I’m not quite sure how it happens, but we keep being given big bits of meat. It was a huge piece of gammon over Christmas, and now an actual chicken. A terrifying, giant, whole chicken.
Looks pretty sneaky, doesn’t it?
I was definitely more concerned about the chicken than I was about the gammon. It just seems a million times more complicated, and there’s always a big stigma attached with cooking chicken properly.
Plus, Mr C and I had a rather big argument about whether I was going to stuff it. I was NOT going to stuff it.
I browsed around for some recipes, read through some articles, and settled on this Jamie Oliver one, although I only vaguely followed it. The supermarket didn’t have any lemons, and I decided to go for somewhat prepared vegetables and stuffing. I was freaking out enough about the chicken, I didn’t want to have to worry about the rest of it as well.
In the end, after about an hour and a half, it all turned out fine.
It was absolutely delicious, but I was so stressed throughout the whole thing, it hardly seemed worth it. Carving up the chicken was even harder than cooking it, and we had chicken left over that we weren’t really sure what to do with, other than sandwiches. Plus, I made far too much stuffing.
I’m not sure that I enjoyed cooking this roast, I certainly spent quite a lot of time panicking and doing maths.
Mr C reckons it just means I need more practice. Perhaps he’s right. I can conquer those sneaky chickens.