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 – In Photos

It’s time for another installment of The Raw Chicken Dare inspired by Elizabeth at Flourish in Progress.  Here's the back story.  And here's where I left off. 

I had planned on doing this post last week, but Marie was sick, and I couldn’t go to the store nor did I have the energy to focus on this project. (Believe me, I will be writing a post about this very soon).



I thought today’s update would best be communicated through pictures. I enlisted the help of Marie, and we had a little photo shoot while I prepared dinner. She’s a total natural, by the way.



So here’s how I store the chicken:

Layer 1: butcher paper

Layer 2: plastic bag

Layer 3: plastic shopping bag

Layer 4: glass baking dish

Doesn't everyone store it this way?

Then I pour olive oil and massage it in. That’s right, I show that bird a little love. Then I sprinkle it with kosher salt and fresh ground pepper.

Look at me! I’m holding it so close to my face! I’m almost cured!!

Then I wash my hands with super-hot water and lots of soap.

I put it in the baking dish. Here’s the Before Picture.

I put it in the oven.

And then here’s the After Picture.

I would say that I am pretty close to cooking a whole chicken.



I did have a little snafu with this chicken. Some parts close the bone were a little *gulp* bloody. Not like the juices weren’t clear, because they were. So I’m not sure what that was all about. Any thoughts? There was also a ball of veins that grossed me out and made the chicken a little bloody. I think that my perseverance through this disgusting discovery is a highlight in how far I’ve come from precooked chicken strips, right?



I think if I am going to go this route again, especially on a week night, I would get the breasts separated because it took forever.



I am totally proud of myself!



What have you done that has made you proud? I’d love to hear you toot your own horn!

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!

Raw Chicken Dare

If you know me, either in real life or here on my blog, you know that I fear raw chicken. I’ve talked about it briefly here and here. The terror of the raw, slimy, salmonella-growing flesh has been known to paralyze me in ways that I am shameful to admit.



Like the time I refused to cook chicken and only used the precooked chicken strips found in the refrigerator section of Costco. And by “time,” I mean the two years.



Embarrassing, I know.



I figured if I am really going to do this and not fall of the wagon into a bag of Costco precooked chicken strips, maybe I should write about it. And then I remembered my friend Elizabeth at Flourish in Progress and the gang she was starting. She started a project about not shopping for an entire year and blogged about the whole thing. If you are not reading her blog, I suggest you click on over and start immediately because She. Is. Awesome. Seriously, awesome.



Anyway, her gang is about getting over a fear or a personal obstacle. So I am going to start a little project, and by little I mean getting over one of the biggest fears I have and documenting it so I can’t quit. And I think my gang name should be Raw Chicken. If that doesn’t sound like a scary badass kind of gang name, then I don’t know what is, right?



So here is an update: after our Disney adventure, we were in need of some serious nourishment. We needed chicken of the non-nugget variety, whole wheat pasta, and a green vegetable STAT! So I approached the butcher counter and looked at the nice, trimmed up chicken breasts that were a fortune or the ones that were in a pile that needed to be trimmed but were on special. My eyes darted between my two choices and my thoughts raced: we need chicken. We just spent a ton of money at Disney. I don’t want to trim them. I must trim them if we are going to start recouping any cost from our trip.



In a magical moment, my need for nutrition and to save money preceded my fear of raw chicken.



So I bought a separate cutting board and got to work.



I separated the breasts.



I trimmed them.



I cut them in half to make them thinner.*



I baked them to perfection.



When I went to the store this week to get chicken, it didn’t even make my heart race. I am on the road to recovery, Friends!



I *will* have cleaned and cooked a whole chicken by December 2011.



I am curious . . .what kind of goals are you working towards?




*I had the best picture of this, but due to technical difficulties, they will have to be in a future post.

What Do You Think Thursdays: Raw Chicken

Happy Thursday, everyone! I am going to be starting a new weekly post called What Do You Think Thursdays. This was inspired by all the wonderful advice from the BlogHer session, The Write Brain: Essential Blog Content Development Workshop. After you are done reading (and leaving a comment, if you so desire), be sure to click on the survey. It will bring you to the Skinny Scoop site so you can participate.

This week’s What Do You Think Thursday is all about one of my personal, deep rooted fears: handling raw chicken. *shudders*

I have not cooked real chicken breasts in a long, long time. Instead I use those little packets of precooked grilled chicken strips. Pasta with chicken? Just open up the bag, flavor with some olive oil and garlic powder, and dump over pasta. Chicken tacos? Repeat previous steps but flavor with chili powder and cumin. *Hangs head in shame*

The fear started out when I would open up prepackaged chicken that had been thawing out. I would struggle with opening the bag, and before I knew it, I was assaulted with raw chicken juice. Disgusting!

The fear escalated when I had The Babes. When Marie was born, I felt consumed with protecting her from things that felt like they were in my control. Being doused in raw chicken juice seemed to be direct conflict of interest from this new-found mama bear protection mode. So I got everything ready for dinner and disinfected the kitchen before she woke up from her nap.

When Thomas was born, things got a little tricky. I could not find the time or the energy to cook chicken, yet, my family still needed to eat. A friend introduced me to these bags of precooked grilled chicken, and I was saved. I kept on telling myself that these convenient little lifesavers were only a temporary fix until Thomas’s nap schedule wasn’t so close to dinner. But somehow, they have become a permanent fixture in my cooking (or non-cooking) repertoire

I started a goal early his year to cook a whole chicken by the December of 2011. I started to make progress with flash frozen chicken breasts, but that is as far as I got. Next thing I knew, I found myself right back where I started with sacks of convenient precooked chicken.

I didn’t think much about it until I looked at a calendar and realized December is only four months away! I am not one to give up on a goal, so I went to the store and bought ten pounds of fresh chicken breasts.

I touched them.

I rinsed them.

I patted them dry.

I did not trim them since they butcher offered. Or did I ask him with a desperate look in my eye? I don’t remember since my heart was racing with fear and anticipation. Did I mention I shopped for these salmonella carriers with the Babes? I think that I should get some extra points for that one, right?

I cooked them *while The Babes were up and active*, and to my surprise and delight, the chicken did not end up like cardboard.

And I only disinfected the sink two times, instead of a gagillion in a daze of fear.

I think this is progress, don’t you?

I think I may be ready for skin-on, bone-in chicken!

I imagine some of you are shaking your heads because you just can’t see what the big deal is about touching raw chicken. I did some deep thinking about this because it does seem to be bigger than raw chicken. I think it comes from any OCD ritual: control. I feel like there is so much out there that can harm my kids, that I have a tendency to hold on tight to things that I feel are in my control. And keeping a salmonella-free kitchen is one thing I can control. But like any fear-based behavior, it really was controlling me. And I don’t like that feeling at all.

I remember how liberating it was to overcome my fear of driving into a big city (which I could not find the link). I can only imagine how incredible it will be when I finally roast the perfect whole chicken.


What do you think about raw chicken? What fears do you feel that are controlling you?

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