My history with chicken has not been good. Except for roasting a whole chicken, my chicken dishes have generally been less than appetizing. No matter what I did, the chicken would always come out rubbery. I think it may be because I tended to overcook the chicken—I’m very squeamish about undercooked animal food.
Anyway, a particular food company here in Brazil has been offering what they call “Easy” chickens, roasts, etc. They come frozen, in a plastic bag, all seasoned and ready to go. You just stick the thing in the oven, still frozen, and leave it there for two hours. Sounded good to me. But there was one little problem.
The reason I haven’t roasted a chicken in ages is because in the apartment where I currently live here in Rio, my kitchen is about the size of a small walk-in closet, so the only stove that fits is a two-burner one. This obviously means that the oven is, well, eensie-weensie. Could I fit a chicken in it? I decided to take a chance.
I bought the chicken. It came in a fancy bag with a handle and detailed instructions. It warned: “Don’t let the inner plastic bag touch any part of the oven or its elements.” Uh oh. OK, I put the oven rack down as far as it would go and crossed my fingers. Then there was the problem of a pan to cook it in. I had one pan, sort of dollhouse sized, which I prayed would be big enough. It wasn’t. The instructions said “breast up,” but when I tried putting it in the pan that way, its little feet stuck up in the air and it wouldn’t fit in the oven. So I turned it over, breast down, and after considerable adjusting, shifting, pushing, and shoving, it finally fit in the pan, sort of. Then I tried wrestling it into the oven. It was a tight squeeze. Too tight. The plastic bag was pressed tight against the top of the oven. *Sigh*
What to do? By this time I was getting impatient, so I ripped off most of the precious plastic bag that was supposed to help create all the yummy juices. Juices be damned! said I—I have to get this sucker into the oven!!
Once the bag was off, I was able to squeeze the bird in. It still was pressed hard against the top of the oven, but I figured it would be OK because it was bagless. Nevertheless, I was a bit nervous when I finally closed the teeny oven door and went into the other room to wait two hours.
After a while, I was comforted by delicious aromas coming from the kitchen, even though I still wasn’t sure what the outcome would be.
Exactly two hours up, I ran to the kitchen to see how birdy had fared in its miniscule prison.
I pulled it out, set it on the sink counter and thanked God—what a thing of beauty! Well, not really, it looked kind of smooshed and a bit mangled, but it smelled wonderful. I turned it over, grabbed a knife, and cut of a piece of breast. I bet it’s tough, I thought. Well, it wasn’t—it was tender and perfect! Not only that, but the bottom of the pan was full of delicious juices, even without the help of the magic bag.
Suffice it to say I had a perfect Christmas dinner! I hope yours was just as good.