicken (approx. 3.5 to 4 pounds)
3 long sprigs rosemary
1/3 cup plus 3 tablespoons olive oil
Grated zest and juice of one Meyer lemon
Kosher salt
Freshly ground pepper including red peppercorns
8 plus 1 cloves of garlic
2 fennel bulbs, halved and cut into quarters
2 stalks celery, thickly sliced
2 yellow onions, quartered
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
4 cups bread, cut into 1-inch cubes
Preheat oven to 425 degrees.


Rinse and dry butterflied chicken (have butcher do this for you, or remove backbone yourself by cutting alongside both sides of backbone and pressing down on breast to flatten or "butterfly" chicken).


Remove leaves from one stalk of rosemary. Combine with other stalks, 1/3 cup olive oil and next three ingredients; add salt and pepper. Place chicken in ziplock and add oil mixture. Mix around in bag, refrigerate for at least one hour and up to 24.


Toss 8 cloves of garlic, fennel, celery and onion with 1 tablespoon olive oil, salt, and pepper. Place in smallish roasting pan. Place chicken on top. Roast for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until an instant-read thermometer registers 170 degrees when inserted in thigh. Remove.


Meanwhile, heat 2 tablespoons oil in large non-stick skillet. Add crushed clove of garlic. Saute bread cubes until browned and crisp. Place on platter, top with chicken and arrange vegetables around chicken on top of bread. Place roaster on one (or two burners if size necessitates) and heat. Deglaze pan with 1/3 cup white wine. Pour over chicken and SERVE. Don't bother with silver -- just pour a couple of large glasses of wine, and tear away. This chicken is so comforting, it has brought tears to my eyes.


3 to 4 servings

Without a sustaining memory for our favorite lines in films, Billy and I would be reduced to near non-verbal communication -- hand signals, perhaps. We constantly throw lines at each other, or sometimes just out into the ethos. The recipe above reminds me of a snippet of dialog from The Great Race, which is oft-repeated at our house. Disguised as a humble monk, Max, the toady of Professor Fate, has helped The Great Leslie to escape after he has been imprisoned during an attempted coup in Pottsdorf (you're following this, right?). When Professor Fate is told that The Great Leslie has escaped, with a friar, Professor Fate exclaims "Leslie's escaped? With a chicken?!?" Shortly after we are on our way to the best pie fight on film.

Tonight we are going a tad more highbrow. We are settling in to watch episode one of The Civil War again -- possibly our fifth reviewing of the series. What is up with that I don't know. But here's the deal. I have had my chicken, and some Monterey County Sauvignon blanc. And a French Macaroon or two from Trader Joe's. And tea. I am home. And I am making the best of it, damn it.

What would Sandra do? Sandra is probably one of the few people I know, besides myself and maybe Billy, who could be tempted into a really good pie fight. But, seriously, who can afford a spree like that in this economy? We can barely justify the purchase of the chicken. Nevertheless, I attempt to be of good cheer, and I thank you for reading my blog.