Raw Chicken Dare: Thanksgiving, Roasted Turkey, and Anne Burrell

Awhile back, Elizabeth from Flourish in Progress dared us to do something that scared us. I chose the only fear that I could reasonably conquer while still raising babies: my fear of raw chicken. I made progress, but never did the final step of cooking a whole raw bird. And for a little background, I had a terrifying fear of raw poultry. At my lowest of my low, I refused to buy it and eat only precooked chicken strips I a bag. On the rare occasion when I did cook raw chicken, I had some weird rituals about cleaning with bleach and using paper towels, but a lot of that has been alleviated with the new recommendations of not rinsing the chicken before cooking.

 Well, that and therapy.

I decided it was time to just do it already.  Mostly because we are hosting Thanksgiving. I was excited, yet the whole never having cooked a turkey before was looking over me. And because I'm one to prepare, I decided to practice on some chickens before the big day. I mean, I didn't want to fail and have to make peanut butter and jelly for everyone. I just don't think the wine would have paired well with that, no?

So I finally decided to try Anne Burrell's recipe from Cook like a Rock Star. The chopping of herbs and vegetables was totally in my comfort zone, but the separating of the skin to apply the herb paste and trussing the chicken was totally not in my comfort zone.

Here is a photo essay of how I conquered my fear if raw chicken.  All photos are taken by my dad since Harrington decided it would be better to take the kids out of the house incase I freaked out and had a nervous breakdown.

First, I got a kick ass pan. It made me feel really grown up, not unlike the first time I wore red lipstick to a dance in junior high. 

Then I chopped up vegetables - easy peasy.

The bag of guts. So gross. But not as gross as the blood that drained out. Blech.

Then, as Anne Burrell said, I lubed up the chicken. I cut my nails so incredibly short that there was no way a colony of salmonella could grow under there.

My hand is in between the skin and the flesh.  I don't even know who I am anymore.

I can't believe that I am doing this.

Trussing was confusing. I watched Anne Burrell's YouTube clip like 5 times because my spatial relations skills rival that of a 3 year old. So I practiced.

 On my mom's thumbs.

Kinda like Cat's Cradle, no?

Trussing for real.

I did it! Yay!

Then I put the birds in the oven so I could start my OCD sanitizing rituals. I wash my hands and forearms as if I was scrubbing in for surgery.

I am scrubbing in for surgery!  Doesn't everyone wash their forearms after handling raw poultry?

Then I wipe the counter clean as many times as it takes my soul to feel clean. This day it was only 3, but I've gone as many as 10 20.  I may have changed my shirt in fear that some contaminated paste may have gotten on it. Extreme? Perhaps. But I have a raw effing chicken in my kitchen so let's just focus on the positive.

When the birds came out delicious and juicy, I felt elated. I was just aiming to not kill anyone with undercooked poultry. But it tasted delicious! I'm thinking this is similar to someone jumping out of Airplane to conquer her fear of heights. I feel invincible! Roasted turkey? Yes! Roast beef? Let's do it!   Pork roast?  Bring it.

Ta Da!  The final product!

Have you ever conquered a fear?  How did you go about doing it?

Raw Chicken Dare: Tales of a Quartered Chicken

It’s time for another installment of The Raw Chicken Dare inspired by Elizabeth at Flourish in Progress. (And if you aren’t reading her blog, you must go now. Don’t worry; I’ll wait here patiently for you).



Last raw chicken post, I included the backstory of my fear and left off with mastering the boneless, skinless chicken breasts that I split and trimmed all by myself. See, here’s the picture.

I'm no butcher, that's for sure.

Next step was to move on to a whole quartered chicken. I am just not yet ready to cook a whole bird and totally not ready to butcher it myself. So I thought this would be good practice.



Sunday, I went to the market. I approached the butcher counter and took a number. As my number became closer to being called, my heart was racing a bit faster and the ink on my list was starting to fade a bit due to my sweaty palms. An intoxicating cocktail of adrenaline and fear began coursing through my veins. I imagine this is what it must feel like standing at the open door of an airplane with a parachute pack on just before jumping. As the butcher (a former student, which totally threw me off a since I was having this super vulnerable moment in front of someone I used to teach) handed me my bag of chicken, I felt a tinge of victory for even making it this far.



When I got home, I put it in the fridge for the next day.



In my mind, I planned this perfect moment to accomplish the next step of my goal: The Babes would be quietly watching TV while I had some time alone in the kitchen to oh-so-carefully prepare this chicken.



This was not the case.



Here is what my kitchen table (which is only feet away from the raw chicken) looked like:

Total Art Project Chaos!

Marie was working on a project, and not a low-maintenance-here’s-come-crayons-and-stickers-have-fun-project. I had to be involved and then Thomas had to have a project. They both needed my help, and before I knew it, that chicken needed to get in the oven if we wanted to eat before bath time.



I had planned to just place the bird into the pan without rinsing it, but it was slimy and *swallows uncomfortably* bloody. Ick.



So I rinsed the chicken off and bits of carcass and blood swirled around the drain. So ick.



But I couldn’t really focus on the ick factor because I had one Babe asking me to start his stickers and wanting to play with Elmer’s white glue while another Babe needed me to cut her paper to size for her Disney scrapbook that she wanted to bring in for show-and-tell on Friday. (Did I mention this chaos was just feet away from my raw chicken zone and that I prefer to work alone in the kitchen when dealing with raw meat of any kind?)



I managed to rinse the chicken and put it in the oven. It looked rather gross: its rubbery skin with random hairs on it from feathers.

This looks like a glamor shot of raw chicken.
Not at all how I remember it.

I disinfected the sink thoroughly, yet not obsessively. I didn’t have time. The Totally Art Project Chaos demanded my attention, and I needed to prepare the rest of dinner which included some roasted yellow Yukon potatoes, steamed broccoli, and sautéed Swiss chard.



An hour later, I took the chicken out, checked the temperature (180 degrees), and let it rest.

Looks delish!

I put in on the table

I’m not a food stylist, but I think that looks like it could belong
on the pages of Whole Living magazine, if you ask me.

Harrington said that this was arguably the best chicken he had ever tasted. I knew he must have been telling the truth because he did not put hot sauce nor BBQ sauce to dip the simply seasoned chicken.



SUCCESS!



In fact, I am not sure if I ever want to go back to the boneless, skinless breasts again. There is something too magical and satisfying about eating food and having it taste so delicious and simple . . . how it was intended to taste before the era of processed foods.



And speaking of success and goals, I would also like to mention that this is post 199. I can’t believe that I am one post away from 200! I’m pretty excited about that.  I have a fun announcement about how I plan to celebrate this milestone, so stay tuned for that!



Are you working on any personal goals? Have you accomplished one that you are proud of? I’d love to hear all about it!

The Post That Snooki Inspired

It’s late. But it could be the after breakfast. Or even afternoon.

I. Want. To. Hibernate.

I have this big, fuzzy blanket that strongly suggests anything on the To Do List can wait until spring. My friend, who lives near Sault St. Marie, Michigan, said to me that I can’t hide from winter. I told him that there is a fine line between hibernating and hiding. He replied that I should be careful which side of the line I was on. I laughed.

But you know what? He was right. I would have been totally happy to snuggle up on the couch all afternoon and watch TV. And I have been for big chunks of the afternoon. And at night. And if I am lucky, while I drink my morning cup of coffee.

Am I hiding? Am I hibernating?

I think it’s both. It’s cold and snowy out, so of course I want to stay inside. But there is also a part of me that’s working through a few things that happened during the holiday, so I guess I do kind of want to hide out for a bit, too.

I am still working out. I am still eating better. I mean, I couldn’t totally check out and make these yummy dishes:

Roasted celery, carrots, and beets.
Here's a lesson learned: roasted celery is too stringy.

Roasted sweet potatos, butternut squash, and apples
with cinnamon

Vegetarian black bean chili - AWESOME!!

So yes, I am taking care of business, but I would rather not.

And I don’t even think I would be writing this post if I hadn’t seen Snooki on the Today Show promoting, not her show, but . . .wait for it . . . wait for it . . . HER NOVEL!

A novel, for Christ’s sake! If she can write a novel about a “gorilla juice head,” I can write a 300ish word post. Seriously!

I’m sure she’s a nice enough girl and all. I could see her promoting her slipper line or anything else to do with her look and lifestyle. But a novel?! Not even a memoir but a novel?!

And don’t even get me started how she dodged Matt’s questions about drinking. Ironically enough, while watching last week’s show, I posted on facebook that I thought Snooki would be the cast member most likely to become a patient of Dr. Drew on Celebrity Rehab.

Anyone else thinking the same thing?

(And I realize that I am contributing to the problem as to why this show is number one on MTV right now and the culture of rewarding bad behavior. It’s just so hard to look away).

Well, that’s all I got. Snooki’s book is probably better than this post. So sorry for that.


Well, anyone else hibernating and/or hiding? How can you tell which one?

Rock that Roast Beef!

So how do I follow up a serious post about PMDD and Celexa?  With a sort of Wordless Wednesday post about cooking beef, of course!

I grew up in a meat and potatoes house. We had some sort of meat and baked potato almost every night for dinner. Yet I left home not knowing how to make a roast or the what cuts beef are for what. My Mom showed me how to make roast beef when I was treading water with Thomas as a newborn, and I had made it maybe one more time. I always get worried if I screw it up and then what will we eat for dinner? With a Costco-sized box of chicken nuggets in reserve, I threw caution to the wind because I’ll tell you what; I'm tired of cooking almost every day. So I fired up the new stove as I honed my mad, roasting skills.

That piece of meat turned out AWESOME! I stuffed it full of garlic and even made gravy.

And since I made a mistake and bought individual sized packages
of instant flavored mashed potatoes, we each got our own flavor. WIN!

The only thing missing was my dress, pearl necklace, and telling Eddie Hascal to stop being such a smart ass! (You know June Cleaver was just chomping at the bit to say that)!

So, Friends, have you mastered any new skills lately?