Fifty Shades of Chicken: A Parody in a Cookbook (12 page)
Read Fifty Shades of Chicken: A Parody in a Cookbook Online
Authors: F.L. Fowler
LEARNING THE ROPES
You can make this with all white meat (choose bone-in breasts) or all dark meat (choose thighs and/or drumsticks). Or use a mix of parts and satisfy chicken lovers of all inclinations.
H
e’s holding a long, detailed contract.
Holy shit.
“The publisher sent the paperwork this morning. My recipes won them over immediately.”
I think I’m in shock. I try to imagine how readers would react to … what Blades does. To me. Surely the general public would find it too strange, too dark, too twisted.
He smiles his sly smile. “They want my cookbook badly. And they’re going to give me a lot of money for it. Especially since I turned them down the first time.”
Turned them down?
“What changed your mind?”
“You did, Chicken. They wanted me to cover all kinds of dishes and Ingredients. But it’s not about Ingredients for me anymore—it’s about my Specialty. This book isn’t just my cookbook. It’s yours, too. It’s our baby.”
Our baby. Our Little Booklet!
He shows me the email:
Chef,
Your chicken recipes are most singular. We have a deal.
We believe your cookbook could be huge.
Let’s discuss the details in person. I’d like to observe you at work if I may.
Congratulations!
Best,
W
C. Wiley
Editor, Swann Publishing
Observe Shifty at work? Oh boy.
“And just how do you intend to put your kinky cookery into words? Isn’t it a little advanced for general consumption?”
“Miss Hen, we’ve only scratched the surface. We haven’t yet started on the advanced techniques.” His eyes blaze with that secret fire.
My tail twitches and desire blossoms in my body.
“Is tying me up an advanced technique?” I ask hopefully. My inner goddess kisses her wing tips for luck.
“Maybe one part,” he says, “But your role as my Specialty will require more elaborate preparation. We’ll be layering entirely new flavor profiles. There will be special equipment. It’s time I show you the toy drawer.”
“You’re going to play with your food?” I cluck sweetly.
“No, Miss Hen,” he says, giving me a menacing look.
He reaches under the counter to pull open a deep drawer containing what looks like a voodoo doctor’s kit. In meticulously ordered slots are assorted mallets and shears, some soft brushy things, a bunch of colored loops that look like rubber bands, a giant spool of twine, a baster with a needle at the end, and an iron bowl from the center of which extends a shockingly long, black prong.
I stare dumbly at its impressive length, hypnotized.
Chicken
O
h, baby, I don’t need this,” I say.
My limbs are bound tight to my body, the trussing twine just tight enough to dig into my flesh without breaking the skin. Just how I’ve come to like it. What’s bothering me is the butter.
It glistens in the bowl he’s holding out to me, wafting the narcotic, deliciously indecent aroma of truffles. My pulse starts racing.
Shit
…How can he do this with just a smell?
“
I
need this,” he says with conviction.
Why? Why does he need these extravagant things? Does he feel inadequate? Am I inadequate? Why spend so much?
“No, Shifty,” I say, “you don’t. I’m your Specialty now, you’ve made me yours. You don’t have to keep proving yourself. I’m the luckiest Ingredient in the world.”
“No, Chicken, I’m a lucky cook. You’ve changed the way I do absolutely everything. But now that you’re my Specialty, you’ll just have to get used to some minor luxuries like this. Besides,” he continues, “it counts as an advanced technique.”
As he talks I continue to fall under the exotic spell of the truffles. His heated gaze makes my juices start to run clear. At this point I can think of nothing but my need to be slathered in that butter.
Oh, well then, as long as it’s an advanced technique…
SERVES 4
1 (3- to 3½-pound) chicken, patted dry with paper towels
1½ teaspoons coarse kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon safflower or canola oil
2 tablespoons white or black truffle butter
Chopped fresh chives, for serving
Mashed potatoes, for serving (optional)
1
Preheat the oven to 375°F. Massage the chicken all over with salt and pepper, remembering to pay special attention to her cavity. Using butchers’ twine, truss her up nice and tight, following
the directions
. The tighter, the better.
2
Heat an ovenproof skillet over medium heat, then add the oil and let heat for 20 seconds. Lay the chicken in the pan on her side and let brown for 5 minutes, adjusting the heat as necessary so she doesn’t burn. Flip and repeat on the other side.
3
Lay the chicken on her back, transfer to the oven, and roast her for 20 minutes. Add the truffle butter to the pan and continue to roast, basting with the fragrant butter, until her thigh juices run clear and she is enticingly golden all over, about 25 to 35 minutes longer. The more you baste, the more succulent she will be. Serve with the pan juices and the chives, over mashed potatoes if you like.
LEARNING THE ROPES
If you can’t find truffle butter with which to lavish your bird, use regular butter. After cooking, if you like, slowly drizzle her with truffle oil. Or leave her as she is, juicy and golden.
butterflied roasted chicken with herb and almond pesto
Chicken
H
oly shit, he’s wearing that apron, and he’s reaching into the back of the toy drawer.
I want it, oh yes.
And he wants me. I get it now. The hungry look on his face, the growling of his stomach like I was the last
amuse bouche
on earth. But
this
—I don’t know if I can do what the recipe demands. Yet, this is what he does—he hurts food to make it taste good. This is what I signed on for. If I want my Shifty Blades, I have to be ready for anything.
“I want it,” I say.
I belong to you.
He turns me over so I can’t see what he’s doing.
“I’m going to spread you out. I’m going to open you up. I’m going to take you places you never knew existed.” I can feel his manic anticipation.
His skilled hands have me completely at his mercy. As he opens me up a shock ripples through me, and it’s a sweet, strange, voluptuous feeling. He lays me breast-up on the pan, flatter than poultry should be. This is unnatural, it can’t possibly be as pleasurable as it is. But the warmth of the pan penetrates me so evenly. I feel melty, juicy, exquisitely yummy.
Now I know why they call it spatchcocking.
SERVES 2 TO 4
1 (3½- to 4-pound) chicken, patted dry
1½ teaspoons coarse kosher salt, plus a large, firm pinch
4 scallions, white and green parts roughly chopped
1 cup roughly chopped tender fresh herbs, such as a combination of dill, basil, flat-leaf parsley, and cilantro
½ cup sliced almonds
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for the roasting pan
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 garlic clove, chopped
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Lemon halves, for serving (optional)
1
Using large, strong kitchen shears and a confident hand, forcefully cut the backbone out of the chicken; first cut along one side of the backbone, then cut along the other side until it releases, then pull it out. Gently spread the bird open, pressing down on the breast to flatten it (see Learning the Ropes). Massage the flesh with 1½ teaspoons of salt.
2
Whirl the scallions, herbs, almonds, oil, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper together in the blender until quite smooth and luscious. Taste and season with a large pinch of salt. Smear the pesto all over the bird. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours and preferably overnight.
3
Preheat the oven to 450°F. Spread the bird flat, breasts up, in an oiled roasting pan. Roast until golden and succulent, 40 to 50 minutes. Let rest for 10 minutes, then have your way with her, squeezing on lemon juice if she needs a tang.
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.
vertical roasted chicken with spicy tomato potatoes
Chicken
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.
